By Bikram Vohra
In the days when the family magazine was Reader’s Digest (wholesome reading), it had a regular space dedicated to humour and was titled ‘Laughter is the best medicine.’ Do you remember that? The jokes were mild, almost squeaky clean and gentle and offended no one. And we laughed.
By Keith Pereña
Apart from cars and bikes passing by every 15-or-so minutes, the only sound you would hear at 5am in Tagaytay in the Philippines is of the wind. The vacation town, famous for its view of the majestic Taal Volcano, had not woken up yet, but the lights of some establishments remained wide open — as if they never needed to sleep. Puddles formed on the cement walkways leading up to the polished floors of our hotel -— which boasted a balcony with a view of the restive geographical ‘marvel’.
By Karen Ann Monsy
Consider this a personal tribute from a ‘non-fan’.
I’m calling myself that, not because I hated basketball legend Kobe Bryant (I’m no Celtics cub) — but because I feel like an outsider, an ‘intruder upon family grief’ in the wake of the news of the Olympic athlete’s untimely passing on Sunday.
By Bikram Vohra
I wore a watch with a strap that had a nickel-plated latch and that irritated the skin on my wrist and caused an allergy. A pretty bad one. So, for several weeks now, I haven’t worn a watch. I tell the time by either pulling out my mobile phone or asking someone close by what the time is.
Continue reading An intellectual dissertation on not wearing a watch
By Anamika Chatterjee
Of all the blows Parasite delivers to its audience, the fiercest is a scene where a rich employer complains about the foul smell that comes from his driver’s body. Overhearing this, the driver sniffs his arms to understand if the stench is for real. Living in an underground shanty where intoxicated passersby unburden themselves, this stench is a reality of his world. To his employer, however, it defines his being.
By Delilah Rodrigues
The phone beeps. Alarms remind me of tasks I need to accomplish. Little yellow post-its stuck on the walls scream at me – buy veggies, do the laundry, finish editing, call the plumber, go to the gym. Just thinking about things I need to do makes me break into a sweat. My heart starts pounding. Just then, I hear the husband call out to me. Phew! it was just a dream, but a very sticky one I must say.
By Enid Parker
Being a wordsmith, and a bibliophile, I guess it’s not surprising to anyone that I own a lot of notebooks. But my myriad, ever-growing collection has a teeny-tiny problem. A lot of my notebooks remain empty, even after years.
