Legend has it that once a lady journalist for an interview with Gabriel Garcia Marquez turned up at the appointed hour when the author was about to step out with his wife on some errands. The writer asked her to join them. When they got back, the interviewer approached him for the promised interview. The writer replied that he had already given it to her. He further said that journalism was probably not meant for her and that she would do well looking for some other job.
When the surrounding hills retreat, and the hamlet goes dead quiet, I see this pair coming on tiptoe. They don’t get to watch me watching them.
When Raman lifted his eyes from the book, he could see from the train window a colony of herons—their wings shimmering in sunlight—floating in a formation as if controlled by an invisible Remote.
Cathy crept up the stairs to the roof terrace. The potted plants stood along the boundary wall, their shoots going well over the top and beyond into the void, danglin
It started as a mizzle in the evening.
As the night came on it intensified.
When we turned in
It let up a bit but not quite.
We left a light on
Lest we sank into a slumber.
The mobile alarm was set at small hours—
An hour before the car was to arrive.
One evening near Simla Kalibari, I stood watching a winterline: a horizontal band of mauve-scarlet-and-black cloud-slash giving the impression of another horizon behind a sinking crimson sun, its colour brought into vivid display by the velvety dusk.
Something strange struck me as I approached the campus. It’s as if the trees lining the road recognised me and extended a welcome. The paying guest house I’d already booked was near the institute where I was due to appear for an exam the next day.
Early morning after a brief workout I was lying flat on my back, trying to practise a little mindful awareness. Just then I heard a soft sound like stealthy footsteps in my smallish room. It was not exactly dark. Moreover, there’s nothing in my room except books. Just then the sound repeated itself. And what did I see? The trespasser was a beautiful baby bird. In a flash it flew past me, out the balcony door, into the blue beyond.
When we checked in at the forest bungalow, it’s far into the night. My companions hit the hay straightaway. I was drawn by the high-pitched-yet-strangely-soothing sound of cicada chirping in unison.
