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Author

Vallinath Mangalampalli

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All through my trip to India, I heard so many people saying that I was not recognizable at all. I grew bald and I put on a lot of weight. My elderly uncle told me that I was so different from what he remembered me to be. Only from my name, he could identify me. This vagary of memory troubled me more than once, and in my recent visit to the village and Sirisha, I suffered a very striking experience. Yes, it was a sad story, which would haunt me forever. For almost thirty years, I kept this story to my heart. This belonged to my heart only. When I collated all events of the last thirty years at one time, it became a story with a big impact; otherwise, they would remain as stray incidents of my life. That was the only period of my life when my pragmatism…