“Who goes to the hills, goes to his mother….” – Rudyard Kipling They once lived in a mountain their...
As the scooty entered the meandering road of Mussoorie, the familiar scent of vegetation awakened in me, many memories...
It happened during winter. My memory struggles, as to what the year was. Rang De Basanti was playing in...
A sprawling Oak An ode to visibility Distinct from distance Despite trees, giant, surround it Its roots spread around the trunk Like...
“Hey, silver guy!” Sitting at my desk, pretending doing something, I was startled. The department chair stood before me....
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