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.
I come from a place too remote to be located on the map without considerably zooming into it. I then, under this predicament, proudly pronounce myself as being from Indore when an outsider asks me of my origins. It is something common to all the people from smaller tehsils, now districts, in Madhya Pradesh. Indore is our haven. Bengaluru is love. Bengaluru is a beauty. But this article is not about love, not about Bengaluru.
He hated only three kinds of people on the road. Top on the list were those who brought their vehicles back to lives when it was still 10 seconds before the red light would go off and made them rumble. This rumbling of their vehicles irked him. They would then begin to honk, forcing people... Continue Reading →
On Sundays, I usually drive down the roads like I used to when I first learned how to ride a bike - slowly, a bit skeptically, and with a smile on my face just like the one I used to have when I was first learning this trick. I call it a trick because it... Continue Reading →