Whispering Shadow

When you were one, perhaps the only thing that mattered to you was a nice siesta. All you had to do is just sleep, eat, and then sleep again. Say a little bit of dida and momma in your tongue and not bother about the syntax of the language. A little later, the latest toy became the obsession. You then moved on to school. Education then was a lot different than what it is now-a- days, whether you coloured the giraffe purple or green, it really didn’t matter. There was no protocol to follow, not many rules to abide by, except the rationing of the television viewing time, based on intense negotiations with mummy dearest. Most young lads would express their desires to become pilots by profession when they wrote their first few compositions and they had the belief in them that it was a realistic goal. You could cry when in pain, without having to feel embarrassed about it. You could dance in the rain and you would not have to straighten up, when you see a pedestrian staring at you. You coul...

“Sir, would you prefer a window or an isle seat?” the lady at the check-in desk asked me, and a smile crossed my face. “Window,” I said. I have flown so many times before but the silly fascination of sitting on the window seat watching the action out of those tiny vacuumed glass cubes remains unchanged from what it was when I took my first flight. An airplane always brings back the kid in me. I especially was not going to miss this opportunity because, it was late afternoon, and this is the time when you get the best view. After the security checks and a cup of coffee, I boarded the plane. As always, I was as eager as the maintenance engineer to find out what was happening in that open turbine cabinet and the hydraulic shafts and kept catching glances from the corner of my eye. I so hate waiting in anticipation of a good co-passenger. So far, on most occasions I have been unable to find that vivacious person with whom you can strike an interesting conversation during the course of the ...

Ban Orkut. Ban Valentine's day. Ban this. Ban that. After all, freedom of expression is only theoretical. It's the fundamentalists who control the actual nature of our democracy. I don't think any of are unfamiliar with these agitations? Shiv Sena. Rings a bell? Even more hilarious was the recent movement to rename Bombay Blues to Mumbai Blues. Like poet's have a poetic license, entrepreneur's surely do have the right to name their ventures at least! Besides, Bombay Blues is quite a name in dining. It's like asking the Indian National Congress to change their name to Bharatiya Rashtriya Parishad. Knowing how jobless Shiv Sainiks are at present, and how much I love giving advice when it is not asked for, here are a few more suggestions to keep them busy, keeping in mind their calibre. 1>Rename Indian Idol to Bharatiya Idol. Sinful showing videsi names on national television. 2>Make sure all names are written in Marathi too on hoardings and magazine covers. ...