Songs of the not-so innocent

Dear reader, Count yourself amongst the fortunate if this post finds you well. Covid is sweeping through the country so effectively, I wish 'development' would take inspiration from it. Few seem to know whether we're in the throes of the Delta or Omicron variant and fewer care. I used to think the statement "we're all going to get it" was dripping in glibness. Now, it sounds prophetic, although the former suggests I'm not as cynical (realistic?) as I believed. Family, friends and a motley crew of others were infected and thankfully, recovered or are in the process of doing so. Yet, I struggle to understand how the situation will evolve towards an endgame. The WHO, which I don't find too credible, continues to prognosticate on new variants and vaccines, but falls predictably silent when it comes to questioning infection rates and any related numbers in the Middle Turd-dom, Bear-dom or every other dumdum autocratic nation. However, comfort or righteous g

May, 2018. One afternoon, stroller bag in tow, I entered the perennially air-conditioned confines of Mumbai International Airport, relieved to get away from the oppressive heat. Though I'd travelled rather extensively for the average Indian, butterflies flitted and floated around in my tummy because my next destination was both exotic and unusual. Yangon, Myanmar by way of Bangkok, Thailand.  Some places have such a mystical quality. They do to me, in any case. This sense of fascination was what led me to Cambodia. 10 years later, it was conspiring to take me to India's forbidden neighbour. Plagued by authoritarian rule, oppression and bloodshed for decades, I'd first heard of the country from my grandmother when I was barely 5 years old. This was back when our Mumbai building hadn't been redeveloped and was a 2-storey rabbit's warren of 15 homes. Pati was talking about the histories of our neighbours and had reached the very last one - Flat No. 15.  Mrs. A, the eld

Dear reader, I hope the first post of the new year finds you well. Unlike me, however, as the inevitable has occurred. To my absolute lack of surprise, 5 days of adhering to a compulsory work-from-office (WFO) policy has gifted me a positive COVID infection. And before you say anything like "Oh, everyone's going to get it so it's okay" I invite you to experience a night of explosive diarrhoea, one of the lesser talked-about symptoms. Usain Bolting to the loo every half hour will leave you exhausted, dehydrated and figuring out a way to fit the mattress in the bathroom; not something you'll forget in a hurry.  Am I surprised that the virus got me, after I managed to dodge it successfully for nigh on 2 years? No. You see, it's hard to process the breathtaking brazen idiocy of insisting on WFO when cases are rising so steeply but a single-owner company can get away with coldblooded crap like that. They're hiding behind the fig leaf of government mandates whi