There’s more to stubble than you really know
‘Haven’t you forgotten to add an article before stubble in the title?’ asked Specky when she read what I was writing. I paused and replied, ‘No. And that is because I’m not writing about A STUBBLE. I’m writing about stubble, the word.’ ‘So that means a stubble isn’t always the sort of despicable out-growth...
Part and parcel
‘The parcel,’ I said, pointing to the opened packet on my study table, ‘has just delivered a part of me.’ My friend Anoop was aghast. He thought he had just heard words that were macabre and waited with eyes open for the rest of the gory details. He, however, did hesitatingly ask, ‘Hope you aren’t...
Twenty-four years later
We met after twenty-four years. In a restaurant. A well-lighted one where they are discrete and interactive without making you feel you’re being stalked. She looked around and saw the paintings on the walls. ‘Nice paintings,’ she murmured. ‘Yes ma’am,’ said the waiter emerging out of nowhere, ‘the entire décor is inspired by the Southern...
We-can-we-will
My stubble, it’s mine How can I hate that smelly stubble? The unshaven bard sang his song merrily and people clapped. He stroked his trademark prickly stubble and after finishing his song, said, ‘Three cheers for the all-male how-can-I club.’ The next performance was by the all-women why-must-I club and they believed in only protest...
