Seven years have passed since that day. As I sit writing the story, I can still see the tiger before me, his bloodshot eyes adding threat to an already insistent glare like the last rays of daylight which cast a fiery glow all over. I can feel the myriad emotions that raced through me at the time, my naive shock at the scene, my confusion and my sense of powerlessness. It was a day among those golden seven days of our honeymoon in a romantic hill station named Ooty in India.
Time always has a profound influence on my thoughts which eventually proliferates through my writings. I feel, when time walks with us, everything blooms and when it leaves us, we see the ruins.