“You can think clearly only with your clothes on.” ~Margaret Atwood Somewhere down the evolutionary hill, or up the vertigo inducing precipice if you rather have that, we lost the ability of thinking clearly in our birthday panoply. The moments…
Category: Such is Life
Unnameable Things
Hailing from a childhood both untainted and unenlightened by television, I have fond memories of the whole bunch of siblings huddled up in the box room that our parents had converted into a common study, which also served as a…
A Hunger Game of Books
I have taken a vow of abstinence from the book market, which since the advent of blogging has begun resembling a fish market where everyone is hollering to sell his dreams and nightmares alike. The social media is bursting at…
Reading The Forgotten Waltz
The Saturday is melting away like an ice lolly in afternoon. Swift bursts of rain have given a washed look to mould-ridden walls and rooftops. Even the mounds of garbage look clean. It is a noisy old suburban rail coach,…
A Glass of Ice Water
‘It's like giving a glass of ice water to somebody in hell.’ ~Steve Jobs, about iTunes on Windows computers. Perhaps you missed me in my period of quiet, or shall I say disquiet? Allow me to explain, though I may…
Shakespeare’s Email
'The evening is still, the birds silent, the wind dead like a tramp, flopped on a footpath. The sky is dressed in dust and dusk.' (From my short story: End of Dusk) I look at my face in the mirror…
Diamonds in the Detritus
I remember how in my childhood time was like a river of molasses where I’d twiddle my thumbs like a noonday fly waiting for my father to return with the promised goodies. Waiting for the monthly issues of comics was…
Writing is So Long
As a student of Logic in my younger years, the first two examples of absolutely positive and negative statements I stumbled upon were, (1) Man is mortal. (2) No man is perfect. So utterly true are these sentences and so…
Exit Motherboard
One fine afternoon a fortnight ago my desktop Titan slipped into a deep sleep, ignoring all attempts to power it on. Having mulled over the lull, the wilting grey lump in my balding skull concluded a malfunction in the circuitry…
Beyond I, Robot
It was in the early Nineties that I started reading Isaac Asimov. Goaded by lingering childhood urges, I picked up I, Robot, a collection of stories about evolution of robotics, sometimes supervised by Dr Susan Calvin, a phenomenal Robopsychologist, never…
Fungus on the Filter
The opposite of time is memories. Memories, a span with no beginning, no end, no periods, only nebulous swaths of consciousness. Memories don’t tumble terminally like the sand in an hourglass. Or tick away with the finality of the arms…
Dear Father of the Nation
“Leave India in God’s hands, in modern parlance, to anarchy; and that anarchy may lead to internecine warfare for a time, or to unrestricted dacoities. From these a true India will arise in place of the false one we see.”…
One Grain Amongst the Storm 