Sonal Singh On Sonal's Table

As I sat at the banquet following the wedding, realization dawned that this man that I now proudly called my friend, had changed my perception about the homosexuality. Via his own magnanimous heart he had helped me be comfortable around the very people whom I had kept a distance from. His ebullient personality had infected cheer and laughter into my drab world. And, I was just one person whose life he had touched. I wondered how many more lives his magnanimous heart had enriched and would continue to enrich.

The wind chimes on the door jangled as she pushed it open. Even after over two decades, the store seemed familiar. The layout had changed but it still smelled the same, of mystery and intrigue. It was crammed from floor to ceiling with artefacts and collectibles. The minute Rohan spied the nautical ships, his demeanour changed. His eyes shone with excitement as he darted between the display racks. He suddenly seemed roused from his insipidity.

When he came to, he found himself in a small thatched hut. A man was squatting next to him. In the dim light that permeated the hut, he looked quite fearsome. Tall and wiry, he seemed old even though he was not bent. His wizened face looked like it had weathered many seasons. Covered in otjize*, his skin shimmered red gold as it caught the rays of the sun that was spilling in through the crags in the thatched roof. His hair was fashioned backwards into a horn shaped braid. He was bare bodied except for a loin cloth made of sheep skin, draped around his groin. His chest was adorned with beaded necklaces. They clinked as he shifted on his haunches. A huge lion’s fang hung from a black thread and rested midway to his navel. His face was painted in shades of red, black and ash. He smiled a toothless smile, as Mbambe came awake.