If its Madras, it must be Rose Milk!

  It hits me the moment I get off the train.   The heat. The sweat. The salt. The sea. The aura of steaming heat arising out of my melting skin. The sting of the salt in the sea of sweat I am swimming in. The stench of fish, leisurely leaking out of the lazy … Continue reading If its Madras, it must be Rose Milk!

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