Wrapped in the fabric of my pink dupatta, Begum Bazaar is the fabled navel in the eye of antiquity. The streets stomach quaintness mutely, like measured gulps of Irani chai. We walk on, moving in a soft-haze of sounds and colors. You propose a game of make-believe. We...
Photo: Damian Pankowiec / Shutterstock.com Jewellery’s never been my thing. But when I saw you in those silver earrings, I wanted to own all the earrings ever made, just so some could look half as good on me. They weren’t even real silver—you said you bought them for...
