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Farrokh Jijina was my oldest friend.
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The peeling, splotchy walls of Calcutta’s National Economic Restaurant are of such antiquity that it is not in question whether Tagore ever visited for a slice of toast but whether Chandragupta Maurya stopped by for a cup of tea.
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I dislike arriving at new places by air – feels more like teleportation than travel – but landing at Dehradun airport charms you with a magnificent first view of the hills.
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In February 2014, I went on a mostly solo, four-week backpacking trip from Mumbai to Kolkata, Varanasi (Benaras), Lucknow, Harsil (near Gangotri), Mussoorie, Mcleodganj, Delhi, Jodhpur and Udaipur.
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Watching the gleaming coaches of my train disappear down a red laterite valley after depositing me at Thivim Station six hours behind schedule, which, according to Goan Standard Time, is not very late at all.
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I write for The City Story, an independent website that documents interesting people, places, experiences and eating options in Mumbai and London.
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An earnest bachelor travelling on work slides his glasses up his harried nose and attempts to tinker with his laptop while a family of seven corners him in with a teething baby, a farting grandpa, a painfully beautiful daughter, a corpulent son who strips…
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This morning, I conducted a one-person sociological experiment.
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Before I see her, I hear her.
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Think of S.