Pinku-Enchanted Life

Mohan Lal, was one name that never failed to raise fear in Sujata’s heart. He was talking loudly, in that all-important voice he used whenever he was speaking on his newly acquired second hand mobile phone. He was walking towards where she stood, any moment he would be upon her, she looked around frantically and ducked behind the open kitchen door to escape notice. As she squinted through the small gap between the roughly hewn boards of the door he walked into the courtyard, not finding anyone looked around with a frown and then roughly shook the charpoy on which the old woman was sleeping. ‘Where is Sujata?’ he asked as she tried to understand what had happened. She finally realised and cursed him roundly refusing to answer his question. He wasn’t to be dissuaded and kept repeating his question, his voice rising threateningly each time. Finally the old woman gave up and turning her back to him grunted, ‘if you can’t handle your woman and she runs loose am I to blame? Don’t k

Sujata stood with one feet in the air and hesitated, where she placed it would change the fabric of her life forever. As she stood in front of her ancestral home and looked up at the fading, peeling paints of the first floor window, childhood memories of calling out to the balloon wala and friends came flooding back. Where and how did those days go? But it would not do to reminisce about the past, a decision had to be taken and taken now. She must once and for all decide whether she could endure the drudgery of her obscure life or would she stand up and have herself counted amongst those who fought to make something out of their lives. The anxiety of having to decide had brought on a fine line of perspiration on her forehead and she absent-mindedly wiped at it with the end of her sari. Her long hair held by a hastily put clip was loose and she plucked at it as she weighed the oft-weighed options in her mind yet again. What could she do? She had saved up some money from her mea

What do you write about a food joint which can easily claim the crown for Delhi’s most written about food joint? A place frequented by anyone and everyone who calls himself a foodie atleast once.  A place that boasts of holding on to the recipes of the Mughals long after they have vacated the throne of Delhi. Well I guess the only thing to write about such a place is your own thoughts and experiences and memories since the fact that the food would be good is a given. Karim’s opened in Dwarka some months ago and I believe they opened without much fanfare and started operations from a small outlet on the first floor of a cluttered market. I had no idea about its existence at almost my doorstep till one day I drove past this market and spotted the signage. A close look to ascertain that it’s the real thing, for quite a few fakes also abound and I was jumping in glee. A Karims right in the center of Dwarka seemed too good to be true. My first quick expedition was with a friend and after a

Delhi and almost the whole TV watching, Facebooking nation is in the throes of a debate around the Aam Aadmi Party. Whether for or against it doesn't matter. Atleast for a change cricket, Bollywood and the neighbour's daughter/son has been forgotten as we congregate to discuss the latest news on Kejriwal, Bharti and Birla.  In the given atmosphere the fact is that I am again and again getting over excited and asking people questions they feel are silly, too bookish and not in tune with the day or time at all. All this made me do a self analysis and figure out why I couldnt think like the majority of my country men and be able to ignore the crass, illegal behaviour and manners of the self styled leaders of the 'common man'. I finally arrived at the conclusion that I AM NOT A COMMON MAN. let me tell you how: 1) I dont try to save on taxes and am quite proud of my ability to pay a certain amount of tax as I feel it will somewhere help my country progres

My love for all things wintry is well known. And honestly tell me what is there not to love? The oranges and groundnuts in the sun, steaming hot sarson saag with makki di roti, kebabs, biryiani and niharis. Lots of weddings, bonhomie and warm gajar and moong halwas not to mention delicious hot gulab jamuns.And in my case my beloved nolen gurer rassogulla. Its perfect. Another ultimate winter delight is the stuffed parathas and kachoris. So from gobhi (cauliflower/cabbage), mooli (radish), gajar (carrot), aloo (potato) to the yummiest of the lot - matar (peas) I love them all. And what makes an ordinary winter morning not so ordinary anymore is the smell of fresh matar kachori or kochuri as we bongs call it being fried. The yummylicious smell of frying maida and the tinge of hing in it is what heaven is made of. Today was one such day - Mom made us hot matar kochuri for breakfast and since this is something u want to eat as soon as its been taken off the kadhai - we actually sat down to

Winters do something to me. While others get swaddled in layers upon layers of woolens I cherish the cold and welcome it. It makes all my dormant desires come alive. I want to experience new things, touch forbidden territories and create new road maps where none existed. It also makes me impatient. It makes me strain against all that binds me. I find it difficult to keep my head down and slog on as I usually do. The need to step off the highway of life and smell the flowers, turn the leaves becomes very strong. So strong in fact that at times it scares me. Winters are when I want to travel, explore and be curious. Winters are when I want to discard the old and try on the new. It’s as if my soul flirts with everything, unwilling to bind itself, unwilling to settle down. Narcissus, my favorite flowers are ones that can be seen at Delhi florists for a very short while during winters and their ephemeral fragrance haunts me. My biggest joy is to spot a bunch of thes

Partying till midnight on a Sunday is bad news for Monday. Especially when the Monday has back to back meetings planned. More so when the said Monday also happens to be your sixth anniversary. Waking up with a hangover and groaning out of bed, we went about getting chores done, the fact that the day is also our anniversary and should be special nagging at the back of our minds.Managed to get through the long day somehow and finally at 9 in the evening we ventured out to have dinner and thus mark the passage of this landmark in our relationship.  ITC's WelcomHotel happens to be really close to our place so we thought of checking out what eats it has to offer. By the time its your sixth anniversary the idea of doing something special gets heavily tinged with the idea of 'Special within comfort zone'. The property was earlier a Lebua hotel that was taken over by ITC. Walking in we found the hotel getting ready for Christmas celebrations and that is something which always cheer