THE STORIES BEGAN a long while back, dreamt of by a fish swimming in briny waters, thought up by a goh lizard burrowing in the arid sands, plucked from the blowing wind by a black kite. And as I was translating them into words, struggling, uncertain, I received help, generous and selfless – from Siddhartha Gigoo who was the first reader of many of these; Prabhat Ranjan bhaiya who encouraged me when I most needed it; my son, Yashodhar, who energized me with his frank, at times too frank, opinions on my work; my editor, Rahul Soni, who read, advised and selected with care, and listened to my doubts and writer’s insecurities ad nauseum; Rinita Banerjee, my copy editor, whose patience and thoroughness was exemplary; and my publisher, Udayan Mitra, whose belief in my work has held me up; my father, Dr Surendra Upadhyay, who gave me all my words, and mother, Puja Upadhyay, who gave all of herself; my father-in-law and mother-in-law, Krishan Kumar Sharma and Girija Sharma; my sister, sisters-in-law, brothers-in-law, nieces, nephews, cousins, who created an affectionate and nurturing environment; and my husband, Vikas Sharma, with whom I saw the world in all its colours and shades, without fear, with hope and faith. Towards them, my gratitude is unbounded, inexpressible, eternal.