By Simran Ramsay

Time moves differently when you gaze at something beautiful. This musing slows time around nature’s spectacle of clouds in the sky.

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By: Krutika Puranik We are all pieces of what’s left of our parents. Your mother’s eyes, father’s ears, an aunt’s height. I often sit amidst my family and wonder if they see themselves in me. The way I slip a strand of hair discreetly behind my ear, the way my eyes turn into the colour…

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