Of Scaffold and the first steps…

Ramesh balanced himself on the scaffold - a temporary arrangement of sticks and ropes built around the naked and ugly building that he was to paint and transform into a beautiful house. The same building that he and a few others like him had worked on persistently and had erected in over a year. And... Continue Reading →

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OF CLOCK, LAUGHTER AND LEGS…

He had moved out of the previous apartment when it had become impossible for him to touch anything in it without feeling her touch on his hand. And this, he came to learn, as is the case with most of the other things a man learns only with the passage of time, happened to a... 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.

Sister, Songs, and Phone Calls…

This piece is very close to my heart, just like all my sisters. It has been lying in the drafts for over two months, for no particular reason. What makes it special are not the nuances of the words used, but the nuances of the story which will come out differently to each one of us. To all the sisters - whose smiles keep us moving and makes life bearable.

Of School and Spitoon…

This story, amidst other things, centres on the hopelessness of the entire process of growing up, and all the disappointment it brings along. As a child, I had always wanted to rid myself of the ritual called examinations. I achieved it at a high price - my childhood.

Catharsis

Last few days taught many important lessons. One of which is to Love while the time is still ripe. This post is about gratitude.

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