Long before brown, I saw life through pink-tinted glasses. Not with the shocking levity of roses’ flush but with the subtle grace of its baby-blushed counterpart. The brown was my mother’s rebuttal to my father’s unconscious indulgence of his first-born girl. Complemented with placid creams, pristine whites, even a sunny spot of yellow, the omnipresent … Continue reading Mere Walla Pink
I realised that if I were to die there, my kids would barely have photos to associate with my memory.
This space has been lying dormant for a bit. It has gone through a few makeovers- from being a personal dashboard to inviting other writers to splash their ideas here to being my portfolio. I am irrevocably ensconced in this year and what better way to establish that fact than starting something of a writing … Continue reading Promises. Promises.
The short story captures the resilience of the human spirit and the redemptive power of ambition.
Does chaos breed creativity?
How meeting people you knew from your past is such a healing experience.
Which is your favorite season? Pulkit Singh tries to capture the autumn vibes. Does she succeed?
Pulkit Singh tries to find meaning in what she feels may be the end of the road for her.
We called it our aeroplane. The epithet was misplaced. It should have been rocket- equally temperamental and majestic. That was my father’s white ambassador- his first car. It looked massive to my six-year-old self. You could roll down the dark tinted windows, honk its horn, play hide and seek in it and if you were … Continue reading No Appetite For Seconds
Pulkit Singh dedicates this poem to her marriage of ten years.
Why go searching for Knights?
Mahendra Rathod pens this humourous piece about friendship, bachelor days and a married makeover.
The teens and the twenties are the price we pay for the thirties.
Those evenings were a proof of a love that I have never known since...
Nikita Banerjee takes us on a culinary trip as she remembers her grandmothers and the food from her childhood.
All she wants is to travel. Why is that so hard?
The relentless march of the year ends with this.
The only way is forward. Yes?
All seeing, all knowing and yet.... Dekohled shares a beautiful poem (she is back. And how!)