It is interesting how the human brain works, scooping up some electrochemical interactions between molecular allies, transcribing these into a memory that is at once elating and irresistibly beautiful, lifting one’s spirits so to speak… As I am drafting this post, as I sit here, steam rising from coffee mug on the table, I focus on this picture. This was from the Bay of Islands near Twelve Apostles. When we went there the wind was rough and it picked up sand or something grainy from the vegetation, filling our eyes with this stuff. My son had closed his eyes and…


Photo by Thomas Bonometti on Unsplash

On the train the men and women thumbed their phones, lost in their internal worlds, some with headphones and some without. The actor stood near the entrance, leaning his back on the door, one leg folded behind him. He was here to watch and learn — you must spend many days on the train watching people and learning, to become intimate with these people before you can begin imitating them on screen, the director had said to him that morning.

He got down from the train, went over to the nearest burger joint to get something to eat. Back in…


Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

This is a fairy tale I have been telling my three-year-old son recently. I took whatever I remember from my readings of these stories many years ago, and pieced the fragments together as best as I can. I am certain some of these stories were quite similar to each other and my memory of these fragmented in my head. Bringing these back from the vaults of my memory recounting to my son, turned this futile patchwork into a beautiful memory. The retellings of this story have given me endless joy, the tale itself morphing with each telling, as my son…


My first driving instructor was Ramesh, a slightly short and tubby man, always wore stiff, white shirts like the politicians he was enthralled with. When I met him in Hyderabad, he showed me his office, a narrow hall with a wooden table in the back where he sat on a metal chair, its slant arrested with pillows. The walls were glued with road signs of all descriptions, a tube light flickering as he ran me through the details — it was 1100 rupees for driving and 3500 rupees for license. He recommended the latter. He tore a yellow slip of…


By Ferdinand Keller — Sotheby's London, 13.June 2006, lot 236 via Arcadja auction results, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=28397584

I would put her in Southbank in one of those tall apartment blocks, facing the Yarra River. Scheherazade is standing there in the balcony having returned from her work at the childcare where she is an educator. She had met her father in the morning — he had come all the way from Geelong to Melbourne by the time she had her breakfast, which in itself was concerning but what he told her later was beyond belief. He walked with a limp, his blazer scuffed near the elbows and cuffs like he had wrangled someone and fled the scene. He…


This is on the Capital City Trail a little while after crossing Footscray. I started from Docklands — the day was cloudy with a hint of drizzle. On the way I passed crowds gathered in the parks along the stretch of the river, barbecuing, playing Frisbee, and all things joyful that weekends bring to us… Some men were fishing, hands steady as they whipped up their baits.

This wooden bridge adorned the Maribyrnong River, wide enough for families with children to cross without the fear of falling. I had set my timer on the phone to track my pace, but…


Visit to Kiama was like walking into a farmer’s house with pots and jars full of nature, charmed into submission — we spent more time in the market than at the blowhole perusing the wares on offer. The men and women here seemed more like volunteers on a vocation, or looked like they had come down to see what all this fuss was about, unhurried, endlessly cheerful…


By Bidgee — Own work, CC BY-SA 2.5 au, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14641162

This is the Art Gallery of New South Wales. On my first visit to Sydney, I went here with my wife. We were strolling idly in the Botanic Garden when we saw through a clearing, this wide-open space, flat, with a spray of trees under which families lounged on mats, baskets of wicker proffering fruits and breads. …


By Djambalawa — Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14068897

This is a river in Mahbubnagar district of Telangana state in India. It is not a breathtaking picture by any means but here is the thing. There is a story I was told as a child that stayed with me. I must have been about ten years old. This was the summertime — school holidays with frequent power-cuts in the evenings. All the women would start cooking early to stay ahead of power-cuts, always keeping a few candles at arm’s reach in the kitchen. Our house was small with two rooms and a kitchen — each of the rooms had…

Kranthi Askani

A hopeless narrator… Living in Melbourne, Australia | From Hyderabad, India https://apkpublishers.com/?s=kranthi+askani

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