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My last essay was about the banality of travel in our time. This one could well have been about the banality of death these days, the callous forgetfulness of the living towards the dead. Deaths of ...
To the Friends Whose Kindness Alone Rendered Possible My Sojourn in the Orient, Paymaster Mitchell McDonald, U.S.N. And Basil Hall Chamberlain, Esq. Emeritus Professor Of Philology And Japanese In ...
I Many pens have been burnished this year of grace for the purpose of celebrating with befitting honour the second centenary of the birth of Henry Fielding; but it is more than doubtful if, when the ...
https://travelkahaniya.blogspot.com/2018/09/best-weekend-destination-lasdowne.html ...
But the basin of the Mississippi is the body of the nation. All the other parts are but members, important in themselves, yet more important in their relations to this. Exclusive of the Lake basin ...
The other day, at our annual departmental farewell programme for the outgoing MA final semester students, Manoj Hansda’s song beckoning us away to the tea gardens of faraway Assam set the house on ...
The other day I was struck with horror when my son with the characteristically brutal candour of a child referred to his “Gitamashi”, the girl who has lived with and worked at my parents’ home for ...
The year was the year '92—the year of leanness—the scene a spot between Sukhum and Otchenchiri, on the river Kodor, a spot so near to the sea that amid the joyous babble of a sparkling rivulet the ...
My mother informed me in a hushed tone, "It's a proper Muslim driver, dress, white skull cap and all." I smiled back. There could have been a trace of condescension in my smile. [I wish I carried a ...
Home I haven’t found myself at home in Bombay. ‘To (not) belong’ to a place, a person, to contours on a map or imbibe cultural aesthetics, behavior patterns of bygones and forefathers, has often ...
Barely three days into our holiday trip to Sikkim and North Bengal last week, the world split itself into two for me. I realised that there were two kinds of people: those who live in the hills and ...
The city deconstructed and reconstructed itself around his bike. It was as if he was flowing through a viscous fluid, cutting a straight line across the forces that were trying to hold him back. They ...
I haven’t booked the fucking tickets. Stomach’s growling and the acids are churning. Why is that woman staring at me? Why do women stare at me? Oh my God, I haven’t booked my tickets. What the hell ...
In early modern England, where my mind tends to travel very often, scholars just out of university were expected to travel abroad for recreation and practical exposure. I have just completed a ...
This book is merely a personal narrative, and not a pretentious history or a philosophical dissertation. It is a record of several years of variegated vagabondizing, and its object is rather to help ...