The Last Caller

“And with that, we come to our last caller for the night,” said Tony. Adjusting his headset, he added, “Thank God.”

It had been a horrible show. None of the callers had been remotely interesting, and Tony would’ve been worried about the ratings, if he didn’t have more pressing matters on his mind.

Colourless Snow

He stood still for a moment, silently surveying the vast expanse of snow all around. The dazzling whiteness seemed to calm him; slowly he walked down the rocky terrain, his army boots trudging through the thick layer of snow.

Lieutenant Aditya Mehra had spent the past six years trudging through the snowy hill top, following the same routine almost religiously. Posted as a Border Patrol officer, he was in charge of manning the Indian Check post that lay 400 metres in front of him. The rickety wooden construction had been his only shelter during the harsh snow storms that drowned the surroundings almost every day. He held a special attachment towards it.

A La Masia For Us?

Chennai at 6 in the morning during mid August, is beautiful. The air is crisp, you feel a gentle breeze pass you by, and something about the atmosphere makes you look up at the sky and smile in content.

I was standing on the terrace of my hostel in Egmore, holding a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula, when it began drizzling slightly. Adjacent to the hostel is a hockey stadium, and from where I was standing, I could view the entire field.

About twenty children were training in the center of the field, running between cones, skillfully using their hockey sticks to control the ball. As I watched them for the next few minutes, I thought about La Masia.

Sleeping To Death

June 2010


Looking around the room, I nodded my head and placed my suitcase next to the bed. “I like it, I’ll move in next Monday.”

My new roommate Jonathan nodded his head and smiled. He was a simple fellow; never asked too many questions. He didn’t know why someone with such a good job would want a cramped room to stay in. He didn’t know who my previous roommate had been. And thankfully, he never asked me...

The Chetpet Story

A rush of wind. Bustling crowd. Screeching rails.

That's all I remember of the first time I used the Suburban train in Chennai.

Over the next few weeks, my white-knuckled grip on the overhead railing loosened; my posture slackened; I finally took my eyes off the entrance of the compartment.

I looked around, and noticed The Chetpet Story for the first time...