The moving finger writes.............

(June ,2011) “ Gad aalaa, pan singh gilaa (We captured the fort but lost the lion) “ , so goes popular Marathi folklore, referring to the Marathi warrior Tanaji Malusare, who lost his life in regaining the fort of Sinhagad from the Mughals, in the Battle of Sinhagad of 1670. This fort has an important place in Maratha and Indian history- for it was here that Mughal power was crushed by the inimitable warrior and Maratha supremo, Chhatrapati Shivaji. It was a rain-soaked day, and I, along with my friend Ajay, decided to make the most of by trekking up to this historic fort, located some 30 km from Pune. The drizzle had increased to a tempo, and clouds loomed heavy over the sky by the time we reached Sinhagad Road, the arterial connector to the fort. Established some two thousand years back, Sinhagad Fort was an important base for the Maratha warriors, being located at a height of 1350 metres above sea level, and situated strategically at the center of a string of other

(September, 2009) Ramzan is a festival to watch out for in Old Delhi. It is during this one month of fasting that the Old City comes alive in colours , celebrating faith . From Ballimaran to Matia Mahal to Jama Masjid, the streets are a riot of lights and colours. All kinds of food line the shops on both sides of the road, the air smells of semai, fried chicken and attar. I started off from Urdu Bazar, in front of Jama Masjid. Heaps of chicken were stacked in the shops on the roadside, kebab were being roasted on skewers, heaps of semai were being sold. The Jama Masjid was lit up brightly. And the usually chaotic streets were even more chaotic, with people, rickshaws and cars fighting for the same space. I took a street on the left and entered Matia Mahal. It houses the eatery, Karims, an institution by itself. But there are umpteen other hotels, some looking decent enough, others decidedly shabby. The entire street is lighted with bright lights and festoons. It is just after If

(July 2009, Delhi) All cities have a character of their own. Cities such as Delhi, which have a particularly rich history, have an inner core- an inner soul that defines the character of the city as it was meant to be. Delhi is today singularly marked by indifference of its citizens towards the city. As a columnist recently wrote, we drive past millennia of history without even bothering to look around. Indeed, it is difficult to rouse the kind of passion in the average Delhiwallah about his or her city compared to a Mumbaikar or Kolkatan. There are reasons for this , the most important being that in most of the urban sprawl that is Delhi/ NCR today, the is the lack of an inner soul that binds.”The city of migrants” seems to drift like a migrant at time, defying comprehension for the drift, for it is here, among the ramparts and monuments that dot the city, that the millennia of history that shaped India as we know it today, are hidden,. It has been nearly a 1000 years s

The cottage stood by the sea, at the far, distant end of a lane which led from the main road, which further connected to the National Highway that led to Mumbai, the city of bright lights and big dreams. It had a wicket gate leading to a small thatchet garden. The house itself was a small, one-storeyed building of brick and wood with a tiled roof (as was the norm in this part of the country) and barricaded windows with Venetian blinds tightly drawn at all times of the day. The construction was surprisingly Victorian, as if an Englishman had lost his way and decided to settle down in this part of the country. To complete the illusion, the house even had a chimney, which had never functioned, but nevertheless gave passersby a reason to turn around and look at the house. The house was painted in a dark shade of gray, which made it look even more forbidding, especially during the winter season, when the small patch of greenery in front of the house would change its colour from green to