In the queer town of Chalakudy, a perky and petite granny perches under the shade of an enormous banyan tree, expounding mythological tales to a mushrooming cluster of listeners.
Those puckish eyes, that haven’t aged, shimmer with vivid views of ancient episodes.
To the inhabitants of this southern Indian town, her engaging narrations are the doorway to a whole new world, when theirs seems prosaic.
Every story’s a wrinkle. Told from the folds of her heart.
