Howrah Express

A short memoir of childhood journeys in the Howrah Express from Ahmedabad to Calcutta.

To My Father

It has only been a year, I know, but it feels like twenty. It feels like you haven’t been around for a long, long time. I just know that I must, call those who will come, and celebrate. Laugh, talk, fuss over my guests, have a little cake, dance a bit, give thanks. (I know,…


Yun na mil mujh se khafa ho jaisay Saath chal, mauj-e-sabaa ho jaisay [Meet me not in anger, beloved, Walk with me, like the morning breeze walks with spring] Φ A Mehdi Hasan rendition of the famous, Ehsan Danish ghazal, playing from a vinyl record, whitewashed walls, indoor plants, a carved lamp-stand, with a shade to…

J’ai Oublié

‘J’ai oublié’ is a phrase I picked from an adorable movie called Hiroshima Mon Amour. Here, I’ve taken bits and pieces of insights about memory and its fickleness, that I’ve come across in films, in literature and in real life. Some credit goes to an elegant old lady of 82, Mrs. Banta Singh, who I met in Chandigarh once. She is the inspiration for this story.

Recipes With Leftover Love – 3

The last in the series of recipes with leftover love. The one about learning. The one about confronting your demons. Sometimes with chocolate, or bourbon.

Recipes With Leftover Love – 2

It’s the last of winters and the slightest breeze brings forth a shower of dry leaves from the trees lining the streets. Very soon, the amaltaas will vie for attention along with the gulmohur and the bougainvillea. Bursts of yellow, red, and shocks of dark mauve and white will inspire some poetry flaming with love,…