The coaches in the Indian passenger trains, despite all the discomfort they offer to its passengers, provide them with the facility to stop the train at their will. An act of reparation for something wrong that the train or the railway management has nothing to do with, for a predicament that has been created by... Continue Reading →
His stomach rumbled the third time in what could not have been more than ten minutes, convincing him that he'd finally have to get up and make his way to the toilet. The digital clock mounted on the wall displayed some numbers, but at his age and in his predicament, the numbers no longer made... Continue Reading →
This is to all the readers who, at some point in time, end up losing their grip on life (and by life, I mean reading), and having lost their weapon then struggle to cope with the adversities in life. This is about how I regained my confidence in reading. But more importantly, this is a heartfelt gratitude towards a pre-eminent Indian philanthropist and writer - Mrs Sudha Murthy.
When abandoned by the books, every other thing turned into an act of waiting. Serendipitously, the title of the blog, as I recall it now, also happens to be Dumas' tour de forces' final advice.
Manu Joseph's ‘The Illicit Happiness of Other People’ is at once a funny and a remarkable take on Indian milieu - one that could only be produced by the keenest of observers or by someone with the most cynical eye. Channelled observations and cynicism are, I am forced to believe, immensely rewarding. This book is... Continue Reading →
Colossal in both scope and magnanimity. This is not a book on war; it's definitely not a book on peace. Rather, it's a book on everything that lies in between these two - it's a book on hope, love, unpredictability of the future, and one's very search for the ultimate purpose of their existence. Period.... Continue Reading →