It was shades of blue on yellow. Little Goat — a character our then four-year-old cousin was staring at on a winter afternoon — stood against an ochre wall. They were ready for school — with a pencil, paper and a headful of butterflies in tow. Our cousin exclaimed something’s wrong. We looked closer and found Little Goat, like us, didn’t want to return to a city they can’t call home. “They’re too shy to give that piece of paper to their best friend,” our tiny brother shared. Both of us were trying to relate to Little Goat’s right toe uneasily hinged against their left one. We interpreted a familiar body posture in a language free of words. And free of singularity, too. 

A page from Dugga by Rajiv Eipe