• 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.…

  • Musings

    Clarity and the big chair

    I’m reminded of a story I read somewhere. A traveller met a man who was chiselling stone blocks. He looked very sad. When asked what he was doing, the man said, “I have been told to carve…

  • Musings

    The colour of skin

    We were sitting under the stars, on a pile of cool sand. We’d just had dinner together in the hostel mess. But we had skipped our usual post-dinner walk.  Although there was lots to talk about, we…

  • Musings

    Pause. Rewind. Play.

    It is way past midnight. I should have been asleep hours ago. But the mind is turbulent. I can almost hear the whirring and creaking inside my head. After two hours of tossing and turning in bed,…

  • Musings

    Come September

    I exit the gates of the building and walk to my scooter in the gentle drizzle. The two-wheeler parking lot has been so thoughtfully shifted to the middle of nowhere by the college authorities. There is no…

  • Musings

    Nostalgia and the Indian Coffee House

    One of my most endearing memories of Government Medical College (GMC) Nagpur is that of the Indian Coffee House. Bustling with energy, the fresh fragrance of South Indian coffee and the annas clad in their white uniforms still lingers on in my memories.…