City story

It was one of those December mornings, where the dense masses of haze and fog were slowly going at each other above our houses. I entertained the thought that this phenomenon of silent collision could be one that was created by the government, so that their drones could survey human society under the garb of…

On conversations

‘And I hope it rains.’ I have always wanted to end a piece of writing with that sentence. I think that is the only acceptable way one should end a letter addressed to a friend. But since I haven’t written a letter in a long time, I will start this piece with that ending. .…

Becoming twenty-two

When I was a kid, I heard of a ‘point of no return.’ It was the most interesting thing ever. So interesting, that I now write about it. The point of no return was completely shrouded in mystery and it always made me think of a lonely boat on a lonely, misty lake. So desolate.…

Notes on my mother, home and language.

I don't read enough Marathi nor do I watch enough Marathi. I don't speak enough of it either. But last year, when I went to Bheemeshwari with my family, my mother played Asha Bhosle in the car and when Hi Vat Door Zate played, I thought of a trail leading into dense green mountains –…