Mumbai — a curtain of rain flutters and falls. It’s nice watching the rain from the shelter of a 12th floor flat. Not in the jhopudputti, the slum where my father’s attendant lives. There the water seeps in so high that he is afraid his young children will...
Much about a Mango My friend bought a giant mango from Berkeley Bowl and gave it to me. I squeezed it to see if it was ripe; the way I saw my mother test them when the fruit seller came to the door of our flat in Mumbai many years ago. The mango felt soft to the...
A few weeks back I was strolling the cosmetic aisle at Longs drugstore looking for eye makeup remover. As my eyes searched the shelves, I saw Revlon hypoallergenic eyeliner, Maybelline mascara for extra long eye lashes, eye color pencils in royal blue, smoky green and...
In today’s world with selfies and instagrams, where everyone is snapping pictures on their iPhones, it was illuminating to see the black and white photos of Homai Vyarawalla, belonging to another era when photography was black and white, and cameras were bulky and...
My mother is dead and my father and I are in Madras. We are staying in my father’s brother’s house, trying to recuperate, if one can ever recuperate from the loss of a mother or a wife. My uncle and aunt are doing everything they can to make us feel comfortable, but I...
