Food and Travel Writing Workshop with Anubhuti Krishna

Dates: May 2022 Every once in a while a young, to not so young aspiring writer reaches out to me for help. It is mostly on Social media or email and I almost always reply too -- in whatever way I can. Writing however is a long and subjective topic, it is impossible to become …

Why Darshinis of Bangalore will remain its most important cultural landmark.

It is 7:30 in the morning and the queue at Krishna Bhavan runs long. The kitchen is busy and the dining area is full. Smoke wafts from the large iron griddle churning out dosas at the back; steam clouds the sambar cauldron in the corner. Some people walk around balancing plates of piping hot idlis …

Picnic aboard the Steel Express

Like most people of my generation train travel occupies a special place in my heart, especially the food. From the homemade poori-aloo-pickle packed neatly in steel tiffin boxes, to pantry made not-so-hot meals served in foil casings, to the piping hot samosas and cutlets that arrived fresh at every station – it was the food …

What is my worth?

An old poem, from my old page, for my new readers . What is my worth and how do I calculate it?My bank account says I have a couple of hundred thousands – is that my worth? My salary statement says I make a fraction of what I used to years ago – is that …

Of Music and Irrerapairable Holes in Your Soul

They say you leave a little bit of yourself with everyone you have loved -- and lost. No wonder then that we eventually remain just a skeleton of who we once were: when you give away parts of your heart, soul, mind, and sometimes even body away skeletons are the only things that remain, isn't …

Beauty

She never thought she was ugly, on the contrary, she believed herself to be charming and pretty. Her belief lent her a poise and grace that was not easy to find in girls her age. She often admired herself --  the long slender fingers, the curvy eyelashes, the little button nose, Her eyes, she thought, were a bit …

A town called Jamshedpur

I first saw it in the stories of my husband’s boyhood: when he told me about fishing in the local river with his bare hands and when he described the tough climb of the adjoining hills. When he told me about the ghost that changed shapes and the tortoise that came home. There were also …