A message to all my readers When I first began writing down my stories in this quiet space, it was nothing more than an open diary. A place to put memories that needed somewhere to rest, reflections gathered over a lifetime, and thoughts that felt too personal—or perhaps simply too ordinary—to share in conversation. Conventional wisdom often suggests that personal musings rarely accomplish much on the wider internet. There are no frameworks here, no quick advice, and no polished agendas. Just the raw textures of life as I have experienced it: the sudden turns, the quiet routines, the moments of doubt, and the steady work of beginning again. Recently, as a small corner quietly crossed 30,000 reads, I paused to look more closely at the numbers. What moved me was not just the milestone itself, but where those visits were coming from. While some readers join from home here in India, so many of you are reading from entirely different corners of the earth—from Singapore across the seas ...
I had conveniently forgotten to return “Midnights Children” to my friend who had passed it on to me to read. Glad that I was, of not having returned the book I started reading it all over again more than twenty years down the line. As page by page I progressed I travelled back in time just like the author, down the memory lane. Ours too was a big joint family with three generations, of all ages living together. I could visualize every evening with a hectic preparation in the verandah and the kitchen as clock was ticking too fast and my grandfather was about to return from his office. A chair with armrest was laid out and seating arrangements made. Then came nana ji and we all came running to join him. Someone brought him a glass of water and this was followed by tea. Tea time was wonderful for not only was tea served there was also “aloo ki tikki”chaat with three colored chutneys (every day the menu was different). While we were busy gorging Granny was busy in the kitchen and nan...