Potter-ing Away Since 1999

If Bryan Adams had ‘ The Summer of 69’, I had The Winter of 99’. No, my fingers didn’t bleed, and neither did any of my friends ‘get married’, but those certainly were the best days of my life, for that was when I fell in love. I, a geeky plump 10-year-old, had begun to…

How do I do the reading-and-blogging thing?

How do you save a drowning person? Throw a rubber float at them. Three weeks back WordPress wished me Happy Anniversary. It took me a couple of moments to realize, it has been a year since I started this blog. Looking back now, the one year seemed to have swooshed by. But, I know the…

No Place like Home

On the eve of The Wizard of Oz’s first film release in India, Emily Grace writes why there is no place like home.

When books become time capsules

Inscription, the noun, comes from the verb inscribe that means to engrave or carve or etch. Leaving a mark. Knowingly or unknowingly, the people who leave behind these inscriptions leave a little part of themselves and a moment of time within the object, in this case, the object being books. The words, names, messages of goodwill, affections and love are strings that pull us back to our lives of our pasts.

All the light they make me see

There are books you read and move on. Then there are BOOKS you read and go back to them over and over again. They don’t show you where the light is at the end of the tunnel. What they tell you is this: there will be light. Because there always is. If you don’t see a hovering glow, it means the end is not here yet. And until you get there, the book is your torchlight, accompanying and guiding you with its fluorescent gleam.