• Day of Reckoning No dog in our town was safe. Mo and his gang instinctively reached for stones the moment they saw one. With savage glee they would attack the mongrel as if impelled by some atavistic urge, as if not to hurl a rock would violate some secret adolescent code. Similarly, no schoolgirl could escape their catcalls. When ... Read more...
  • The sweet and sour of Bohra cuisine Although food is integral to human survival, for Bohras it boils down to much more. After faith and culture, it is food that binds them together, brings them together. In fact faith would have little currency without that inevitable jaman. Food, or at least the expectation of it, helps one endure those dreary majalises. And for the orthodox brethren, for whom no gathering, religious or otherwise, can end without the ritual of matam, that expectation cannot be sweeter. Read more...
  • When words have no meaning He sat on the edge of the bed beside maasi, a heart-broken old woman. Unshaven and unkempt, he was in pajama-kurta and a skull cap that Bohras wear. He was hugging his one leg which was raised, bent at the knee, and was leaning back a bit. He spoke in a voice that came as if from a deep well of sorrow, rasping and laced with pathos. You felt a certain attraction (or is it empathy?) for his posture, his voice, his simplicity. Read more...