Some days, Bangalore doesn’t wake up — it jolts. Autos growl like irritated uncles, WhatsApp groups beep like anxious sparrows, and fear drifts through the...
Last Tuesday, over a simple North Indian lunch that tasted more of memory than masala, a friend of mine—techie, 50, California resident, ex-Amazon, start-up survivor,...
Every night, across many Bengaluru homes, a small ceremony takes place. Coffee powder is measured with priestly precision, hot water is poured over it, and...
It began with a man who forgot his own shoes. Mr Murthy, seventy-two, retired banker, proud owner of three umbrellas and zero memories.“Doctor,” he said,...
The day Mrs Lakshmi walked into my clinic, Bengaluru’s weather looked like her mood — sunny, sweaty, and unpredictable. She waved a newspaper at her...