• Musings

    Once bitten, twice shy

    My mother was being posted for her knee replacement surgery. Her anesthetists had proclaimed her fit for surgery. But I put my foot down. Her urine culture reports showed growth of some organisms. And I was worried…

  • Poems

    Slaves

    Beneath the grandeur Of the Taj Mahal Lie buried The chopped thumbs Of artisans— Unsung and forgotten. These modern day emperors Build empires Trampling over the Bones, sweat and tears Of their new found slaves. The story…

  • Poems

    The frailties of being human

    Feel ashamed- Because your heart beats in sync with another But wait, Feel ashamed, also Because you can’t identify with the thoughts of some other! The clucks of disapproval Grow loud enough to Deafen your hearing. The…

  • Festivals,  Heritage

    Fading traditions

    There are things you take for granted. And before you realize it, people are gone and there is no one else to carry forward the tradition. Durga Pooja was always celebrated with traditional fervour at home. My…

  • Musings

    The deafening silences

    The rattling noise of skeletons tumbling out of India’s cupboards keeps me awake all night. For the fourth night in a row. The roar of India’s #metoo revolution rages on in the media. The high and mighty…

  • Silver linings

    A different way with words

    I was scrolling down messages on social media one evening when something caught my eye. Snuggled between brainless forwarded posts and silly memes was a line which said “I am dyslexic.” Strangely it went unnoticed and no…

  • Musings

    Melting identities

    I am supervising my nephew as he fills up the boxes on his Maharashtra State Board examination form. As we reach question 11, my jaw drops. It asks: Minority Religion:  0 – Non-minority, 1- Muslim, 2-Christian, 3-Buddhist,…

  • Musings

    Whose Gandhi is it anyway?

    Once a year, the sleepy village of Sevagram shudders into wakefulness. On 2nd October. Gandhi Jayanti. When hundreds of politicians and their minions extract their white kurta-pyjamas from their cupboards, shake the dust off their Gandhi topis…

  • Poems

    Friction

    I stand at the edge of the ocean And watch the mighty waves Lash against the rocky shore. Their music fills my soul. Friction. Between the waves and the rocks Churns out the rhythm of the sea.…