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.…
Anand Niketan: A school which prepares you for life
Schooling in India often strips students of the joy of learning. Children are pushed to be hyper-competitive. In a world where each school competes to market itself as the next assembly-line producer of academic toppers, I discovered a…
Manmarziyaan: The evolving notion of love
Anurag Kashyap’s new release Manmarziyaan explores love in the age of evolving social mores and morality. The first voice in the film sings: Kaala na safed hai, Ishq da rang yaara, Grey wala shade. And this sets the…
Of confused principles and principals
It was the winter of 1990. I had just appeared for my first MBBS exams and the results were awaited. I reached home to find that my father was about to leave for Delhi for the next…
Just another woman with a backache
She landed up at my table in the Cytopathology OPD where I was posted as a junior resident that day. She looked extremely fatigued, probably having been shunted from one OPD to another. I told her to…
My dosa disasters
My mother and I shared a love-hate relationship. I always felt that she favoured my brothers, and I came second to her sons. This was something I never stopped fighting about. And my most vehement argument towards…
My soft hands
Around me there is a frenzy of women getting dressed in glittery paraphernalia. The chatter is amusing and boisterous. We are all excited about yet another pre-wedding ritual. I reach out for my glass bangles. Red. To…
Pulling those strings
The year was 2008. It was a cold winter in the heart of London. I was spending a lonely weekend in my hostel room. When suddenly the contents of an email warmed the cockles of my heart.…
These walls will melt
“I would prefer to share the apartment with a woman— preferably an Indian or a Pakistani,” I wrote. I was sending an email to the Netherlands to request student accommodation. I was going to spend three weeks that summer at…
Thinking-vinking in another language
The year was 1975. St Joseph’s Convent, Bangalore. It was lunch time in the nursery school where I studied. I was all of four years old. Each teacher sat on the grass in the school lawns in…
