Those evenings were the proof of a love that I have never known since – that of a shared childhood and a simple recipe that lost its magic when …
A poem on two grandfathers waiting for their children and grandchildren – one in 1947 and the other in 2023.
On my grandma's pickle recipe and re-discovering a deep sense of connection with the women of my family.
Watching Achal Mishra's film was an attempt of reconciliation with abandoned origins, an uprooted childhood and the un-dispersed family that used to be.
Ever since my father's death, I have searched for the elusive ingredient that went into his special biryani, making for the most delicious days of my childhood.
Here's to remembering people who we easily forget as we grow older.
A short piece on sitting on my grandfather's shoulders, watching the trains go by.