Born Spectator

I feel pain. Of the kind which doesn't tell which part of the body it's coming from - but it hurts; cruelly, tediously, steadily ...

Memoirs of skiing on the Ragged Mountains in the pristine town of Camden, Maine. I had mugged up the term 'self-motivated', amongst ...

वो रौशनदान जिससे बाहरी बरसात से छनकर आता उजाला छुपकर झाँक रहा है वो शीशा जिसे भिगोकर अलसाया भूरा बादल बस ऐसे ही ताक रहा है काश बस थोड़ा और ब...

Cluck-squeesh-cluck-squeesh-cluck-squeesh The wipers are desperately fighting the incessant droplets banging on my windshield. The exciteme...

NOTE: All characters and events are purely fictional. It's 03:30 AM. Nibbling on lose strands of NC's (Night Canteen) special maggi...

Better late than never. Finally had a chance to go through The Fountainhead, the masterpiece from probably one of the most analysed authors...

A piece which played multiple times tonight, or should I say, morning: फिर कुछ इस दिल को बेक़रारी है सीना जोया-ए-ज़ख्म-ए-कारी है ( जोया : to...

Recession is probably the haven for entrepreneurs.  In bad times like these when everything else stops, and when one spends daily office hou...

Happened to get a chance to attend a screening of the 1999 flick "Tuesdays with Morrie", an adaptation of the Mitch Albom novel of...

You probably wouldn't get the feeling behind this post unless you have a firsthand experience.  Last week, I happened to visit the NIT C...