Thumb finger

Then my habits were thinning the old finger. Sometimes in pukurghat, sometimes at the verandah stairs, or sometimes alone in the window, only to finger weave. It was not like that finger tastes taste good. There was no hesitation in feeling loved or depressed, as much as I remember; Kanmata used to do jha jhan after listening to the world's goal. She is a messy man. Where we are, we are not at the bottom of the oranges; The people in the bottom of the floor are going to drop down and fall.

Once a son of Sadhkhand, a sheet of pucca glass bell gave me a gift, Shekal was his sister Jhumir. She used to pull that thing out of a jumpy doll box. I used to hide the shekel. I thought there was not too much of such a beautiful thing to anyone.