You know what...

The mind conjures stories and alternative lives with every heartbeat

An announcement

Next month will see me seven stations down the blue line.

Dear sister, I am 29 today and I miss you...

Two decades ago, in a city in a faraway country, two sisters sat on the edge of a low roof, counting cars. The younger one barely able to keep her Bata chappals from falling off, counted black cars. The elder one slyly counted white Maruti 800s.

In a while, bored of the never ending flow of vehicles and failing to spot more black cars beyond 11, the younger one asked her elder sister: “Didi! When I am 11, how old will you be?” “17” said the elder sister. “And when I am 17?” “23”. “When I am 23?” “29”. “That big?” the younger sister said with wonder in her big round eyes. “What would happen then?” she asked her didi. “We will be big, said the elder one irritated with the volley of questions.....

Wanna play hangman?

"The role of a hangman in the execution of a death sentence is very crucial. The job needs special training from doctors of forensic science. It's a highly technical job, since he has to tie the rope around the neck in such a manner that the accused dies in the minimum amount of time, which can range from 150 to 300 seconds. If the accused is muscular, then the period may increase to even seven or eight minutes. As per the Maharashtra prison manual, he is eligible to get a maximum of Rs 75 for each execution".

From The Iron Jawed Angels…..in oranges and women, courage is often mistaken for insanity

The way we go

Of all the stories Ma told me when I was young, I remember most vividly the one about the young man to be hanged. It was not dark and it was not tragic but it was pointless in its point then, as the culprit was not the boy’s bad deeds but his mother’s inability to stop him when he did wrong. Ma went on and on, upping the magnitude of the boy’s crimes, as he grew older.

Since then, I have often thought about the boy. Because as I think, as I have thought over the years, I want to tell Ma, and one day my kid, another story about two brothers who had a drunkard father. One brother adopted the father’s ills, spiteful and angry at fate for giving him such a parent; the other brother however, aspired to learn from his father’s example and be a better person.

The two stories have often baffled me for no reason. They have come back in the most trying of times and most placid moments. They are my deepest source of strength when everything else fails me. And they have come back to me, as I fight back tears and a lump in my heart, for no reason.

Thoughts on IPL Modi

Skeletons and corpses being pulled out of Lalit Modi’s IPL and earlier years appear like a joke. The BCCI, the government and the media are zapped at how Modi channeled IPL moolah to weave a royal, jet-setting life for himself. But the dirt that these conscience keepers are blowing into the faces of people like me, was it ever hidden, unknown or impalpable?

I admit I never followed state elections that led to Raje’s fall in Rajasthan, but why did I not get to read about her corrupt lackey, Mr Modi? Why did no newspaper or channel ever wonder aloud about Modi’s connection to the Burmans? Were overseas trips, a jet-taxi, the hotel suite and his brashness so discreet and sweet that they were utterly forgivable and forgettable until Sania did not fly off to Pakistan and leave behind a paparazzi gap that begun to see potential as soon as tweeting went overboard?

Before Modi spilled the beans on Pushkar and her sweat equity, why did she never bless the gossip columns? Why is Tehelka adopting a holier than thou tone in reporting an interview it conducted with the potential Mrs Tharoor with golden hair. Women move up ladders, strike alliances of convenience to benefit and in some cases lead to a man’s fall. There is nothing new about it all and there is no victimastion here.

For all the righteous frenzy that surrounds IPL at the moment, the truth is, this is no witch-hunt. It is a power game, where the current head is being cut off to re-grow a new head of mutual convenience and benefit. One day all of a sudden, Modi and his dark deeds would disappear from the media glare, and we will move on to a new blockbuster of love, sex, business, lecherous gurus, political alliances and dhoka. Business would be back to usual.