Thursday evening I came down with a slight fever. Friday morning my periods started. And by noon I knew I would be confined to bed. The fever kept ebbing and flowing. Taking away with it my will to do much. Yet I persisted. Reading one Paris Review essay, then another. I tried writing too, scribbles in the notebook nearby. Outside the sun was harsh, reminiscent of June’s summer vibes.

Against everything else, defying my own precedents I decided to step out for a winter stroll and somehow ended up in Dilli Haat. Away from the cloistered tiresomeness of home’s cold, in the lap of a gorgeously sunny day. I walked the length of the haat, taking in the marketplace in its bounty and wealth.