I read the wonderful Bangalore Blue last month by Steven Carvalho. I was so delighted by the nostalgia it evoked that I have been recommending this to anyone I know who loves Bangalore. First, it was my sister. And then, I gave it to my Dad. My father doesn’t read anything apart from a newspaper.
Many years ago, on this day, I came home from school to find a crowd in front of my house. As I got out of my friend’s Ambassador car, my stomach churned. Surely, this gathering could not be a friendly family get-together. It wasn’t. As I was about to open the gate, my sister’s sister-in-law
Last evening, it rained heavily in Bangalore. The rain cast sweeping hues of melancholy on my car’s windshield until I stopped and got out of the car, embracing its sweep. Melancholy can serve a twin purpose – it can push you to the darkest corners of your soul, or it can also sweep the darkest
I have traveled to many places over the years with my closest traveling companion, Birdy. Together, we have fought, smiled, laughed our way through narrow streets, wide highways, soaring passes, and plunging crevasses. On each and every journey, I would also have a third companion: Birdy’s camera. Her first camera was called Bozo. I don’t