Dear friend of my heart, Some days an old ache that I thought I had left behind returns and intensifies.…
Chair of Poetry
Dear friend of my heart, There is a chair I once came to occupy; a chair of silence, of reflection,…
a drowsy afternoon
Dear friend of my heart, The sweltering mid-summer afternoons here in Dehradun are not half as unbearable in the placid…
A Gypsy in Dehradun
When I studied the west, which is all many of us seem to be doing by design, I came across…
A Letter to the Beautiful Stranger
Dear Friend of my heart, For years I have written songs for the singular joy of music and for the…
O Monkey, Monkey, wherefore art thou Monkey?
There was a time, though I cannot seem to either remember or imagine it anymore, when I was actually excited…
Writing Potion
That brown earthy aroma of ground coffee in a wicked alliance with rum is made homelier with a deliberate allowance…
Fragments and Illustrations
Pencils. I love pencils. I miss pencils. Their woody bodies and graphite cores. I wanted to make straight lines. Maybe…
Mulberry for the Fledglings
Dear Friend of my Heart, By the beginning of May the less elevated parts of the Dun Valley experience a…
a shameless bibliophile
To study literature is perhaps the most grueling, even a macabre torment that a lover of literature could invite upon themselves. The horror lies in the fact that one ends up failing to enjoy literature as they once did and they are not even aware of it for years.
Story Of The Footloose 