I shall be leaving Bengaluru in a day or two, after having lived here during two distinct periods: first between September 2024 and July 2025, and then again during these recent months from March to May 2026. Between them, I have seen the city through almost all its seasons—under monsoon skies, amid flowering summers, in koel-filled mornings,Continue reading “Leaving Bengaluru”
Tag Archives: Nature
Bengaluru Is Changing Its Mood
Some weeks ago, after an evening shower briefly interrupted the tyranny of April heat, I had written a piece titled “Rain, Briefly!” The rain that evening had felt less like a seasonal turning and more like a passing gesture—welcome, restorative, but uncertain of itself. By the next morning, the roads had dried, the heat hadContinue reading “Bengaluru Is Changing Its Mood”
Rain, Briefly!
This evening, in Bengaluru, the rain arrived—not with the authority of the monsoon, nor with the drama of a seasonal shift, but with a certain hesitation. It was preceded, as such moments often are, by a gathering restlessness. The wind rose first—uneven, exploratory—moving through the trees with a sound that was neither whisper nor warning.Continue reading “Rain, Briefly!”
Bengaluru in April
I have come back to Bengaluru for a while—long enough, hopefully, to continue understanding something of its temperament. It is a city that both fascinates and unsettles me: in the feel and fragrance of its air, in the interplay of its sounds and silences, and above all, in the restless energy of its people. ToContinue reading “Bengaluru in April”
The Unseen Orchestra
After months away—across continents and climates, through the tempered quiet of New York/New Jersey and the restless, choking urgency of Delhi—my return to Bengaluru has been, above all else, a return to sound. Not the sound of traffic or human industry, though those are never far, but something older, gentler, and far more enduring—the quiet,Continue reading “The Unseen Orchestra”
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”
Between Falling Leaves and First Snow
Musings As the Year Closes Winter has arrived almost without notice. A few snow showers have already passed through, leaving behind a softened world and the promise of more to come. The brilliant colours and ensorcelling splendour of autumn have withdrawn without farewell. The golds and crimsons that once flared so confidently leave no trace.Continue reading “Between Falling Leaves and First Snow”
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”
Maple: The Flame of Autumn
Not to speak of maples when the world of trees is considered would be a serious omission. But not to speak of them in autumn would be nothing short of a sacrilege. There are trees that announce themselves with grandeur, others that shelter us in silence, and yet a few that live in memory because of a single,Continue reading “Maple: The Flame of Autumn”
When the Leaves Become Light
On the Colours of Fall and the Grace of Change “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” — Albert Camus November has come, and with it the final flourish of fall. The trees of Short Hills now stand at the summit of their splendour—each one aflame with hues that no artist couldContinue reading “When the Leaves Become Light”
scribo ad LX 