Of Men And Their Ways – Continued…

He always woke up before the sun shone, and it had been that way for as long as he can recall now. His wife, when she was alive, used to bicker with him for his early morning alarms. "In the morning the sound of your alarms going off, and during the day your mother with... Continue Reading →

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Of Men And Their Ways…

At dawn, when all the boys with whom he used to play cricket in the ground are still asleep, Balu is woken up by his senile father. The sixth child in his father's brigade, as the old man used to call his children together, Balu was the youngest. His two elder sisters were married and... Continue Reading →

Of Motions and Emotions…

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 →

Talk to me, forever.

She hated it whenever anyone used the word forever in their sentence. As if they really understood the word, or in the least if they really meant it. The word forever, she believed, had only one significance, and that was to make any assertion solemn. 'I am here with you' makes so little sense when... Continue Reading →

Of Sun and Sinusitis…

The Sun played tricks like an unweaned child. Now sticking its face to the mother's breast and then turning with a jerk towards its father, as if filled, only to resume the feeding by turning back towards its mother the moment it sees his father extending his hand in its direction. An act of defiance... Continue Reading →

Of Shehnai and Love…

His earliest memories of a Shehnai and its sound were from a mandap -- a platform raised temporarily for marriages and around which couples vow togetherness, their families surrounding them in all the directions, rejoicing in these avowals. He was 7 years old then and was seated on his mother's lap, deaf to what the... Continue Reading →

Of a girl and a bird…

The girl. If one were to capture a panoramic view from where she stood and saw the birds go about in their daily chores, three-fourths of the captured image would be filled up with tall multi-storeyed buildings, full of people, working inside them. The remaining quarter would show something that now resembles a hill. Atop... Continue Reading →

Of Rain and Relief…

He disheveled everything she had neatly stacked up. He was running late for the office, yet again, and now searched for his ID card everywhere except where it actually was. He upended his backpack emptying all its contents atop the bed on her side. This sight filled inside of her with rage, more than the... Continue Reading →

Of Music and Road Trip…

Three urchins cladded in dust guarded the gates of the famous Rama Temple located atop one of the many hills that adorn the town of Ramanagara. Their clothes lacked any signs of lustre, convincing the seer that it had been long since they were last washed, or changed. The three of them bore a welcoming... Continue Reading →

Love on a dead branch…

He felt like a bird on a dead branch. Only that he didn't crave for all the view that this absence of foliage now offered him. He needed obstructions, something in his sight preventing him from seeing her, something like a dense foliage from another branch. A few persons perhaps. But sometimes, he is now... Continue Reading →

Reader’s block and Sudha Murthy…

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.

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