could you not please strip down to your vest your psychedelic shorts we would not mind if you rocked the look but as things stand you are miles away from rocking anything could you not please stroll around bottle in hand your swagger just naked and bare your bravado a delusion just plain hot air…

a concrete road cleaving a field getting nowhere faster

a humble vessel it was tethered to the shore witnessing many a tide roll in and out and the sun and the moon playing tag on hot days it would take us mid-river where it would await our exhausted limbs clambering in for a breather before shepherding us back it…

its not huge our courtyard but it sure seemed so when it served as our nursery for all manner of games the tulsi serving as the starting…

memories lie scattered across my courtyard like many flowers early morning some taken in find place at the feet of the lord or in the goddesses hair while some wither away on the ground the courtyard looks beautiful as long as they are there before finding redemption in the red earth

we started with regular bench seat Kadamba bus, then semi luxury where the seat would recline just a tad — then the luxury where the seats would go way back. very few trips by train as we had to run across to the other line at Miraj — train trips…

It all started around a table at greens, back in feb 2010. We decided to close the year as fast as we could and head for a rendezvous in goa. Vaidyanu got the ticketing done almost immediately which was good. that sealed it. Nakita was to be our home once…

three thoughts hit me almost immediately upon eating the first morsel of prawn curry rice - 1. this is exactly how ‘hortes aunty’ use to make this 2. i wish mandali and dadh were here — they would have freaked out 3. why the hell have i never come here…

Jobs had famously described the crazy ones as “the ones who see things differently”. This series is in honor of a few such crazy people that I have met. At the top of the heap has to be my uncle (Mausa) Dayanand Sanvordekar. Came to Mumbai from Goa, worked his…

I had written about my uncle, Dayanand Sanvordekar, a few weeks ago. Today, i would like to introduce you to his better half; Kishori at birth and then Deepawati as named by her husband. First about the title, Shanyaa was what she was always called by my uncle, a lovely…

Started reading “A city happens in Love” by Ravish Kumar — translated from the Hindi version — Ishq mein shahar hona, by another favorite — Akhil Katyal. Right at the beginning, there is a beautiful line on a permanent address. Took me back to all the forms filled during my…

Third in the series of “The Crazy ones” — I would like to introduce a wonderful human being — Vinayak Shirodkar. I owe my name to Vinu Mama. The story goes that my parents were not able to close on my name — my mother wanted it to be Prasad…

There is a small incline in the road between my village, Shiroda and Bori (Goa). One night while travelling back home with my brother on someone’s scooter, I experienced something absolutely magical, at that spot. It was a clear night, not a cloud in the sky; the moon holding court…

My father passed away just about 25 years ago. He fought cancer for as long as he could. His resistance ended one night at that battleground in Mumbai — the KEM hospital. I was stirred awake to a sense of foreboding; minutes later my brother's calm, measured voice confirmed the…

the sun knocks softly filtering through the trees a few birds start a song like jazz musicians warming up a groove a leaf breaks free…

good thing about driving down to Goa is that it allows you to carry back a ton of stuff. Mancuraad mangoes and sukka bangdaa from goa, kaju and assorted items at a shop in Amboli, a jackfruit from sawantwadi, rice from azraa and few good Kolhapuris:- quite a haul we…

the pond we ran to the stones we skipped the records set each summer to be broken the next

I remember the wind conducting a soothing symphony rustling leaves of huge mango trees as we waited with breath bated coconut frond torches…

there’s this little hut at the point where the gates move with the tide allowing the river into the fields and the fish come in and go out…