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“Two years ago, after the doctor told my dear friend Bindia that the cancer had gone to her brain, she came to me with this rocking chair. She said, ‘Sit in it and read me a chapter from the book you are writing so that it will go with me wherever I’m going.’
“The embroidered shawl draped on the chair’s arm belonged to my mother. She had it on the first time I remember seeing her dressed up. Those cargo pants are 16 years old. I once wore them for three weeks walking through the forests of central India with Maoist…