Book Box | Letter from Banaras
It is a winter afternoon at the Dashashwamedh Ghat, and we three sit cross-legged on a marble slab overlooking the Ganga.Up in the distance, a paper kite soars high in the sky. Below, on the river, boatloads of pilgrims sail past us. A boy comes by with milky tea. It's been years since I drank milk in my tea, but sitting with my two friends, going back thirty years to our college canteen, I nod my head. The tea is delicious, and soothing in its milk, sugar and cardamom flavour. We are sitting at the very spot where Lord…