A life cannot be reduced to words, but we still do it because we are yet to find ways to keep our dear ones from dying. Memories penned down become something else altogether but we keep at it whether it is love, loyalty or a sense of legacy. Soon after I got the news I started on my motorcycle. Those who gave me the news as well as those who were privy to it when I got it – I was on a work call with colleagues from two different
“I am Nabira,” she said gesturing towards me to take a seat. Adjusting the flowy chiffon drape of her habesha kemis she sat down at the center of the ceremonial table. “I am your hostess for Bona Tetu, welcome.” Curt courtesies. One usually has to be invited to this highly personal Ethiopian tradition meaning ‘drink coffee’ but as somebody passing through, I had to make do with the only available option – a T20 take on a lengthy ceremony rife with symbolism. Once the ritual comes to an end, nobody
‘Dance? Did you say dance?’ Zorba asks Basil ecstatically as he removes his own coat and takes him through the first steps of sirtaki in what was later to be known as the legendary ‘Zorba dance.’ Shuffling a little, the cack-handed Basil picks up speed with the still-brimming peasant, kicking up dust on the deserted Cretan beach, forgetting misfortunes – past and those in store – and the roasted lamb they had sat down to eat. I might be pushing it when I say I was reminded of this iconic
Dearest Marykutty, I am in Goa and I think coming here was one of the best calls I made in life. The monsoons – and the unseasonal showers that followed – have drenched the place and I am not as itinerant as I would like to be. Grounded most days with an eidolon of warmth who loves me no end and feeds me whenever I am hungry, I don’t have to tell you that I am purring content. But I think of you every time I see something new; I
The artist couple arrived on the dot of nine as they promised they would. It didn’t matter that it was Diwali eve or that it was pouring or they were on a two-wheeler. The irritating plangent of the hotel room bell suddenly took on a dulcet charm as I imagined Mira to be pressing it. Her partner, the famous mural painter Tutti, always walked a step or two behind her languidly, his gaze shiftless over the sky and the sea but settling with fixation on her shapely buttocks. She walked
Those who turn up at airports in flip-flops are those who are on the verge of missing their flights or who just had a breakup. While the former frets and fumes, hollers and thrusts their mobile phones at the airline staff faces to prove it was the cabbie’s fault, their pleas falling on unmoving ears as the ticket has already been sold off to somebody else (I have both harangued to be let on a flight without success as well as waited patiently by the counter for anybody to be
Into the Rajaji forest reserve on the trail of a nocturnal jumbo frolicking around the neighbourhood filching whole fruiting tress for snacks. The ride Just as you give up on the far-reaching concreted tentacles of the big city you see hope in shades of green. And if you leave early enough some of it will be a simmering aureate – the summer sun in a hurry to sear, to leave the earth smouldering for a scanty rain. The route to Rishikesh, till you enter the state of Uttarakhand after Ramnagar,
The tunnel was leaking, then that’s how I think tunnels are supposed to be – with little ducts drilled through to act as pressure valves which in turn filters in the outside weather. They could be also the same ones through which the sun sends in vertical beams during daytime which falls on the tarmac like blinding little spotlights. The Chenani-Nashri tunnel bypasses the snow-bound upper reaches, cutting short the distance between Jammu and Srinagar. But going by what lay in store soon after the tunnel I knew those winding
The prettiest things right in front of our eyes often go unnoticed, sometimes literally too. At the tulip festival of Kashmir the milling crowd rarely took a second look at the nearly 20 lakh blooms spread over 30 hectares of lush acreage sweeping into the foothills of the Great Himalayan range. Instead, they busied themselves taking photographs of each other in insta-like poses and I was occupied watching them, marvelling at the brazenly doting couples in a normally conservative place. Newly-weds and lovers went to the farthest corners of the
The Jhelum flowed with nary a ripple; houseboats moored close to the banks remained unmoving. Except when passing beneath the Zero Bridge the water shimmered viridian in the mid noon sun. The rains had come and gone, thankfully without any deluge and destruction, and by April summer was peaking – the river wasn’t running very deep and one could see the green of the algae and other aquatic plants. I leaned over the ornamental balustrades of the recently restored, all-wood historical bridge, gotten used to by now to the reluctant
