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Delhi

The marmalade of my youth

“I got the blues thinking of the future, so I left off and made some marmalade…” (D.H. Lawrence) The little marmalade, aka lemon, tree. In the garden (in truth a pocket handkerchief sized plot) of the very first house my parents built and owned, my mother planted a miniature orange tree- Calamondin according to a […] Read more

My uncle, my auntie!

The closing scene of E.Nesbit’s Railway Children always chokes me. “Oh my Daddy,  my Daddy!” cries Roberta as her father- who has been in prison (falsely accused of spying for the Germans)- steps down to the station platform. I used to experience something close to that intense joy whenever my favourite uncle or aunt appeared […] Read more

My mother’s carer

I have been with my 104 year old mother in Delhi. She  lies on her back suspended  between this life and the next. You could call it the waiting room to the next destination. Her face is beautiful as ever, skin luminous even though it is stretched tight. Her limbs are fragile as a bird […] Read more

Mr D.Vasudeva, father of Keshav and grandfather of Siddhartha, founded the wholesale coffee business named Devans in 1962. In his day there was little more than a rough looking dusty godown, or shed, with gunny sacks of coffee berries which Mr Vasudev sourced from Karnataka. His plantation contacts were in the Babagudangiri  and Chipmangalore districts […] Read more

The paper cutters of Mathura

    You could snip through an artery in a trice if you owned a priceless pair of scissors like the ones in the picture belonging to Ram Soni, eldest of four paper cutting artists. “The blacksmith makes ten and only two will be fit for purpose. They must have the right balance and grip, […] Read more