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Goats survive Tigers Live

With the delayed monsoons, the July heat in Mumbai pressed down like a hand that refused to let go. Fifty-two year old Sanket Ketkar, was veteran of the TV news world. He sat in his office at the channel’s Marathi news headquarters in Andheri. His trademark grey Nehru jacket hung on the back of his chair. He had built his reputation over decades, grilling ministers and opposition leaders alike on his 9 pm show Straight Talk with Sanket. Viewers admired his fearlessness; politicians dreaded his questions. Most people thought he was invincible. It was two years since the new government was elected amidst promises of better days and improvement in the lives of a billion people. And the air in the newsroom had changed. The channel had recently been taken over by the Goyal Group, a sprawling business conglomerate with close ties to the ruling regime. The takeover was announced with smiles and promises of “synergy,” but Sanket knew what it meant: control. Sanket’s backstory was etched ...
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Faded Ink - Dhoondali Syaahi

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  धूंदली स्याही  सहर की किरण जब ढलने लगी, सितारों की छाँव में यादें जगी डाक में  जब  आया एक ख़ामोश पैग़ाम, मुहर में छुपा था पुराना सलाम हवा में  यूँ  बिखरी ख़ुशबू पुरानी, जैसे लौट आई थी, तेरी कहानी किताबें तो खो गयी वक़्त की धूल में, कुछ कागज़ बचे हैं, बस उसूल में लिफ़ाफ़ा रखा है यूँ दिल के पास, जैसे मोहब्बत का हो कोई ख़ास और वक़्त गुज़रता रहा चुपचाप, यादें करती रहीं अपना हिसाब मुहर की स्याही धुंधली सही, मगर मोहब्बत थी वही मोहब्बत थी वही   
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Between Choosing And Letting Go

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The monsoon had a way of making Pune feel like a city caught between breaths. It had arrived in Pune with the kind of insistence that felt personal, as if the sky itself were trying to wash away memories. Clouds hung low over the skyline, pressing their weight onto the glass towers of the business district. Inside one of them — Worth Financial Services — Kavita Joshi stood by the tall window of the twenty‑second floor, watching the rain blur the city into a trembling water color. Her navy‑blue cotton‑silk sari clung lightly to her frame, the fabric whispering against her skin as she shifted her weight. At forty‑six, she was composed, respected, and feared in equal measure in banking circles. Senior Vice President of Corporate Risk. A woman who had built her life on discipline and precision. For her, building reputations was stronger than most marriages, and in the quiet hours after boardrooms and balance sheets, she believed that success had its own kind of intimacy ... And she a...
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One Year After Retirement : A Comedy of Freedoms

It’s been twelve months since I waved goodbye to deadlines, meetings, and the mysterious office printer that jammed only when I used it. In the days approaching my last day, my colleagues, friends and acquaintances used to ask me of my plans post retirement. I was actually looking forward to life where I did not want to make any plans, but I had to give a stock answer to all because they wished well. Retirement, I’ve learned, is not a peaceful stroll into the sunset but a delightful circus of small surprises, new hobbies, and the occasional existential crisis triggered by a missing TV remote or home broadband not working. So I decided to put to words my thoughts on the year I spent after retirement! Here it is complete with laughter, revelations, and a few questionable lifestyle choices 😃 The Maid Chronicles Ah, the maid (our बाई 🙏). In my working years, her late arrival was a minor irritation, like a mosquito buzzing near your ear. Now, it’s the central plot of my daily so...
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