horizontaly parked in diagonal world

Behind my house ran a network of narrow lanes, winding and secretive, known only to those who lived there. They were shortcuts in geography but also in imagination, carrying us swiftly from the discipline of home to the freedom of the playground. The dust rose beneath our hurried feet, the smell of evening kitchens followed us briefly, and then suddenly the world opened. Running parallel to the river stood the ancient road — vast, patient, and indifferent to time. Built, they said, under Emperor Ashoka to bind trade, kingdoms, and civilizations, it cut across India like an idea too large for a single generation. That road stretched beyond our comprehension — past cities we had never seen, across plains and mountains, all the way to Gandhar, in what is today Afghanistan. Traders, monks, soldiers, seekers — countless lives had passed there long before ours began. And on the other side flowed the Ganges. Between the road of empire and the river of eternity lay a wide expanse of pale, sand...

The trick is not to arrange a festival; but to find people who can enjoy it. Have we lost our capacity for enjoyment in the seriousness with which we confront life and its difficulties? Isn’t enjoyment something that is always going to be ours tomorrow? I think this was the basic idea which first put me on to the train of thought to write something about the last Sunday — a memory worth keeping. The last Sunday when Krishnan and I woke up, it seemed like an ordinary day, as when we get up and get ready to rush for the breakfast and dash to office. I asked Krishnan if he was interested to give me his company to the holy place of Neemach Mata, as usual he nodded. We made a visit to that place and get back to our room and waited for sometime to have lunch. We did not know what was hidden in the bowel of future because if you are not acquainted with a great personality — Kamlesh Kumar (The Jadugar) only then you can think of your plans otherwise if Kamlesh is there you will never know wha...

In the story of every family, there are quiet heroes whose legacy lives not through headlines but through the values they pass down — perseverance, sacrifice, and grace. For my family, that strength flows from the formidable foundation laid by extraordinary women: my grandmother and my mother. The Unyielding Spirit of My Grandmother My paternal grandmother was not just the matriarch of our family — she was its backbone. Widowed at middle age in the volatile, fragmented capital of Bihar, she faced a harsh world with nothing but grit and determination. Left to raise a large family, she did not succumb to despair. Instead, she became an unlikely entrepreneur, selling toddy — a traditionally male-dominated trade — amid a climate of uncertainty and violence. Her eldest son supported her, but the weight of the household largely rested on her shoulders. She continued working tirelessly until the age of 75, never once stepping back or slowing down. Her resolve, stamina, and ability to lead a f...