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In The Shade of her Memory

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Roshni had passed away two years ago. Ninad was still collecting fragments of his life. It all began fifteen years ago with rain. Not the kind that rushes down rooftops, but the kind that lingers—soft, deliberate, like a memory returning. Ninad Joshi, now 43, had then stood under the stone archway of Pune's  Sahitya Institute, watching droplets gather on the edge of his umbrella. He was there for a poetry reading, dressed in denim’s and a casual shirt  that matched the sky’s melancholy. Despite being an avid biker, he had always preferred silence to speech, metaphors to declarations. Roshni Kaur, three years younger to him , arrived late, her dupatta soaked, but her laughter and energy, louder than the thunder. She was a study in paradox's - a Kathak dancer and philosophy lecturer, born in Ludhiana and raised on verses and mustard fields. She wore a rust-colored dress that clung to her like a second skin. Her earrings chimed lightly with every step, as if announcing h...
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Khamosh Sa Afsana

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Disclaimer –  I am musically illiterate and this is my interpretation of this great song. ☺ Gulzar had once said a good poem or ghazal is one that gives different meanings to different persons depending on their experiences and understanding. So, I take full liberty to express my views on this classic. Just ignore any mistakes that I make.   ख़ामोश - सा अफ़साना पानी से लिखा होता न तुम ने कहा होता , न हम ने सुना होता दिल   की बात न पूछ , दिल तो आता रहेगा दिल बहकता रहा है , दिल बहकता रहेगा दिल को हम ने कुछ समझाया होता ख़ामोश - सा अफ़साना … सहमे से रहते हैं , जब ये दिन ढलता है एक दिया बुझता है , एक दिया जल्ता है तुम ने कोई तो दीप जलाया होता ख़ामोश - सा अफ़साना … इतने साहिल ढूँढे , कोई न सामने आया जब मँझधार में डूबे , साहिल थामने आया तुम ने साहिल को पहले बिछाया होता ख़ामोश - सा अफ़साना … The song can be heard here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hB8giAIiAs0   The song " खामोश सा अफ़...
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Right Left and What Was Lost

The rain had stopped just before dusk, leaving the streets of Mumbai slick and glistening like a memory half-washed. Inside the lobby of the five star Trent Hotel in Nariman Point, the air was cool, perfumed faintly with lemongrass and polished leather. Marble floor reflected the soft yellow lights above, and the quiet hum of conversations floated like background music. Raghav spotted him first—leaning against the concierge desk, scrolling through his phone, dressed in a pale blue linen shirt and beige trousers. His hair was thinner, his shoulders broader, but the face was unmistakable. “Arjun?” Raghav said, unsure if he should smile. Arjun looked up, blinked, and then smiled slowly. “Raghav Patkar. From Nagpur. I’d recognize that voice anywhere.” They shook hands, awkwardly. It had been nearly twenty years. “You’re here for the conference?” Arjun asked. “Yeah. Policy and Infrastructure. You?” “Same. I’m with the Gujarat Urban Planning Board now.” “Delhi Development Aut...
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