Rain trickled down from the edges of the roof in a peculiarly swift motion. Yet, each drop was distinct. I wasn’t sure if it was my mother’s wrath or the lightning & thunder (practically they are of the same nature) that summoned my brother to our door that hour, but he rushed inside like a soggy raisin from playing football in the rain - shrivelled fingers, muddy knees, a pair of boots fighting to remember their real colour and all. I sat at the dining table to peel some or

Sharing little pieces of belonging, memory and mother-tongued love with The Kayal Magazine — When Chai Met Toast tells us about small town, big love and little homes. Small town Small towns that carry soda narengya (Lemon soda), kaplandi mittai (peanut fudge), little children on their bicycles, swaying coconut trees, ammuma’s (grandma) stories, light blue milma milk packets stacked like fish on freshly printed Mathrubhumi (newspaper), peacock feathers treasured in books —

I sat close to her and watched. She wiped off her wet hands in front of her favourite yellow saree. She sat with her haunches hanging in...