It was in Rangoon in March 1981 that I had an unusual experience. My shy and retiring son of sixteen, who more than justified his nickname, which means ‘one lost in reverie,’ suddenly broke his silence to demand that I…
continued from last week “I need to finish cooking before they discover the smoke coming out from this part of the village,” she thought, as she hurried her way to the well some 50 yards away from the kitchen shed,…
She looked at me with gentle twinkling eyes And a humane smile on her softly etched pink lips Her salt and pepper hair was neatly tucked in a bun And I felt I could tell her everything in this jungle…
