My Articles 

There are places we visit and places we merely pass through. The distinction becomes apparent much later. I had passed through Santiniketan in 2010, on a motorcycle, during a long ride aimed at the mysterious and beautiful North East of India. I remember the journey more clearly than I remember Santiniketan itself. There was a certain restlessness to those days. I was young enough to believe that travelling meant moving from one place to another, collecting landscapes, roads,

Literature is full of characters who discover that being loved and being understood are not the same thing. Some spend their lives standing at the edge of their own family's narrative, present but unseen. They are spoken to but not listened to. Remembered, but not considered. Included in the language of belonging yet excluded from its practice. Perhaps that is why certain characters remain with us long after we close their books. Among them, Ivan Ilyich has always lingered

Last evening, while gazing upon the Hyderabad skyline from my window, I found myself momentarily arrested by the sight of a crescent moon suspended delicately above the city. It was one of those rare evenings when the heavens briefly forgive urban planning. The moon floated there with old world serenity while beneath it rose the contemporary ambitions of mankind in concrete, glass, and questionable architectural confidence. Cranes stood like mechanical giraffes. Apartment tow