
OWNER OF A DHABA
One late summer afternoon I was returning back from the day’s rambling around Sarugaon tea garden. I surveyed the long green carpets stretched miles after miles, sometimes wavy like a foamy sea, sometimes like a placid and stagnant green lake. My eyes feasted on the rain trees dotted the garden, and glistening plumes of a flock of white herons flying lazily over my head. Adivasi women plucked the tender buds and leaves, and men caressing the trees. Naked children roamed and played in the yards, elderly women sat silent and sad in front of their huts. The rays of the sun