Unveil the Other Side

Danush, a little boy with big dreams and even bigger holes in his shoes, stood under an old, wise tree. It wasn’t just any tree; it was the neighborhood’s best-kept secret, famous for its ability to keep people dry when the skies decided to open up. Today was no different, as the heavens had unleashed a downpour that could rival even the most dramatic Bollywood rain scene. Danush was in rags, though he preferred to think of his outfit as "vintage chic." His mother, pale and skinny, stood beside him, clutching her shawl like it was the latest fashion statement. She looked at Danush and then at the storm, which was now in full swing, with the wind howling like it had just discovered the joys of whistling. “Amma, do you think the rain will stop soon?” Danush asked, his voice barely audible over the storm’s symphony. His mother, ever the optimist, squinted up at the sky. “Of course, Danush. The rain will stop... eventually. Until then, we have this grand tree for company. Besides...

Window shopping is like cardio for the soul, minus the sweat and plus the satisfaction. For the girl in me who constantly needs to keep moving, it’s the perfect blend of therapy and adventure. Who needs to actually buy stuff when you can stroll through aisles, mentally redecorating your entire life with things you’ll never own? It’s like an exercise in imagination—and let’s be honest, my imagination is fitter than I am. First off, there’s the thrill of the chase. You spot that perfect dress in the display window, the one that seems to have a halo around it. For a moment, you think, “This could be *the one*.” You know, the dress that transforms you from “tired-of-this-world” to “queen-of-this-mall.” But then, you check the price tag and realize that the only thing transforming will be your bank account into a big, fat zero. So, you smile, nod at the dress as if you’ve just exchanged pleasantries, and move on. Victory is mine! I didn’t spend a dime, but my spirits are soaring. Next stop:...

 Jiya had always been a curious soul, the kind who’d talk to plants and give names to inanimate objects like her favorite mug, Mr. Steamy. So, when a small bird appeared on her windowsill one lazy afternoon, she wasn’t too surprised. The bird was tiny, with feathers the color of cinnamon and a beady pair of eyes that looked like they held the secrets of the universe—or at least where all the good crumbs were hidden. Naturally, Jiya decided that this bird needed a name. After much deliberation (and a short debate with Mr. Steamy), she settled on "Chirpy." Because, well, the little bird had quite the voice. Every time it opened its beak, a cheerful chirp would escape, as if it were sharing the world’s happiest news. Now, Jiya wasn’t just content with Chirpy being a visitor; she wanted to befriend the bird. So, she started leaving crumbs of her breakfast by the windowsill. And not just any crumbs—these were the premium kind, from her morning toast, perfectly buttered and crispy....

Bangalore, ah, my dear old friend! Every visit feels like catching up with a buddy who’s constantly evolving but still cracks the same old jokes. Whether it’s the early morning ambles through Lalbagh, where the grass is still half asleep, or the high-energy hustle of Commercial Street, where the art of bargaining deserves a gold medal, Bangalore knows how to keep me on my toes. Now, living overseas has turned me into quite the daydreamer. I often find myself drifting off, imagining the smell of filter coffee wafting from my go-to café or the electric vibe of MG Road on a Saturday night. It’s funny how the city has mastered the art of juggling old-school charm with new-age chaos, all in one breath. Take Cubbon Park, for example—a slice of serenity where the leaves gossip in the breeze. But then, step outside, and bam! You’re back in the traffic circus, where honking is a language of its own. I used to grumble about it, but now? I catch myself smiling at the thought of it from across the...

 Ah, how the Olympics have evolved over the years! Back in the day, watching the games in Bangalore felt like stepping into a world where athletes seemed like untouchable gods. We’d watch gymnasts twist and turn in ways that made us question if they had any bones at all, while we struggled to do a single sit-up. Fast forward to today, and the feats have only gotten more jaw-dropping—triple axels on the ice that look like they've been ripped from a video game, and swimmers who make Michael Phelps look like he’s just warming up. But it’s not just the athletes who’ve evolved; our viewing experience has too. Gone are the days of huddling around a grainy TV in the early hours, hoping the power didn’t cut out during a crucial moment. Now, with the magic of the internet, we can watch the Olympics from any device, any time, and rewind that unbelievable dive 10 times just to marvel at it again.  Even the sports have changed—skateboarding and surfing are now Olympic events! If you’d tol...