By Girija Madhavan Memories are like faded flower petals in a ‘Pot-pourri’ jar; once vibrant blooms, their colour now dimmed, their life over. Yet, when the jar is opened, a faint fragrance…
By Girija Madhavan
Memories are like faded flower petals in a ‘Pot-pourri’ jar; once vibrant blooms, their colour now dimmed, their life over. Yet, when the jar is opened, a faint fragrance still wafts out. Old memories too come to fleeting life again when revived. Apart from my personal recollections of early childhood, I also retain part of a collective family memory stemming from ‘story-telling time’, when elders retold favourite tales. The Khedda story is one such.
By Dr. R. Balasubramaniam There is a peculiar arrangement in my neighbour's home that everyone there calls dog ownership. They believe they own a dog. The dog, a portly fellow named Bruno,…
By Sujata Rajpal My name is Sujata and there is no ‘h’ in my name.” That’s how I introduced myself when, twenty-five years ago, I made Mysuru my home. Landing straight from…
from a Princely State By R.G. Singh, Secretary, Ramsons Kala Pratishtana From Left: 1. Unidentified lady, 2. H.H. Yuvarani Kempucheluvajammanni (23.6.1893 to 30.12.1970), wife of H.H. Yuvaraja Kanteerava Narasimharaja Wadiyar, 3. H.H.…
