Bengaluru After Rain. Bengaluru after rain and two days of sunlight is a different city altogether. The trees look as though they have taken a bath and dressed for a festival. The old trunks stand darker and prouder. The bushes look freshly combed. The greens become greener than what memory allows them to be. And …
The Smell of Paper and Time. After many years, life forced me to travel far away again. The city moved past the bus window in its usual hurry until suddenly I saw them. Book stalls. Books on carts. Old books. New books. And for a moment, time folded. I was no longer travelling through the …
The Secret Life of Readers and Writers There is a thing about readers and writers. Life rarely arrives as literature. It arrives as traffic signals, blue ticks, leaking geysers, grocery bags, cups of coffee, and people hurrying through ordinary evenings. And then, without permission, something small brushes against imagination and sends ripples through still water. …
The Sound That Walks on Moonlight Night draped the city in silver. Streets thinned to whispers, and roofs gleamed as if a pale moon had washed them clean. Somewhere beyond the crowded skyline, a voice began to rise. Not loud. Not hurried. A thread of melody that slipped past concrete and glass, gliding over balconies …