Humanity always wins. Pandemic changed all existing myths and game plans. Even the police are doing their best, breaking all mistaken notions about them.
We, the children, were blessed to have several story tellers. Of course not in toilets.
The demise of veteran actor, Christopher Plummer, took me back many years when I was a little girl growing up in the hill station of Darjeeling.
Amanda Gorman was here. She is here, and she will be here. She is the hope.
The lost glove, unpaired by destiny, always makes me sad. I, too, am looking to find the other piece of my immigrant life.
With the passing of Soumitra Chatterjee, the legendary actor, director, writer, poet, and most of all, an humanitarian, I can almost smell that time tonight.
The autumn melody will change the tempo from adagio to allegro at the divine hands of the conductor. The play will reach its climax with the maddening dance of fiery colors…
There’s this thing about memories. It can be handed down to sons and daughters, friends and relatives. To strangers even, on monotonous train journeys. And then, there are memories of memories.
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