Tripping across the imagined barrier, from director calling the shots, to actor and audience. A truism yes, but one of the most alluring aspects about mortality should be the enthusiasm with which we take on new things. I never say no to anything extraordinary that comes my way; heck, I even go out of the way to grab something – or someone – if rare and unusual. It is up to us whether to live out our lives siloed derps, or live up, a sensory rigadoon. When the opportunity came
I prayed and offered my soul to God. Then I took Susan’s hand and held it tight. She was crying. I told her it was good that we are together – if we are to die, we will die in each other’s arms. Of course, not that it stopped her from crying. Bob On my part, I was going over the photographs I took taking off from Dubai and imagining the best possible ways to crash land – and hoping the pilot share my plan. I almost always do, take
Vincent came running. “I was in that house cleaning their swimming pool,” he said pointing and with a broad smile I had gotten used to in Africa by now. “The rain and the wind had mucked it up,” he added, swole in damp clothes and wiping off drizzle from his face. The woollen cap was left on. This was my third visit to the Namibian capital, Windhoek, and I had passed through the ‘art island’ – as I referred to the area in the carrefour near a parking lot where
The setting Swakopmund would be a ‘living movie set’ kind of township if there was one. Bright timber gables, solid color tapering steeples, pastel-hued facades, stark lintels and turrets, pavements tessellated into patterns, neatly trimmed median gardens, shiny classic vehicles, all make you feel like that. The people here, as sparse as they come, could be extras whiling away between shots – the bonhomie is not exactly contagious but there is an appealing cordiality. A natural familiarity. Millpond miens till the call for ‘action’. By day three you are familiar
The devoir of a good son is to break the news of surviving a near-fatal miss to his mother softly. Fortune is on his side as it is dusk preventing her from seeing the numerous bandages stuck to his limbs and jaw, torn jeans flapping and a second chin from stitching together the long cut that neatly cleaved the existing one into two. “Mom, I couldn’t finish my trip.” “What happened?” “My motorcycle got jammed.” “Oh, some engine trouble?” “Yeah, kind of.” Revelation gets progressively tough as my jammed motorcycle
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
