I have for the last quite a few posts almost manoeuvred out of the torrid path of politics and more accurately, avoided taking note of the way world around me changed each day. While the newspapers screamed through a self imposed deafness and isolation as I kept my being comfortably ensconced in the cocoon of an utopian Felicity, touched by the divine touch of the little human soul, my daughter. Truth has a may habit of slowly tickling your toes, before it finally nudges you out of the feigned slumber, and throws you on the floor so hard that the pretence is no longer bearable. So, wake up I did to find that baby Falak is dead, Ms. Padma Lakshmi's last beau finally got paternity right to his child, the Indian couple in Norway lose custody, live-in gains currency by an unusually generous Supreme Court and this week, divorce becomes easy. A debate on television had a gentleman with some fancy title of psychologist counsellor, was busy painting such a bleak picture that kids would
I am a Worshiper of Words. I ponder, I think, I write, therefore, I exist. A Blog on Literature, Philosophy and Parenting