The Flower Boy

We would know he is coming. He would ring his bicycle bell continuously, not because he is like every other guy in Patna who honks on road unnecessarily. It was his signal for us that he is in our lane of the colony. My mom would rush down, and start to collect finest of the flowers that flower boy would bring. We are Brahmins, and we adhere to some proper way of worshipping. And my mom cannot do...

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