There is a new answer a tree played for the footballers today. The sky was a discovered colour not recollected by the writer. A bee made straight zoom for my hair. The jogger jogged without his stick, first time in 6 months. A parrot flew over him. A girl found time to listen to an earthworm dig. Around bulldozer, it was silence. Not everything happened here.

The front yard of the house has grown to be a pile. The backyard has become a gift. The rooms of the house, a mirror. The kitchen, a filter. The entrance of the house stays a place. The house is still reflecting a prayer. After a family of five shifted, the house shares stories of living with dogs, cats, rats, leaves and crows. That there is life in their house even after they leave came from discovering a quadrilateral of dust. Perhaps it was the post-its revising. There was a carcass of a lizard stuck at the end of the tube light holder, light sketch of a tiger on a wall (carrying an umbrella on its head). All pieces and prominences. None which can be removed naturally: "Now" "Wake me at 4. (alternative: water bucket)" "Going to not come back" "Happy birthday Gillu" "AIIMS - 5 June" "Aipmt - 24 April" "Clat - 13 April" "Ho jaega" ...

Of what we have done to earth comes nothing close to what crows have been doing to mango trees. Waking up leaves, squatting on dish antennas and gulping water off Delhi’s terraces!!! Or squirrels plucking tail up  every time they grunt taking every grain of mango  pulp home. Just look at that rat,  how it got underground?! (to fold the roots of mango tree deeper) At least we Are facing and meeting (making) the crisis in its raw form. Look, how much the domestic pigeon shits on AC. (Inspired by Fatimah Asghar's I Don't Know What Will Kill Us First: The Race War or What We've Done to the Earth)

Mehboob Murderer by Nupur Anand is a fast-paced thriller, set in Mumbai. The story revolves around a shootout, when the 80-year-old Café Mehboob is targeted by a murderer. Six people are gunned down mercilessly. The narrator makes us take particular interest in their lives, while making a point about how victims are people, who matter more than catchy news headlines. This book is also an encounter with a city in all its loneliness. Mehboob Murderer will be able to interest mystery lovers and if you are living in the city of Mumbai, you will be able to relate to the narratives in the book!  Mehboob Murderer (2019) Author: Nupur Anand Publisher: Om Books International Genre: Fiction, Mystery With the third person point of view, the narrator watches Inspector Intekhaab Abbas, a celebrated police officer, and his team, crack the murder case. They are given 14 days to catch the murderer, and shift the attention of news channels from the incident. What follows is a fast-p...

When she says: Didi tum maar khaogi? My little neighbour states the very obvious. Her elder sister has just pushed her off the back seat of their red bicycle. There is another who is busy drawing herself in circles behind the cycle. She goes round and round and round… The youngest one of them hasn’t turned up today. She is busy creating an earth on the wall below this floor. When the neighbour repeats: Didi tum maar khaogi? The one behind the cycle, Circling, answers: “Haan. Abhi plate laati hun!”

In an effort to forget the old home I have started keeping eyes open. Afternoon naps have been four Since I came here. Last Thursday when our professor asked us to write ‘What does this city mean to you’ I wrote about how I took the wrong bus That I missed seeing a letter - 405 and 405 A do not take you to same place. That I was so sure of A being absent I didn’t see its presence. A group of boys on the bus Described walls of Delhi Gate to their friends (and to the not so crowded bus) One said ‘Look at India Gate!’ We were passing by Lal Quila. He immediately corrected himself.

My neighbors are kind. They have befriended monkeys in the neighborhood. Sometimes, we all look like families caring for each other. The monkey usually sits on the pipeline, connecting tap pipeline to the main supply, to not let people come near tap, unless it is my neighbor. In return, the neighbor lets the monkey use half bucket of water. Their children are kind too. Recently, the kids have started dropping out of school to give the parents another pair of hands to carry pails of bucket. I have been trying to visit Daryaganj this week to buy water colours for the kids. On a day when I am thinking whether water colours should even be in my shopping list, a memory of ocean fills up the lane and walks towards me in the form of a Class 11 child, asking a room, full of quiet children, “In which state is Bay of Bengal?” He was making jokes on water to break the ice between us. How are you and what’s up have become the most ridiculously creative questions ...

This is an account of a bus commuter being observant of spaces and interaction with women while observing the city as the bus accelerates around the word ‘daily’ every day.  On the first day in bus, the driver chided. “Pragati Maidan”, I responded with a voice that doesn’t care much about being misunderstood. “Ye poora Pragati Maidan hai. Metro station jana hai? Court jana hai? Joo jana hai? Kahan jana hai?  [This whole area is Pragati Maidan. Do you want to go to Metro? Court? Zoo? Where do you want to go?]" I was not prepared for so many options. Pragati Maidan had always looked so vast that it never felt like a place that would require me to be precise. Since that day, traveling by bus has come very close to being specific. I traveled in bus to take respite from the word daily. Metro was making me annoyed and impatient: I reached my destination late; I wasn’t getting up early to fix the situation; I never got a seat; There was nothing to look forward to e...