Airports are curious theatres of waiting. They are not quite places yet not entirely passages either—thresholds where the world pauses briefly before moving on. When I was in Helsinki, stopping over for a few hours on my way from New York to Delhi, that sense of suspension was heightened by the snow. It fell incessantly,Continue reading “Between Flights, Between Glasses”
Tag Archives: fiction
By The Window, After Snow
The universe outside my window has been gentled into whiteness. Snow lies everywhere—on roofs, on branches, on the grass now indistinguishable from sky’s reflection—softening edges, quietening intention. In such weather, it seems almost instinctive to remain indoors, to honour warmth as one honours safety. Why would anyone willingly step out into this hushed severity unlessContinue reading “By The Window, After Snow”
Snow, Shovel, A Small Boy
I watched from the window as my nine-year-old grandson, Parth, stepped out into the freshly fallen snow, shovel in hand, as though answering a quiet summons. The driveway lay thick and white, unblemished, still wearing the hush of night. He was alone, valiantly so—scooping, lifting, pushing—his small boots sinking into the softness, his breath foggingContinue reading “Snow, Shovel, A Small Boy”
A Brief Tryst with Snow
I stepped out for a late afternoon walk on the roads of Short Hills, just after the land had been laid under a six-inch white carpet of snow. Overnight, the world had been quietly rewritten. Familiar streets, hedges, mailboxes, roofs, and lawns had surrendered their individual identities and merged into a single, dazzling expanse ofContinue reading “A Brief Tryst with Snow”
If Tea Had Stayed Home – III
The Shadows of Empire The story of tea is never only about leaves. It is also about ships, guns, monopolies, and empires. When tea sailed westward, it was not borne merely in porcelain jars but in the vaults of power. What began as a delicate infusion in the hills of Yunnan and Fujian soon becameContinue reading “If Tea Had Stayed Home – III”
The Oak-A Tree of Time, Myth, and Memory – Part V
Oaks in Thought, Word, and Image: Literature, Art, and Human Creativity “Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,Sermons in stones, and good in everything.” -Shakespeare (As You Like It, Act II, Scene I) John Constable, The Cornfield (1826), National Gallery, London. If in myth the oak stood as a sacred emblem, and in ecologyContinue reading “The Oak-A Tree of Time, Myth, and Memory – Part V”
Oak and Spirit: The Silent Alchemy
(The oak–liquor relationship finds expression in the cadence and emotional charge of this poem. Its imagery, symbolism, and metaphorical resonance seeks a distillation that is both timeless and transcendental) Long before lips knew the taste,oak and liquor found each other.It was not a meeting of moment,but of destiny—two strangers who spoke the same ancient tongue.The oakContinue reading “Oak and Spirit: The Silent Alchemy”
The Oak: A Tree of Time, Myth, and Memory: Part II
Antiquity and Evolution –From Fossil Records to Timekeeper of Forests “Oaks are not merely trees. They are hieroglyphs of time, their rings a silent language spoken in centuries.” A Tree Older Than Memory The oak is not only ancient—it is ancestral. Its story begins not in the pages of human myth or literature, but deep inContinue reading “The Oak: A Tree of Time, Myth, and Memory: Part II”
Brahma Kamal: The Flower That Blooms in Silence
“Some flowers bloom where silence dwells,In night’s soft breath, their secret swells.” A Chance Encounter It was not an evening meant for miracles. The day had folded into dusk without flourish—no omens, no signs. I stepped out into the softened hush, led only by the hand of a cooling breeze. And there it was. BeneathContinue reading “Brahma Kamal: The Flower That Blooms in Silence”
A Son’s Prayer: Remembering Ma
“God could not be everywhere, and therefore he made mothers.”— Rudyard Kipling On the 17th of April, it will be eleven years since my mother left this world. And yet, not a day passes without her presence echoing within me—sometimes as a soft memory, sometimes as a sharp ache. To attempt to capture her essenceContinue reading “A Son’s Prayer: Remembering Ma”
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