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Jim Corbett was an Indian-born British hunter, conservationist and naturalist, famous for slaying a large number of man-eating tigers and leopards in India.Whereas Rajaji Nagar was definitely no Kumaon, one can not definitely rule out the presence of beasts of violent nature in the precincts either. There was one such animal right next door – the man biter of Rajaji Nagar.

An Ode to Bengalooru or Bangalore. A funny poem on the quirks of the city that a person who is away misses..

For want of a better thing to do, I thought I’ll organize my photos. And, quite predictably, I went on time travel, and by the time I got back, it was too late to carry on with the task. But what a journey it was!

My memories of my existence starts at a little house in an area called Malleshwaram in Bangalore. The house had a small verandah, a smaller bedroom and a still smaller kitchen and of course a bathroom and a toilet. It was way back in the early 1980s and the concept of combined toilet and bathroom was yet to become popular.

On a moonlit summer night plunged into darkness by a power cut, our family of 5 sat for a ‘candle light’ dinner. In Rajiv Gandhi’s banana republic, talk was cheap and we spared no expense or effort and every dog had it’s say …

I started writing a novel…as a hobby. Thanks to a completely non-existent social life and crappy weather, here in the UK, the hobby turned into a full time activity. 10 months later, I was done with my manuscript. In a 6” by 9” template, my manuscript stopped at 582 pages, 80 odd chapters and 140,000 words. This was no longer a hobby – this would no longer be a document that would sit forgotten in some folder. This had to go to print, even if it meant that I would be the only one buying a copy!

All these cappuccinos are so generic in taste thought Shashi, with disappointment, as she waited at the visitors’ lounge of the international arrivals terminal of the DFW airport. Waiting was never Shashi’s forte. Her impatience showed in small gestures like crossing and uncrossing of her legs, her periodic investigation into her handbag contents and frequent pursing of her lips with a frown.

Kitta was a classic example of the “village idiot”. The difference, however, was that Vidyanagar was no village. It was a small locality comprising of four to five streets perpendicular to two main streets. The residents were mainly families with nominal incomes with simple living standards and who had lived in Vidyanagar for generations.

There was hope, there was despair, there was light, there was darkness, there was happiness, there was melancholy, there was laughter, there were tears, there were dreams, there were realities, there were children, there were schools, there were movies, there were film stars, there were forests, there were poachers, it was 1973, and there was Baala.

It was a wintry morning in Bangalore, but like none other. Hanging lightly from dull dark morning clouds, a translucent veil of mist descended down to the moist treetops. Nestled within this veil, dampness adorned the trees like it would a woman’s tresses after a bath. The air was incensed by roses, neems and gulmohars [...]