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The girl across my table

Originally written in May 2013 but wasn’t published then for unknown reasons. A few months back I needed a new set of passport photos for work. My office insisted on a particular photo-studio miles away from where I lived. So at 10 am on that Saturday morning, off I left donning a freshly laundered shirt and freshly washed hair whipped all the way back. An alien stared back at me from the mirror. But isn’t that the whole point of a passport photo? It started raining as I hailed the auto. Not a thunder-storm but not a drizzle either. It was a quiet, steady rain, soothing when you are inside with a cup of tea, depressing when you are outside & trying to salvage your files. The air turned cold. My straight-jacketed arms were a tenuous shield against the flat fisted fury of the wind as my auto whipped past puddles of rain water. After my lack of photogenicity was duly reaffirmed in a velvety room that reeked of falsehood and claustrophobia, I left the photo studio with an hour to burn be…

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