A predominant memory of my childhood was walking to places with Dad. I mean bakeries, restaurants, school, churches, playgrounds - any place where we could pause for sometime, before resuming our walks again. Maybe, Dad felt that being at home wasn’t going to be as fruitful for us, as for…

It was the summer of 2007 and I was twenty four. It was my first year as a working, responsible adult and yet looking back, I now have reason to believe that I had the mind of a toddler. It had been a year since I had met my Dad…

It was the kind of event that was insignificant enough to be forgotten yet memorable enough to merit an account here. Over six months ago, this is what transpired on a musty morning in London in February. I was attending a Discovery leadership workshop being run out of Richmond, a…

It’s the mark of a dance that wobbled and the spot of bother from that day a laugh went wrong. It’s the blemish from a kiss that keeled a glass over and that stain on the tablecloth, on which a cake was dissected. Spilled wine, it leaves impressions happier than…

It’s been a month since Dad’s passing. In his absence, the nostalgia of his presence is all I have. Nostalgia, though is a friend with a mind of its own. She arrives without notice, and comes bearing gifts that she alone decides. If you will your memory to remember something…

The meetings, calls, emails, presentations and spreadsheets have queued up over the weekend. It’s a cycle. The mornings fold into the afternoons amicably. Then come the obdurate evenings. But no matter how tense and rushed they get, eventually they blur into the night. Dinner and conversation follows and the cycle…

It would’ve been my father’s 75th birthday today, if not for the events of the last week when he heaved his last. It was exactly a week ago and I am sitting in the same chair as I was, when the news first broke on a phone call. The blow…

My father passed away this morning. After grappling with all possible scenarios of travelling and being on-ground in Kerala, I have come to accept that I can’t be there for his funeral tomorrow. These past few hours have been torture just knowing that. …

In my younger and more vulnerable days, (to paraphrase the opening of a favorite novel), I made a bucket list. I was two years into my first job and like any average 24-year old’s imagination, the world seemed full of possibilities. The year was 2008. It was much unlike this…