With so many factors at play, it was best not to try and analyse what caused the slight drizzle that cooled off a sweltering Delhi on an early June afternoon. Instead I, along with hundreds of other Delhi-ites, focussed on enjoying it in its most famous landmark, the India Gate, well into midnight. The manicured lawns surrounding the arched monument was choc-a-bloc with picnicking parties – each armed with plastic mats to cover the wet grass and gleefully no umbrellas. Hit numbers strained over the shuddering little mobile phone speakers.

The wheeling months go round And back I come again To the baked and blistered ground And the dust-encumbered plain And the bare hot-weather trees And the Trunk Road’s aching white; Oh, land of little ease! Oh, land of strange delight! From the diary of a member of the British Army Engineers, walking from Calcutta to Delhi, conducting the Grand Trunk Route Survey, 1830 Monsoon traditionally sets foot in India towards the second half of May sending fleeting sprinklers over southerly Kerala. The sheeting downpour takes another fortnight; almost unerringly

Did god create the beautiful land first and then peopled it with a tribe to match? Or did He do it the other way around? A niggling question when you are in Nagaland. My initiation to the charm took place outside Kohima – with yummy-ripe pineapples and a sleepy smile by the roadside. I was miles away from the capital city where I was headed to for the Hornbill Festival. We stopped by one of the numerous wayside stalls mounted with seasonal pineapples and began checking out the yellow-golden fruits

A Father’s Day Special – for that great guy who first put my hand to wheels, who made travel grow on me. And who still drives with two chairs so that he and mom can sit and take in the scenery wherever. After my studies, after I got my first job, after my first marriage, my dad told me a secret. “Your mom and me, we had a love marriage.” It was also a full 15 years after I first knew about it. In fact, I had known it all

On Ugadi day if you are in Andhra Pradesh you won’t be able to spot a single mango tree without somebody on it. This day of Telugu New Year – March 23rd this year – is also the harbinger of the mango season. The Hyderabadis love their mangoes. When I say love, they really dig it. The way the grandma loved pancakes. My brother-in-law, a Reddy, when he sits down to eat mangoes, he sits down with a bucket full. No kidding. Quite appropriately their New Year is all about