A Tale of Two Lakes

fireflies

On a dry, sunny afternoon, the sun blazed its countless rays down, relentless. An unlikely brown lake received them in all joy, letting them sparkle like countless pearls on her surface, relentless. The silence was pervasive and persuasisve; neither did the goats dare tread hard nor did the leaves muster courage to fall. Seemingly telling us, one need not even whisper to feel alive.

While…

hesarghatta

… at the lake-formerly-known-as-hessarghatta, desperate fishermen scavenge puddles of water for the next morsel of livelihood. Where water lay till the eyes could see, now lies barren green-and-brown stretches of land, like a mammoth unused cricket ground. Here too was silence, but the kind that asks questions of you. Is it the delayed monsoon? Or, is it sand-mining? Is it the excessive fishing? Or, is it climate-change?

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A Tale of Two Lakes

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