Category

Nostalgia

Toys are not for playing! (Part – I)

I have no memory of toys. Well, except for a green-yellow guitar (it’s the size of a large spatula that cost me a huge forty rupees in the village fair and earned me several reprimands from mother for wasting away… Continue Reading →

The Brahma-rakshasi and the Lily Pond

One of the beauties of childhood is that you believe in too many things. You believe that one day you can fly if someone gave you enough bird feathers or you can swim if you ate ants or that all… Continue Reading →

The Digital Dehumanization

In the last visit to my hometown, I witnessed something less usual. While I was out shopping in the market with my father, I had chance meetings with several people; people who I hadn’t met in the last fifteen years…. Continue Reading →

The Song of Stench

I wake up into a lazy sunday morning, the yellow rays of a mellow sun pushing through the fluttering curtains. I can’t see the sun, but the distant horizon running parallel to my window sill has turned orange. The twinkling… Continue Reading →

Chal Meri Luna

While cycling back home from a morning cycling trip to the Bhubaneswar Golf Club, I passed a Luna overloaded with gunny sacks hanging on its slender sides, moving up a slope. I was slow, tired as I was from over… Continue Reading →

Waking up to a Different Morning

One morning, I wake up not to the hoarse sound of concrete mixers and diesel generators, but to birds tweeting and chirping invisibly atop the trees around my house. Sitting on the verandah, I see squirrels scurry about, pausing at little fruits dropped… Continue Reading →

Cibaca, Binaca and Ameen Sayani…

I am not feeling quite well today. Woke up in the middle of the night and not able to sleep anymore. But just before I woke up, I was having a dream. Of listening to music in my old Philips two-in-one. After waking… Continue Reading →

Memories of a Grandfather

Exactly one year ago, after my dinner at night, my mother had called me to say that my grandfather is probably no more. She used the world “probably” to lessen the shock it would have on me, because last time… Continue Reading →

I will Come Back One Day

No more would the wooden swivel chair rock me for 70 restless minutes. No more would I push two doors to enter into the air-conditioned sleeping chamber or turn back every minute to curse the lazy minute hand that keeps… Continue Reading →

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