Songs of the not-so innocent

I capitulated and switched on the aircon for a bit last night. Assuming you’re alive and reading this, I can sense the frisson of quizzical wonder—what’s capitulating got to do with it? If I’m feeling the heat, I ought to disperse it with the appliance specifically meant to do that. Simple, right? Maybe not. Something in me rebels at the idea of using the AC in March. To be fair, I’ve been thinking about it since February , so yeah, the climate is definitely fucked and will only get worse year on year. Pune winters are already a distant memory , so the idea of holding out is at best an exercise in building resistance , at worst, delusional. As far as I can recall, the heat ratchets up around or after Holi. That was yesterday, so perhaps my resistance was subconscious. Psychobabble aside, I need to get this off my chest— I don’t understand Holi . Sure, I understand the traditional and cultural significance and whatnot, but man, for adults, the celebration should ...

I recently read someone declare Pune’s citizens “traffic illiterate” and was struck by how apt that definition is. I don’t even have to go across the city to confirm the verisimilitude of that observation. In my own hyper-suburban neighborhood, making short trips—by foot, bike, or car—feels like a visceral version of Road Rash , minus the handy chain, bat, protective gear, and other accoutrements that, in all likelihood, I am wont to use liberally. Perhaps not having them is a good thing. Perhaps. I certainly spend some time while riding or driving dreamily considering the benefits of tyre irons, knuckledusters, and the like. Speaking of going halfway across the city, I did just that yesterday. I’d confined? huddled?… well, something-ed myself to the safe cocoon of home for the past couple of weekends, trying to locate paperwork and complete long-pending projects. I wasn’t complaining, mind, but it was brought to my attention that there was a world (the merits of which are deba...

Guys, think hard before adopting a pet. Especially if you are highly empathetic, sympathetic or imaginative. Yes, the affection they show you, the companionship, and the sheer calming presence of just hanging out with them are incredible. But there are some not-so-amazing aspects to it as well. Eccentricities like our cat waking me up at 3 AM every night just for the heck of it (something she’s thankfully kind of outgrown), or suddenly deciding she doesn’t like her wet food (right when the sibling is on an out-of-town work trip), leaving me in a quandary. I’m not even talking about the many responsibilities ; feeding, grooming, bathing, trying to give them medicines, etc. I’m talking about what happens when they actually have to go to the vet. This morning, I accompanied my sibling and her cat for a vet visit. She’ll be moving abroad soon, feline friend in tow, and the paperwork for relocating a pet is substantial and complicated . But the worst part has to be the blood test. Cats ...

I started this blog in 2007, living as a student in the United States. It was a quiet Southern city with jobs dominated by the university so it lacked the vibrancy of a college town, leaving precious little to do after classes. I didn't have the money anyway. I did not start writing with the express purpose of chronicling life or bitching about the vagaries of a seemingly malevolent universe. I simply wanted to do something and writing seemed a more appealing choice rather than visiting the excellent recreation center more often. 
Making great choices since forever, that's me. While I was aware of the conservative nature of the region, I never felt overtly or covertly discriminated against. The only time I encountered anything close to it was on a whitewater rafting trip in rural Tennessee. Back then, I didn’t fully appreciate the South’s placid charms, longing instead for the energy and crowds of northern cities like New York or Chicago. When I returned to the US ten years lat...

When people die, it’s not easy to part with their possessions. The act of letting go becomes a form of acceptance that the person is truly gone—and that is far easier said than done, especially in the early days when emotions are raw and the heart feels unruly. There’s a certain order to what you clear out. Clothes are the hardest because they still carry the scent of the person. Much of the paperwork is necessary for bureaucratic reasons and can’t simply be discarded. Favourite pens, books, watches, and even coin boxes linger for an oddly long time. The chair and desk often find new purpose until they no longer suit your home. But the digital traces left behind are the most unexpected to confront. Perhaps “unexpected” isn’t quite right, given how much of life is lived online today. Sifting through my dad’s accounts felt like walking into the Las Vegas scene in Blade Runner 2049 —a landscape of crumbling monuments to a life once vibrant. There’s the LinkedIn building of ...