I turn to you like I would turn to a drug. Except I don’t do drugs. But wait, I believe compulsively soaking in the morning sunshine and sinking my nose deep into shiuli flowers also count as drugs, minus the grave bodily damage – ta da! But, I digress.
So I turn to you like I would turn to a drug. You lighten the darkest of my afternoons, when all I can see from my silly, corner desk at work is a sombre sky. I have such a love affair with you that it seems sad beyond the grave that you will be gone in a month or two. Relegated to cold storage, ignored, graying and dehydrating. Continue reading
I wait for the weekend the entire week, counting the remaining days on my fingers till I can squeal in delight over how there’s no alarm clock the next morning. When I leave for work every day, my balcony is already flooded with tremendously inviting sunshine – the kind that makes me reconsider the point of leaving the house. When the weekend arrives, I tell myself, I will lap up as much sunshine as I can, sitting out in a green-field with a picnic basket and a book. Continue reading
Mahabaleshwar, a hill station near Pune [www.tourindia365.com]
It actually is cold in Pune. I mean, my-fingers-are-numb kind of cold. After years of arguing with R about how Pune can never compete with Delhi in the winter department, it does seem like this quaint old city is up to the competition. No, I am not complaining. In fact, I am delighted. Continue reading
There are days when all I want to do is immerse myself in memories. Everything about such days triggers off a remembrance, right from the morning sun rising slowly up the horizon, to the baby pigeon and his mom sleeping peacefully in a box-bed in my balcony. There was a time when Mom and I snuggled up like that on winter mornings in Delhi, letting the house-cats raise a pandemonium and the vegetable-sellers shout their hearts out before venturing to really get started with the day. Continue reading
This morning, when I boarded the office transport, I settled down in my seat quickly. I plugged in my earphones and let music fill my mind, my eyes shut to the world outside. There is a very strong reason I cannot keep my eyes open for certain stretches of the road to office. Continue reading
*Picture from agfarson.wordpress.com
It’s raining in Pune. The night is still young but the skies look set for an all-nighter. The street lamps are glowing like fairy lights; they twinkle with every falling raindrop. The stars are all under cover but you can figure they are there somewhere, enjoying the sudden shower. The stars love anything that brings shine to the world – and takes the dust off leaves, pebbles and balcony railings. Continue reading
I first read about Halloween in a story-book I got for my fourteenth birthday. It piqued my interest – you know, all those goodies and chocolates people have ready for you, the fun costumes you get to dress up in, and the glowing jack-o’-lantern at your doorstep. I especially loved the lantern because it gleamed so. (Erm, actually, it was the best possible use I could think for a vegetable I detest.)
Outside Shiv Mandir in Chittaranjan Park, New Delhi
I travel to Delhi tomorrow. After almost eight months of living away from the madness. And while I can’t claim Pune has been particularly sane, I have been away from the morning Metro rush, the honking cars outside my house, and the slight chill in the air that starts coming in this time of the year. But madness, really? This evening, randomly, I realize I have actually missed it all!
[Thriller | No. of pages: 325 | Price: 200 INR /-]
These are murderous times. Criminals run amok after killing hordes of people, often without the strong “vengeance” so advertised by 80’s Hindi cinema. Music is murdered every day; civil rights are murdered every minute. Little wonder then, that murder mysteries continue to fascinate readers across ages. What is a good murder mystery? One that comprises a strong plot, well etched-out characters, and a satisfying resolution. Uday Satpathy, in his debut novel with West Land Publishers and Bloody Good Book, makes a genuine attempt at a fast-paced, intriguing thriller. His frequent obsession with “brutality” and its manifestation, however, becomes his undoing.
Durga Puja in C.R. Park, Delhi
The sunlight is different. More golden, less yellow. It touches you differently – more softly. When this happens, Mom says Pujo is approaching. That glorious time of the year when my Bengali neighbourhood looks lovelier than ever and the air is delicious with luchi, aloo dum and khichudi. I feel it in me today, even away in Pune. Durga Puja is not too far.