THOSE BLACK TRUNKS OF MEMORIES

Sukhdev Singh is milking a buffalo when I call him. We are speaking after a long gap. His voice carries the same cheerful energy I remember....

  This early on a North Indian winter morning, only the brave venture out. Or those who must. He starts from his village at 3 am, just as ...

Temperature dropped suddenly. Fog rushed in. All the buildings surrounding the office, despite all the fancy high voltage lights, disappeare...

It has never been about chimneys in this part of the world. So, I come and go using whatever means available; as long as it’s a quick stop (...

Autumn is here - in the garden where we walked, The rotating gates’ welcoming embrace, A painful, cruel, piercing squeak now.   Autu...

The girls place the lit candles on the marble floor of the Gurudwara. “We celebrate sixth guru’s release from Jahangir’s prison as Bandichor...

Another day of waiting at labour chowk. Another day without work. He spends the last coins in his pocket on poori-sabji at the corner cart b...