I grew up like most of the billionaires’ kids did. The Gates’ kids didn’t use smartphones till they were in middle school. Zuckerberg’s daughter reads Dr Seuss books and plays outside. Jobs, strictly, restricted the use of gadgets and made sure dinner time was all about conversations. Same to same, I’d say, and watch those Grammar Nazis convulse. But, I won’t. Instead, I’ll take you on a tour of my childhood and the top five games I played. (Click the picture above to read more...)

It’s election time, they tell me. But, I don’t think I’ll be able to follow any analysis unless it comes in a tub of ice cream. My days are divided between sticking my head into the refrigerator, or into a fan and looking at clouds up above.  (Click the picture above to read more...)

What about the employment it generates? We have retired cricketers, mostly from Down Under who get good pay-checks and free Fab India kurtas. (Click the picture above to read more...)

Hey, I can spot my representative! He’s on a huge billboard, his benevolent face a big, radiant disc in the centre and several other smaller faces around that, radiating like ray florets of a sunflower. (Click the picture above to read more...)

‘Challenges’ in social media are hugely popular in current times, grabbing our collective eyeballs, leaving none for that wheel-chaired guy who conquered a mountain peak, or the gentleman with the genetically malformed cochlea who won a Grammy. (Click the picture above to read more...)

Saying it musically has almost always been a foolproof strategy. Whether it’s serenading a beloved, conveying a political agenda, or trying to communicate with aliens, music is the sureshot solution. (Click the picture above to read more...)

While wading through waist-deep rainwater on a road or while being showered with toxic foam bubbling out of a nearby lake, and on seeing a bridge come crumbling like it were made of semolina, we often ask why the government does not keep its promises. (Click the picture above to read more...)

As soon the parting of my hair was secured with vermillion, my frequent flights to assorted feet began. It’s a touching story! Literally. All older folk in the family including those who claimed to be younger had to suck it up and fasten pyjama-belts for a bahu-landing. The bahu, in the meantime, had to practise the perfect landing and immediately thereafter, a successful retraction of all gear and preparation for next landing. (Click the picture above to read more...)

We, women, have two problems — one is that we don’t have enough sarees, and two, we don’t have enough occasions to wear those sarees. (Click the picture above to read more...)

If you don’t know where you are going, any road will get you there, said Lewis Carol. Our family has taken this quote to the next level. Even when we know where we are going, we tend to take the wrong road. Why? That will need half some research costing half of the Modi-Choksi money, so let’s ignore that question. (Click the picture above to read more...)

I have a deep sense of compassion for most four-legged creatures, including the squashed frogs that I regularly spot in my community.

Especially, dogs: even a mention of one or a distant spotting makes me break into babyglese. I shower all my love and affection in language neither dog nor man follow. In fact, while growing up, we had a bark-load of dogs: the beautiful lady, the crack-pot terrier, the ever-smiling stray (or, was it just a jaw deformity?), the obese nutcase and, yes, that puppy we stole from our neighbours. (Click the picture above to read more...)

My daughter leaves for college next year. College = Boys. So, I have these long, imaginary interview sessions with imaginary college boys. I begin with pleasantries and polite inquiries. But, those don’t last. The phrases that get shortlisted for the actual conversation are, ‘I will kill you’ (number 1), ‘I will powder your bones’ (number 2) and ‘What’s your father’s number? (tied at number 2). (Click the picture above to read more...)

My eleven-year-old brat is a sportsman with a million dreams. The only problem is that he pursues one sport per dream. With that, we are running out of sports commonly known to mankind. (Click the picture above to read more...)

Since I had long fingers like my artist-uncle, I was proclaimed the artist of the family.  That is when my torturous artistic journey began. As my co-bencher Poonam sketched plump, pretty lotuses, I produced ones that had rickets. Their stems looked like the tendons of unidentifiable road kill (Click the picture above to read more...)

Bambie hated wearing clothes. She felt so trapped in that dumb velvet jacket. One day, while chasing a rat, her prayers were answered – the buttons got undone – she wriggled out of it and pushed it with her nose towards the neighbour’s fence. Who discovered it the next morning and shrieked, ‘Oh wow... a plush purple velvet damask-print top!’ (Click the picture above to read more...)

When God created man, he intended everyone to live peacefully. He tried to ensure people stayed out of each other’s hair by telling them to be nice to each other, not covet wives or steal asses of neighbours. I guess that worked for some time. We danced in the garden of life with childlike abandon. Till Lily noticed that Shirlie’s butt was perkier. (Click the picture above to read more...)

If you have kids, it is understood their school projects are your projects. From CEOs to clerks, all are afflicted with school projects if they are afflicted with kids. And whatever you do, you can never beat other parents whose projects will always be better than yours. When you are bent over, personally licking foliage on to a mini cardboard hut, your little one will inform you: (Click the picture above to read more...)

They are loaded with water bottles, pills, towels and food to feed a small refugee colony.

Dadabhai Naoroji is asking me to solve quadratic equations. Lord Curzon brandishes his sword, threatening me, but Portia reminds him that the ‘quality of mercy is not strained’. I feel like a stone tied to a string being rotated in a circular speed. I pass out before I can figure out the structural formula of ethanoic acid. Yes, it’s board exam time. And, I am a mother. (Click the picture above to read more...)