alice's peephole

I once saw a beautiful girl- of about 11. Light eyes in total contrast to her dark sun-burned skin. She had bleached golden brown unkempt hair and a petite figure. She was high up on a tight rope, balancing 3 pots on her head. A safety harness was conspicuous only by its absence. She looked afraid- not of falling, but of making a mistake. She would pay dearly for that. Recently, I took a tour to a few of the smaller cities of Maharashtra- to conduct a hunt for a cricket commentator. The first stop was Nasik. As we sat in the audition hall the night before the event, I was afraid that the next day would see the 200 seating capacity hall only half full. And we did. But none of us went back disappointed that day. Our victory wasn’t in numbers; it was in the talent and passion we encountered. There were more than a few girls who auditioned. They were either brave enough to venture into such a male dominated profession because they knew no fear or they were taken up by Mandira. I don’t