Handu da — the step where you paused, one sandal loose, laughing at a bee drunk on nectar, while the sun slid gold into your hair.
Somewhere, that road still curves without you, a question mark lying on its side, waiting for your footfall to make it a full stop. kumari bambasara handu da
Kumari, do your fingers still trace that air — the one heavy with jasmine and diesel smoke, the one we named handu da because no other word would hold it? Handu da — the step where you paused,