tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-291099752011-11-10T20:14:14.712+05:30Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.comBlogger131100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-2131241382259436802009-01-22T14:39:00.002+05:302009-01-22T14:55:37.797+05:30

The train, huffing like a tired animal, slowly came to a halt. The cradling motion of the coach vanished and so did my sleep. Crouched on one elbow, I opened my dreamy eyes to a familiar sight. My father, all shaved and dressed, was sitting pretty on the front berth reading the morning paper and sipping his sugarless tea. This, after all, constituted his daily morning ritual and he followed it

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-48327486005109699482008-12-10T15:35:00.001+05:302008-12-10T16:40:02.404+05:30

Being a police officer’s wife has never been easy. More so today than ever when India is facing a terror blitz of sorts - its intensity increasing with every strike that’s visiting us with alarming regularity. The recent Mumbai attacks have left me so numb with shock that I couldn’t muster myself to post anything for days. But I’m doing so now because negative feelings, even when they do subside,

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-3907025145912204852008-11-20T18:42:00.000+05:302008-11-20T18:44:02.778+05:30

Though this story goes back sixteen years, it is as relevant today as it was then – by “then” I mean the winter of 1992. My daughter, our bundle of joy had just come into this world. Our first born. Our everything. We all have our vanities and I remember how I had spent the last nine months fretting over every piece of clothing that was to adorn her beautiful pink cupboard. I remember how I’d

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-80596266867383694462007-06-11T02:07:00.000+05:302007-06-11T02:24:51.478+05:30

The women were innocent and defenseless.And they had no say in the world,They were slaved; they were slapped and were stomped,And every abuse at them hurled!!!They’d to brave sati and jauhars,Whereas child marriage and purdah were the norm,Illiteracy amongst them was rampant,And pathetic was their general form.They grabbed, dragged, they beat and they choked,Mindless of the drudgery and

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-28110893878299624052007-04-29T00:29:00.000+05:302007-05-04T21:32:56.658+05:30

April’s been a full month for India. What with the largest State “Uttar Pradesh” going to polls to elect a new government. I was sure that not a good word could ever come out of the predominantly upper caste Indian media when it came to Ms. Mayawati (who is otherwise addressed as behengi by her followers and deridingly the same by the urban educated middle class). But Rajdeep Sardesai kind of

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-67997588755997942282007-03-22T21:44:00.000+05:302007-05-04T21:36:48.503+05:30

A couple of summers back our daughter, looking a picture of perfect morning dishevelment, came tearing through the door, running her daily-designated path to our room with as much impatience as a ten year old could muster. Her holidays had started and we had yet to decide where to go. It was sacrilegious that three days had already been wasted and the confusion continued to persist when our

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-58547805122150372122007-02-21T14:53:00.000+05:302007-05-04T21:42:48.233+05:30

There’s almost a pattern to it. Every time we get too cushy about the peace in our lives and that of our neighbours, we are rudely awakened to the reality of terror. Terror that is basically aimed at derailing the peace talks between India and Pakistan, but however largely ends up gruesomely affecting (for eternity) the lives of hapless innocent people. This is exactly what happened on the

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-24741569601460613352007-01-09T19:20:00.000+05:302007-01-09T19:23:41.868+05:30

It could have been me. It could have been you. It could have been anyone. But it wasn’t. It was her. A woman with one dead child, a teenage daughter, two young sons and a baby in her arms. All of this when her world came crashing down. Till then, she thought, she had lived her life like a queen. At least in her dreams she had. Being the wife of a Police inspector wasn’t bad at all. That’s what

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-46399546723349555812006-12-06T20:45:00.000+05:302006-12-06T20:49:53.072+05:30

My father always told me that there were two kinds of people in the world - the ones who overlooked every malady, every mystery, every mirth - people whose life graphs rarely fluctuated with the quotidian rhythm of human existence. And then there were others who looked beyond the physical response of optic nerves – people who saw a meaning to everything even slightly more than mundane and sought

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-48899929205041904952006-11-25T19:56:00.000+05:302007-05-04T21:48:11.050+05:30

“She was raped and murdered.”“She was Priyanka Bhotmange.”You have read it right. The name here is Bhotmange and not Mattoo, as one, inured by lines that refer to the latter’s tragic tale, would have ordinarily expected. But in this witless “Tragedy of Errors” (set a good ten years apart from each other) the protagonists - two girls, different not just in name, but in the classes they represented

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-1161943137930755272006-10-27T15:07:00.000+05:302006-11-13T10:10:06.795+05:30

Defogging the islandsAuthor Priti Singh tells NANDINI NAIR that "The Islands and Tribes of Andaman and Nicobar" clears popular misconceptions about the archipelago. I wanted to defog mindsets. People view them with much trepidation It's a coffee table book but meant to be seen and read. Priti Singh's "The Islands and Tribes of Andaman and Nicobar", published by Prakash Books, and dedicated to

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-1155064792813256492006-08-09T00:48:00.000+05:302006-11-25T20:10:43.709+05:30

Yes! You’ve read it right (no typing error here). The word is sham and by now you must probably be wondering what exactly am I talking about. Well! To begin with, it’s the sham of the “Great Indian middle class” and the fact that it says “it cares.” It’s the sham of the “Great Indian dream” and the fortunate few who get to dream it. It’s the sham of the “Great Indian pie” and the hand full of

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29109975.post-1149173155064692292006-06-01T20:13:00.000+05:302006-11-25T20:09:19.647+05:30

The past few days the nation and its sick have been at the receiving end by our young men and women “in white” who have been out on city streets protesting the government’s proposed policy of reserving more seats in government aided institutions of the country. In Delhi, students have been converging at India Gate - the new “adda” for protesters (the one gift of “Rang de Basanti” to the “

Priti Singhnoreply@blogger.com0