Columns

I still remember that day. Not because it was special, but precisely because I tried to make it sound like

May 3, 2025

The newspapers are dying. They were once proud. Noble. The Fourth Estate! Guardians of democracy! The ones who made politicians

May 2, 2025

There was wailing next door. Not muffled sobs but full-throated, guttural wailing. My wife looked up from her tea, her

May 1, 2025

I often wonder what went through Moses’ mind as he stood with the Red Sea in front and the sound

April 30, 2025

Every morning, as the sun peeps over our confused democracy, a silent war begins. Not at our borders, not in

April 29, 2025

The peepul tree that towers over my house and garden had been shedding its leaves with a reckless abandon only

April 28, 2025

We’re brought up on Hollywood movies showing brave firemen sliding down poles, racing to their gleaming engines, sirens wailing, and

April 27, 2025

There was a time, not so long ago, when you could walk into a church and feel the brush of

April 26, 2025

So, this morning while sipping my sugarless coffee (doctor’s orders; doctor being my wife), I kept reading all the horror

April 24, 2025

It was a gentle morning, the kind where birds sang despite traffic, and the chaiwalla smiled despite inflation. And then—boom!

April 23, 2025

The white cassock now lies still. The shepherd’s staff rests. And the world, Catholic or not, pauses to mourn a

April 22, 2025

The headline that day screamed across the newspaper and smacked me harder than any police lathi ever could: “Inspector Tukaram

April 22, 2025

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