By Purva Grover
I have a favourite quote, “stories go to the heart, whilst facts go to the brain.” And the toughest stories to tell in our times are those of a father and son. Our male readers would probably agree with it. Mums and daughters, they’re generous with tears. Something that observation, stereotyping and life viewed as a larger canvas has taught many of us.
Continue reading Reading the silences of men around us
By Disha Didlani
A lot changes when you journey from the role of an intern to an employee. It can be challenging and fun — greater responsibilities, team lunches, higher expectations, and a work station of your own.
Continue reading Graduating from an intern to employee
By Suresh Pattali
On a morning badly sullied by a sandstorm last week, I woke up in my bed to find myself transformed into a child. Sounds like a page from Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis? Don’t be so judgmental. Mine wasn’t an excruciatingly distressful biological transformation like what happened to salesman Gregor Samsa in Kafka’s novella. Mine was a sweet-and-sour yet inexorable phenomenon that afflicts every human as he grows and matures enough to celebrate life on its cyclical completion. It’s a moment of realisation that we all ultimately grow back to childhood, and then to where we belong.
Continue reading Are you ready to grow back into childhood?
By Purva Grover
I have a super special girl in my life. She is 10 and possesses unicorn-like powers, or so I am made to believe. Just like all other aunts out there, I love my niece a lot. And just like all other 10-year-olds, she loves the Merrell Twins more than her aunt, or so she’d want me to believe. BTW, their names are Veronica Jo and Vanessa Merrell, and they are extremely popular with youngsters on YouTube. My niece likes to go by the name Frida (her current obsession is Frida Kahlo).
Continue reading How an eight-year-old taught me all about shattering stereotypes
By Suresh Pattali
Thekkemuri. The Malayalam word roughly translates to Southern Room. I had a problem with that pigeon hole in my ancestral home because it served as the sickroom. I called the frightening locale the ICU in the family. Our grandma died in there. The sick and the old occupied the wooden bed in Thekkemuri, with a brass bedpan always underneath. It smelled of death. Day or night, I dreaded stepping into the room and whenever I did, I was escorted by my sisters. They teased me for being such a wuss. Continue reading Who isn’t afraid of taking the last bow? I certainly am!
By Keith Pereña
“We’re not done yet; you have to put some garnish and sour cream to top it all off,” Emil, one of the students, was telling me as he coached me on how to make tacos. While putting the aforementioned garnish on, it began to dawn on me that something as simple as tacos takes a lot of effort to create.
Continue reading Youngsters — and a taco — gave me something to chew on
By Allan Jacob
A bout of anger or sadness has gripped me. I cannot fathom what it is and why I am being shackled by these emotions. I’d like to get into a contest to find out. A punch up would settle it — I mean like watching a boxing bout featuring World Champion Mary Kom who recently won her sixth title, a record she shares with Cuban Felix Savon, a former champion in the men’s event. Continue reading Magnificent Mary packs a punch to spark a revolution