Thought
One thing that I have grown accustomed to in last 10-15 years is hearing a challenging political opinion and outrightly discarding it as ill-informed, presumptuous or even outlandish. Still, something people around me have grown accustomed to has been involuntarily being forced into discussions of political opinions with
Story
“What are you kids doing here?” “This one is telling a story.” One of us almost ratted another out. Half of it was true. It had been that pointed one indeed, but surely we weren’t surrounding him for a story. He was perhaps convincing the rest of us to
Book Review
I picked a copy of Nights of Plague by Orhan Pamuk back in 2023 on a visit to India. Pamuk is among the very few Turkish writers that I had heard of. I don’t think I was aware before picking the book that he had a Nobel Prize in
Book Review
In 1967, the New York Times critic Eliot Fremont-Smith introduced the Western world to a ghost. Writing in 'The Devil in Moscow,' he noted: MIKHAIL BULGAKOV died in 1940 at the age of 48, unsung and virtually unknown. While that review defined the book's legacy
Book Review
An incoherent love-letter to Salman Rushdie I cannot distinctly remember when I first read the name of this book, but taking into account my frivolous and rebellious temperament I can almost certainly establish that it was not suggested as a good read by anyone I knew. Of course, the
Story
Madness has always been an interesting subject for me. I have met my fair share of mentally ill people in my life- well, met is an exaggeration, I’ve seen them, or for an even more suitable phrase, observed them. My first memory of a mad person is a person
Story
Gregor Samsa is too large a name for our purposes, so we’ll just call him Mr K. Mr K is broadly considered an idiot, but, let’s not immediately put too much faith in his public perception and let’s instead use our own critical faculties to see what
Story
There are two types of people in the world. OR With all the authority vested in me by this act of you reading this with possibly questionable level of attention and my sheer audacity of assuming such disputable dominance, I declare that there are two types of people in the
Story
Ages ago, I was sitting somewhere in my village. It was around dusk. I was lying down in my hut made of mud and straw. It was very calm and pleasant. I could see the horizon and the animals still grazing near the farm. I being the observant and the
Thought
I contemplated for too long about what the first post here should be about. It could have been anything- and that, perhaps, is the scariest thought. Anything- so endless and so engrossing. You start at the first distraction from the monotony of nothingness, and then, you fall into the next