The war that made R&AW – book-review
Back in the late sixties and early seventies, the way massive destruction caused by Cyclone Bhola, the trauma of a genocide, and the politically suicidal inactivity of Yahya Khan came together, the creation of Bangladesh should not have surprised anyone. Yes, the outright rejection of his six-point movement for East Pakistani autonomy and the declaration...
North Korea wins the ban-race
If anyone in the world needs cheer this Christmas, it is the North Korean citizen. They are spending their eleven days of complete black-out of any form of laughter and fun… it is not just laughing that is banned, but also celebrating birthdays, drinking, and even mourning their dead! Banning ‘leisure activities’ obviously includes the...
You are being cheeky, Mr. Minister
When Gulabrao Patil from Shiv Sena made it to the headlines for remarking that those who had ‘been MLAs for 30 years should come to my constituency and see the roads. If they are not like Hema Malini’s cheeks, then I will resign’ he was probably thinking of those millions of quotes that one comes...
Pride, Prejudice, and Punditry – a review
Seventy-five previously published articles, stories, poems, columns, and excerpts from his books (both fiction and non-fiction) with most having ‘been expanded or updated, or both’ are powerful enough to be more than just snippets of history of things that matter to Indians. Maybe even everyone else around the world. I call these pieces more than...
The endless search for a lock
Do I see or just think that I seeDo I know or just think that I knowThat the key with me will let me beTo let me in, be that wily crowMaking water in a bottle riseAnd crown me as the one who is wise? Do I hide this key so no one knowsAnd play...
Conversations with self
To even try and explain what remains indefinable to many or, at least, has all possible definitions and explanations safely cocooned on a distant shelf that is beyond the reach of many, needs not just writing skills but also an intuitive understanding of things. Attempting to investigate relationships and the struggle ‘to sculpt them to...
Monsters on the screen
Monsters on the screen I was in school when I watched my first horror film and I remember being afraid of darkness even months later. That was also the time when the name Ramsay stuck to my mind as a synonym for horror. This may appear strange but after that experience windows nearly always creaked...
Reading between the lines
That space between the linesRemains mute for mostLike a feast where nothing is served. Those who can, willSee a cache of blood-stained knivesAnd say: It is well-deserved. There can be barbed wiresGently palming and calmingDesperation that wants to escape. Or incomplete picturesOf nearly forgotten treksThrough the human landscape. That space between the linesSometimes needsA closer...
This happens everyday
I pick-up newspapers and collar them inSkip what they call news or even viewsTo chart slogans and captions that winAttentions of many to cart-off their blues!Once this is done, it is time for funTo see how atmanirbhar we are nowOr the ways devised for real poribortanAnd everything else from Nifty to Dow.This happens each day...
Being an angel is risky business
Dancing angels aren’t always angelicWhat they do can be idylls that are sickEven Satan can writeOr paint with insight…Agree or he may come to prod you with a stick! True, said the angels, and then go in a huddleAnd dance on their heads until in a muddleOf wayward thoughtsOf dashes and dots.Their emojis, for us,...
Haruki Murakami waited for angels to dance on his head
Knock! Knock! And he slowly shuffled to the doorAnd through the glass pane at the top, sawSomeone with an evil grin, and said: Sure,But I’m also unsure and by my own lawWill not allow you in. As this guy went out for a run, he heardAnother knock and they came one after the otherSometimes trampling...
The old man on a bench in a village near Kangra
A few houses with slate-tiled roofsAnd a deserted chai-kiosk some distance awayWe stopped before a fork in the roadWhere an old man sat on a benchLooking up through a tree, it seemed. Delhi to Palampur is a long driveThrough the conflict of busy thoughtsThat dash, zoom, dip, and diveAnd are forever connecting dots. I shut...
