The school garden was the home of a variety of flowers, some standing tall and proud like the sun flowers, some vivacious and passionate like the hibiscus, and some, modest, shy and seemingly servile, like the pretty violets, but each, adding beauty and colour to the landscape in their own way. Lasya inched towards the room where the classical dance classes were conducted after school hours. She had a good half hour to kill before her “auto-man” would come to pick her up. Being a diffident recluse, she often spent this time playing by herself, or reading a book, until the day she was drawn by the sound of the “thaiya-thais” and “thaka-dhimis”, wafting from the dance room. She had followed those sounds, which rose and fell in a sing-song way, in perfect tandem with the beats provided by a stick. It was alluring like a lullaby, but not in…
