Ginger drafts...

“Dude, the guy with pissi…”I took a shallow breath of warm air before finishing the sentence. I read somewhere that joggers ought to take long deep breaths, for the lungs expand and trapped oxygen suffuses through the body to burn fat. “what about him?” Sahu inquired, he was jogging on the other side of the brief line of palm trees on an elevation near the entrance of the village. Fifty feet away, on the track that ran through the field with dry twigs and dead leaves, I shouted “I cannot recall his name” I continued after inhaling what I felt was sufficient oxygen for a phrase or two. Sahu began “there is boos….” I cut him short with premeditated remonstrance: “listen” I said “of the four that includes pissi, one is boos, second one is rahul and the third?” I closed the phrase with the shrill intonation of a question. We were near the U-turn, it was only the first round, and I was determined to carry on for two more rounds, while sahu was keeping himself content with another round. Our

If you ever happen to visit Hyderabad, stray away from the maddening crowd into one of the lonely corners of a street or a by lane. Away from the cold clutches of greedy guides, pokey nosed autowalas, ribald road side fruit vendors and casual tourists, do stray away. Here in the absence of commercial vantage, you will find under slanted roofs with heavy brown tiles and crescent shaped porticos with lime white coat, purer and pristine Hyderabad. “Tawakkal Café” you are bound to find this hotel in every street of Hyderabad. Here, teenage waiters with their shirt sleeves folded above the elbow, with dishevelled hair, worn and faded jeans, top buttons of the chequered shirt left open, with a kerchief around the throat and chewing gum between their firm jaws, approach you. And when you are finished sipping the best chai on this planet earth out of a thick china cup and brownish white saucer with jagged edges, when you are finished with your tongue quivering for the last drop of juicy one