The tilting Madras landscape – brightly painted, almost Mediterranean-hued houses on the outer reaches (when and where had those colours come from?), broad strokes of deep green difficult to confirm on the ground, wide eastern arc of glittering blue edged with shifting signatures of surf – steadied.
Outside, the city in another avatar took her in: heavy with traffic, people, moisture; inexorable.
In the prepaid cab, Tara switched on her cell phone after weeks.
And called Adi.