Image from here (Based on a true story) “I had the dream again.”She walked and sat next to me, taking my hand in hers, caressing the folds of my skin.“You have to forget her. You saved me,” she said.“I can’t,” I whispered.“It has been sixty years.”“Yes. Sixty years. And her sound still wakes me up.”“I
image from here What can a guy possibly know about sexual abuse? After all, he can only have a second hand experience of what the female population of this country goes through on a daily basis. That is why I have to tell you my story. I was a very shy kid in
I like pigs. I really do. The place where I lived earlier used to be lush and green with wide spaces some twenty five years back. Then because of our brilliant government policies, more and more people from small cities and villages started pouring in Delhi and some very interesting unregulated and illegal colonies sprouted
We all know of the utter disdain with which the oldies refer to the new generation as – oh! Those aping west types. They cleverly forget those decades of their own affinity towards the bell bottoms, Elvis hairstyles and humongous shirt collars that resembled this fish – Yes, we do try to be the west
image from here I remember a tragic incident from the time when I was in school. There was a narrow two lane bridge on Yamuna close to my house. One fine day, a school bus plunged into the river from that bridge. Reason? The driver lost control because of his rash driving. The
Dear Diary, Anika turns two months old tomorrow. She is taller by a few centimeters and weighs almost double of what she weighed at the time of her birth. She now has layers and layers of baby fat on her arms and legs and has a double chin that can shame Adnan Sami (older one).
Read part 1 & 2 of the story here - Message in a Pen - I Message in a Pen - II Neelam came to take the exam. She was flanked by two burly cousins who did not allow any male to come near her. She had a chat with Ruchi, Sneha, Amrita and Kiran
Read Part 1 of the story here - Message in a Pen - I The gang of ten was now two concentric circles – eight of us as a surreptitious circumference around Saahil and Neelam. We savoured their melting. We were elated when their meetings multiplied, when their eyes oozed their enviable blissful future. I kept
They have been entertaining us for years. You cannot imagine Bollywood without their gyrations. In this nation where an average Indian struggles for a meal, they are like a shining beacon in cold nights giving equal respite to the underprivileged and the privileged. Why would I like to chat with them, you may ask? It is to know
