Snippets by my Father As a child my father dreaded earthquakes, he imagined that crevices formed out of them can be sewed into a table cover, hiding all painful memories. He taught me that the Northern plains are fertile, and if we sow well, we reap well. On a Sunday morning on the Malabar coast I held his forefinger, with my palm finding doodles of a safe space. He loved the breeze kissing my cheek, in the heat of the sun, walking on the golden-brown particles of sand, and r