A white Pomeranian named Fluffy flew out of a fifth-floor window in Panna, which was a brand new building with the painter’s scaffolding still around it. Fluffy screamed in her little lap-dog voice all the way down, like a little white kettle losing steam, bounced off the bonnet of a Cielo, and skidded to a halt near the rank of schoolgirls waiting for the St. Mary’s Convent bus.

Love the visual imagery in this opening paragraph of Chandra’s opus, and my apology to dog lovers. Some days back, I remember describing a Pomeranian to a friend with the words ‘its a small fluffy dog with an irritating chronic bark’. I may have been thinking of my aunt’s pet, whose name I forget, and one that I feared would etch its memory on my calf. Beguilingly delightful creatures, those!

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