Hmmm...

The school was celebrating fifty years. It was a special occasion, and the school management, along with the alumni association, had put in months of effort to make it memorable. Former students and teachers were arriving from different parts of the country and even from abroad. Some had not seen each other for thirty-five years. A few had lost touch completely, and some had no idea where life had taken their old classmates. That day, everyone seemed to have travelled back in time. There were retired teachers, some walking slowly, others arriving in wheelchairs. There were students who had once been the most notorious boys in class, now with grey hair and respectable-looking bellies. There were people who had become doctors, engineers, entrepreneurs, senior executives and successful professionals. There were also those whose lives had taken quieter, less celebrated paths. The school auditorium was full of laughter, old stories, photographs and the occasional argument about who ...

Oyo was a cute little poodle who had a very comfortable life. He was brought home by the son of the family, who loved him dearly. He would take Oyo to the doctor, take him for grooming, play with him, and make sure he was always looking his best. But when it came to waking up early for his morning walk or making sure his food was served on time, it was usually his parents who took charge. Oyo didn't mind this arrangement at all. After all, why should he? He had people to love him, people to feed him, and people to take him wherever they went. His life was almost perfect. He would sit with the family while they watched television, follow them from one room to another, and sometimes simply lie down nearby, happy to be part of whatever was happening. When the family went out in their car, Oyo often went along. He was rarely left alone, and even when nobody was paying him attention, he knew his people were around. That was enough for him. He also had his little attitude. During his wal...

It was a Sunday morning, and I woke up late. The previous night, I had stayed up watching a football match, convincing myself that sleep could wait because some things in life were more important than health. At my age, apparently, watching twenty-two men run around a field was perfectly acceptable, even if I could barely run to the bathroom without feeling the need to catch my breath. I dragged myself out of bed, brushed my teeth and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. I was still half asleep when I looked up. And then I froze. The man staring back at me wasn't me. Well, it was me, but twenty-five years younger. The same thick hair, the same sharp jawline, the same bright eyes and that ridiculous confidence I once carried around as if the world had personally promised me a successful future. He looked at me, smiled and tilted his head. I blinked. I splashed water on my face, wiped it with a towel and looked again. He was still there. I shook my head, wondering whether watching ...

Srinivas was in his late fifties and, by every conventional definition, he was a successful man. He had spent most of his working life in one of the biggest corporate companies in Bengaluru. Good position, good salary, good house, good savings and a life that most people would look at and say, "What more do you want?" Saritha was working too. She was about six years younger than him, ambitious, independent and still very serious about her career. Their two children were doing well. One was working in the USA and the other was studying there.   From outside, the Srinivas family looked like one of those families who had got everything right.   Inside, something had slowly gone missing.   Their mornings were almost mechanical. They would wake up, go for their walk, come back, get ready and leave for work. Their offices were in different directions and the Bengaluru traffic made even a normal journey feel like a punishment. It was not that their offices were ver...