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‘Bishop’s Lodge aa gaya madam’ the conductor bared out his lungs and the bus screeched to a halt. A tall lady in a blue cotton saree stepped out.She turned around,adjusted her hair,her saree and then spread her arms to collect her munchkin as the conductor handed him over . Goodbyes ensued and the over-enthusiastic kid even blew kisses to the whole bus sending scores of passengers into peals of laughter, bringing an embarrassed smile to his momma’s face. Young Aalekh had a spring in his step. Winter vacations usually had this effect on him. No school,the winter chill,the sunshine and a chance to fly kites all day long..Who wouldn’t be excited. And to top it all he had the chance to do all this at his Grandfather’s place. He ran into the street even as the lady struggled with the lugguage. Ten metres or so and he stopped. That was the longest he had ever gone without momma. He waited.Mom caught up and he walked alongside like a perfectly obedient kid. The first establish

To put it bluntly,I'm not a man of letters..I'm not even a man of words but I do like to put down what I feel on paper.. You have something now that was once my most treasured possession ,or so I thought. A bad day,the worst boss and all those hidden fears counted for nothing  at the end of the day, just because I knew  that even if all was lost,I would still have had her by my side.. You aren’t her first,perhaps I wasn’t either .   I'm still coming to terms with the fact that there was someone before me who was to her what I believed I was...Someone to whom she might have whispered the 'sweet nothings' she whispered to me...Someone whose healing touch she would have believed in when she was down...Someone who'd have been the first to pop up in her mind in times of Joy... MALE EGO ...I tell you. I admit,my mind had wandered more than once,loosening its grip on my heart and allowing it to hope I would be her last. I am not naïve, but wi

Old  readers of this blog would perhaps remember that the first post on this blog had exactly the same name.. Sometime in May 2013,my blog turned 3..Even though I do not scribble that often nowadays,reading what I have written over the years is as good as sitting in a time machine and going back in time... Feels good to reminiscence over the good,the bad and the juvenile.. *Ugly I won't say because my narcissistic self loves almost everything of whatever I've ever written* The story you'll read subsequently is a big time modification on what initially went up on the blog in 2010,t he intention being a selection hope for a story-writing contest... I took down the initial post in accordance with the competition rules and now that my story didn't make the cut,it goes up on the blog. Ah...and this is the customary anniversary post  as well,even though it was written sometime in August 2012 **I'll keep coming back to you scribbling** Trains,Facebook e

**This piece was written for DHANVANTARI-2013,the annual magazine of AFMC,Pune** so if any of you would prefer to read it there,please logout & wait for your copy.... A warm April evening in 2009,the faccha batch had finally had finally been given its copies of DHANVANTARI..Eagerly sifting through the magazine,a story named  ‘Spit & Polish’ written by Surgeon Capt (mrs.) Sheila Samanta Mathai,R Batch caught my eye… As I progressed through the story,an initial expression of shock slowly gave way to a smile and as the truth dawned on me,I ran over to Byom’s room..I had to tell him  what had happened...Afterall,he had been my partner in crime… Byom’s reaction wasn’t much different to mine..A shocked expression & the choicest of swear words later,we had laughed off the matter… The above story was still revolving in my mind when the Boy spoke,yet again in chaste English “Its okay if you don’t believe me,most people don’t.”… It was Sept,2012 & we had ju