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The soft light of the setting sun illuminates the entire section every time I walk in, mostly because I AM ALWAYS LATE. On one side white balloons hang, on another side a dart board.
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This is the fifth and final (for now) instalment in a fiction series about a family navigating the woes of immigrant life.
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Maybe it was Anita Desai’s book The Village by the Sea or was it that movie My Japanese Wife—I do not remember so clearly now—that had us all riled up during that short four-day long journey down to the last villages of the Sundarbans.
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The packing began months ahead of time, even before they had officially decided to move, even before tickets were purchased, even before the children could talk to their school and tell their friends that they were leaving home yet again.
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Just a day after teenagers around the world skipped classes and gathered on the streets of Dhaka, Warwick, Hamburg, London, and
