Between the sounds of drilling, honking, motors, beeping, distant chanting, and images of beautiful brown skinned women with large gaps in their large white teeth, dressed in the most vivid translucent red and yellow sarees, blasts of stale urine in the 103 degree breeze, swirling with dust, nag champa and cow dung, the body sensations of being startled by the honking of motorcycles two inches from my heels and the bewilderment of the cow that just wouldn’t move, I had lost the periods to my sentences. Commas were fading and dripping through the cracks in my fingers.

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