There is this quintessential image of a writer trying to write at his desk but unable to. A pile of crumpled paper that he keeps throwing into the bin, every now and then, when his writing frustrates him. In today’s digital world, there is no such visible pile. But in my experience, there’s still a … Read more
Swami was fidgeting even before we entered the terminal. The line to get inside stretched across the lobby, people shifting from one foot to another, waiting for security to let them in. “This is ridiculous!” Swami muttered, pulling out his phone to check the time. “Half my day will go standing here. I should have … Read more
There’s a small barber shop near the corner of my street. In fact, a few have popped up over the past couple of years. They had mostly shut down after COVID, and even I had got into the habit of calling for a haircut at home. But, of late, I started revisiting the new ones, … Read more
When I entered the café a bit late last week, I saw Swami was staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe. I peeped in and raised my eyebrows towards Jigneshbhai wondering what the tension was about. One missed call. From an unknown number. “Jigneshbhai!” Swami said, panic in his voice. … Read more
When I feel as if I am under-appreciated and under-read or I am pining for whatever external validation I might be seeking today for the work that I do as a writer, I think of the Voyager. It was a NASA mission whose explicit objective was to photograph objects in the outer solar system. And … Read more
Swami looked restless even before we sat down at the café. His phone screen was glowing with multiple tabs open. I recognized the familiar pattern — Swami was in the middle of a health scare. “Jigneshbhai!” he said in a hushed, urgent voice. “Last night I had this dull ache in my shoulder. I googled … Read more
“Tribhuvansinhji Bapu, my husband’s great grandfather was no ordinary man. During his time, the Raja of Domli got a 9-gun salute from the British wherever he went. Domli was no insignificant state, we had our own Coat of Arms,” she told Nikhil when he called her that morning. Despite his travels over the past so … Read more
When we met last weekend, Swami was staring at his phone as if it had just been delivered the end of the world. His coffee sat untouched, growing colder by the second, while Jigneshbhai and I enjoyed our slow sip. “Friends,” he said, his voice trembling, “I think I am ruined!” Jigneshbhai, sitting across from … Read more
Ping. Ping. Ping-ping-ping. The phone wouldn’t stop buzzing that morning. I glanced at the screen. It was our apartment WhatsApp group — the one meant for “important updates only.” The thing about the Keshav Kunj WhatsApp group is this: it always starts with good intentions. Someone shares a helpful reminder, like “Garbage pickup time has … Read more