The Middle-Aged Newsletter
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This was written a few years ago. And somehow thought of it today, as a note to self. A reminder. Yes, all that’s in the title. — P. and I studied toge…
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The content of this letter can test the boundaries of propriety for some readers as it talks about sex, porn, and other threads that twist with these a…
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Dear reader, Whenever I hear Shigeru Umebiyashi’s score for In the mood for love, I wish Yumeji’s theme to match mine — languid poetry in colours and t…
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A person who worked with me liked everything with tomato sauce. He would even eat curd rice with ketchup. Another person I know loves pillows, as if th…
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There’s a problem in mathematics called the ‘three-body problem’. How two bodies interact can be encapsulated in a relationship where everything is cle…
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It was somewhere in Nungambakkam. I don’t remember exactly what the story was; I was trying to talk to some people and then walked to the main road to …
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It could have been three years ago. I saw the slider on Netflix, and saw a row of white faces lined up for me to scroll. And for a moment, I thought - …
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I was helping my father repair a telephone connection. It was a landline, and sometimes inside that small dabba with all the connectors, the screws wou…
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S. lives in Bangalore. We know each other for over two decades now, and have commiserated with each other on every twist and turn our lives took. Even …
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“I’ve always considered myself to be, basically, a lucky person.” That’s how Tana French’s The Wych Elm begins. The person in whose voice the novel unf…
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Some years ago, a friend came to visit. We were chatting about music, and he said, you have to listen to this song. And went on to play the song from Y…
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It is Aunty J’s 80th birthday tomorrow. I am not sure when was the first time I met her. I do remember a party. I was tipsy and she stood there, and I,…
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