Winters are lovely times. There is nothing as magical as the snuggle in a jaipuri blanket with your little one. It is difficult to get out of the blanket in Delhi winter, even to watch the tempting television debates, with most articulate aggression one can get. The sun is mild, and the green in the neighbourhood park looks fresh as a child. Days are not yet unkind, though chill has made appearance in the dawn. The most agonising part of the winters is the mornings when the kids have to be readied for school, which Nonu dutifully misses at least three days in a week, much to the chagrin of her mother. I, as silent co-conspirator to this, on account of my own sloth and my distaste to what appears to me as unnecessary torture to the little one in the name of organised education, cooperate in her staying at home oftentimes. In fact, had a discussion with her mother today on this, and when I contested, stating the I could even sail through my engineering with shaky attendances, and in th
I am a Worshiper of Words. I ponder, I think, I write, therefore, I exist. A Blog on Literature, Philosophy and Parenting