In Vacant or in Pensive Mood

From my window, I saw the world outside tilt. As I held on to keep my balance, I saw the runway disappear. Within seconds, looking outside my window seemed like looking into a treasure chest; city lights turning into gold necklaces, silver bangles and ruby studs, glistening against the velvety darkness of the night. Photo by my husband, Arpit Haldar A few more minutes and the plane was surrounded by a mystic abyss. We navigated through the smokey clouds in jerky motion, not knowing where we were headed but simply trusting the pilot - a man we had never met. Then, suddenly, some light! It seemed like we had reached the end of a dark tunnel. Apparently, we were just passing by the moon's nightly abode. I looked through my window and saw the grandeur  of the moon as she sat on her throne, flanked by glorious clouds. It was a full moon night and the stunning play of moonbeams and shadows left me gazing in awe. I had known the moon that raced by my side as I sat behind my

TN 11 AD 0*1*. It's been almost a month since the incident. The memory is fading, but I still find myself discreetly scanning number plates during my 22-km ride to work and back every day. I'm not afraid of bumping into him anymore, I just don't want to be taken by surprise if he should appear again. The occasional starer is someone I deal with easily - a death glare and a "what's your problem?" does it. The passerby with the passing comment is exactly that. I don't even give half a ear to it. The fellow motorist with the lewd singing lasts but a brief moment; a slight move of the wrist, a little acceleration on my two-wheeler, and he's left behind eating the dust I raised. Then what made Mr. TN 11 AD 0*1* so different? It was his persistence. I don't know when it really began. I was in an exceptionally good mood that day. It had just rained about an hour ago, the first rain in a long time! The Pluviophile in me was admiring the beauty of

Set in the 1600s and revolving around the life of a newly-married couple, this book fits aptly into the genre of "Historical Romance". However, the authors do not limit the story to just that, but have added in delightful elements of suspense, drama, action, feminism, and even a pinch of horror! There are highway robberies, betrayals, disguises, deaths, lovemaking and treasure chests in the same story - so you can guess the expansiveness of the plot. The narrative is always in third person, but the perspective switches consistently between that of the two protagonists, the husband and the wife. The reader, most often, is aware of details that the spouses have not shared with one another, and this gives way for some nail-biting, palm-itching impatience. Trapped in the body of one, despite knowing the mind of the other, powerless to do anything but to be lead by the story-teller; there is definitely some delight in being such a reader. The book strikes a beautiful

She would be sitting outside the shelter home building, under the only tree that dared to brave the sun glaring down on the old school courtyard. As soon as I push the large, rusty gate open, I would find her fix her gaze on me, and wait patiently as I made my way across the courtyard to where she sat. I would smile, and sync my lips to a muted, “ Saaptingala” and gesture with one hand towards my mouth, as she would grab my other hand and literally drag me into the building. Once inside the empty dormitory room, lined only with the meagre belongings of about twenty old destitute women, she would spread a mat on the floor and seat me down on it. We had a unique connection, this old lady (Ammayamma) and I. She would move her toothless mouth in a multitude of directions, not knowing what sounds emerged from it as she tried to communicate with me. I would attempt to understand what she said, and occasionally needed some help from her roommates. She would be telling me about meeting h