NO LOVE LOST REDUX
This one's difficult… I'm going to be telling on my friends. But don't worry; they're ok with sharing a bit of their lives if those bits could help you out with yours.
Can I kiss and tell?
Zahira was leaving. For good, as far as I could tell. But she wouldn't talk. Not to me, anyway. In fact, I felt she blamed me, or at least, blamed me too, for all the demons in her head that had ravished her peace of mind and joy for life.
Through a looking glass... or maybe not!
I have to confess, last week's column was not what you would call a 'planned' effort. Instead, it was a love-child born off a happy union between my memories and my musings.
An ark, at sea
"When the buying stops, the killing can too!" WildAid, an organisation committed to ending wildlife trade by reducing demand for wildlife products through awareness campaigns had come up with this slogan.
Fight the good fight II: The last battleground
Ram Bhil must have been in his fifties, of middle height and a slim wiry frame that must’ve known some strength in its youth, and a child-like smile that suggested a rather simple view of the world.
Fight the good fight
Tigers aren't on Facebook. It's a pity though, for then they would’ve known how much we care. After all, there’s a new ‘save the tiger’ campaign in town.
In defence of idols
I spent an entire childhood wishing I had been a Muslim and a pathan like my idol was, and wished I could bowl like him, bat like him, and above all, inspire pride, unite and lead like him.
Hard men play hard ball!
If you trust certain quarters, they would tell you that Russia owes its greatness not to Communism or the Kalashnikov but to an unassuming hunk of iron that now lay at my feet.
The way of the warrior...and the way to walk it
A few weeks ago watching television was a bit like being on Channel One during the Cold War. Every channel worth watching was showcasing some aspect of Russian ingenuity.
Malice in Wonderland
I was too young to remember how old I might have been, but remember that I was in love. Those deep round melancholy eyes, her soft chestnut tresses and the gentle touch of her fingers as I held her hand in mine will stay with me forever.
You’ve got to try this at home!
When I was a little boy, not too long ago, and the runt of the pack that roamed the playgrounds that dot this nice leafy corner of south Delhi I call home,
Into The Heart of Darkness and Light
The faithless faithful Keshab Giri is a pious man. Every evening, the bearded priest of Kultuli village would go to a banyan tree by the river and pray at its feet, light a clay lamp, then walk back to his hut by the paddy fields. This evening wasn’t supposed to be any different.
The Waif From Not Quite Xanadu
Not too far from Delhi, less than half a day’s drive away, there breathes a sleepy little town with a few secrets to share. It has been four years to the day since I last travelled to Shekhawati and stumbled upon its myriad charms. If you don’t have an attic to clean or a lunch to host this weekend, I recommend you to go and pay this sweet little town a visit. And just to help you make up your mind, here’s a story from the vault about...
Miracle on whatever street
The Dutch often claim that God lies in the details. Well, no one can accuse an Indian of looking for Him there so I’ll spare you the same, but honestly, if you’re ever in need of a dash of divinity, look up the details about the man in my story and go pay him a visit.
The Reacher and the Settler! Really?
Margaret and I go back a long way. In the early days we would spend hours trying to pigeon-hole her wise-cracking, horse-riding, ever-charming boy-friend into one of the categories in this book she would carry around with her. ‘What kind of a dog is your man?’
Issue Dated: Feb 5, 2017
