‘Looking back at Amphan a year after it howled across Kolkata – felling trees, plucking out windows and morphing kiosks and hoardings into deadly projectiles – two stories emerge.’ Memories of a super-cyclone.

‘A large waist ornament with several loops and lacy patterns was secured over her hips and waist tightly. On her ankles, under the ghungroos, were similar lace-patterned broad anklets and her feet and hands had elaborate patterns painted on them with organic red dye called alta. As she walked, her waist ornament, anklets, ghungroos and bangles and bracelets clinked and clanged like a kitchen band.’ Dance macabre.

‘

I was slipping into a dream when I felt that soft hand on my shoulder. Then the other hand touched me. I shivered with fright and apprehension. The hands moved across my chest and arms, there was nothing disembodied about them. I lay perfectly still… That soft, warm, plump hand brushed against my cheek. I put out my own hand to touch her face.’ A brand new story.