The mellow February sunshine, crisp winter breeze, and a clear blue sky: perfect setting for an afternoon rendezvous with nature in my enviable backyard. As I sit in my gazebo, slouching on the wrought-iron chair, holding my favourite novel and a hot cup. Chitvan Singh Dhillon writes
The names of Padma awardees were being flashed during the 9pm primetime news on television. The news marquee read, "Padma Bhushan for Ruskin Bond - literature and education". Though I haven't met Bond, I was delighted for my favourite writer had been conferred with the national award on the eve of the 65th Republic Day. Chitvan Singh Dhillon writes
The world of book trade is witnessing an outlandish paradox. Though as readers our appetite for reading has augmented by leaps and bounds and publishing houses are flourishing, the disturbing trend is the demise of our favourite local bookstores. Chitvan Singh Dhillon writes.
It was a beautiful Sunday morning. My mother and I, seated on a makeshift bamboo bench, were sipping hot tea and taking in the beauty of our humble backyard when the phone rang. As they say all it takes is 60 seconds for all hell to break loose. I saw her face turn plum and purple as she spoke. Chitvan Singh Dhillon writes
Just the other day, I attended a lecture about the economic reforms in India since 1991; and the acclaimed policy analyst and brilliant teacher that professor Upinder Sawhney is, even the drab subject becomes interesting. Chitvan Singh Dhillon writes.
My maternal grandfather, someone who I secretly admire, a retired civil servant from the prestigious Indian Foreign Service (IFS), entered his early eighties yesterday. I must confess, I had forgotten his special day until my mother asked me whether I had wished him or not. Chitvan Singh Dhillon writes.
"Please join me for an evening full of fun. It's my 16th birthday, hope you won't miss this chance. It'll be great to see you there!" is what the birthday invitation of a neighbourhood friend read, sent via SMS. Chitvan Singh Dhillon writes
Summer is synonymous with vacation. It was only last month that I returned from the Nilgiris, the salubrious mountain ranges of south India. A visit to a local nursery, 'Leebon', neatly tucked away in a picturesque cove by a busy hill highway in the garrison town of Wellington (a hill station near Ooty) made the trip unforgettable. Chitvan Singh Dhillon writes.