There are books you read with a cup of tea in hand, letting the warmth seep into your palms while the pages gently turn. And then there are books that snatch the cup right out of your grasp, sending it crashing to the floor because—what just happened? The Mussoorie Murders by Divyaroop Bhatnagar did exactly that to me. I opened it expecting a quiet weekend read. Instead, I found myself wide awake past midnight, staring at the ceiling, replaying clues like a detective who refu

Some stories don’t knock politely before entering your life. They walk straight in, sit across from you like an old friend, and before you know it, they’ve moved something inside you that you didn’t even realize needed shifting. Whispers in the Mist: Tales from a Himalayan Hamlet by Prerna Dewan was one such unexpected visitor. I began reading it on an ordinary evening, thinking I’d finish a chapter or two before bed. But the moment I stepped onto those mist-draped hills of D

Some books don’t begin on the first page; they begin in the pause before you open them — in that quiet suspicion that what you’re about to read might just drag you into a world where ambition smells like cologne, betrayal sounds like a sliding boardroom door, and success tastes a little metallic, like fear. The Acting MD 2 made me feel exactly that way. Before I even reached chapter one, I had this uncanny sense that I had stepped onto a tall glass elevator inside Indus City

I didn’t mean to start this book on a weekday night. I really didn’t. I had promised myself an early sleep, a calm mind, maybe even some music. But books have a strange way of choosing their own timing, don’t they? Escape from Kabul by Dr. Enakshi Sengupta didn’t knock politely — it slipped into my hands like a pulse waiting to be heard. And somewhere between opening the first page and taking the first sip of my green tea, the world around me went quiet. By page three, the te

I remember the first time I walked through Dharavi — not as a tourist, not as a spectator, but as a quiet observer trying to make sense of its heartbeat. The lanes were alive with motion — children darting between tin roofs, the hum of machines from leather workshops, the scent of wet earth mingling with chai and sweat. Amid that pulse, there was something else too — an invisible current of resilience, a kind of defiant grace.   Reading The Awakening of Dharavi by Atul Arjun

There are some books that don’t just tell a story — they unspool a silence you’ve been carrying within yourself. The Far Field by Madhuri Vijay is one of them. I remember reading it late one evening, the rain tapping against my window like a nervous confession. By the time I closed the book, I wasn’t sure whether it was the rain outside or the one that had started within me.   Madhuri Vijay, in her debut, doesn’t announce herself with fireworks. She arrives like mist — quietl

There are some books you don’t just read — you inhabit them. They unfold like an old photograph album, where every page carries a scent, a story, a heartbeat. I Came Upon a Lighthouse by Shantanu Naidu, with illustrations by Sanjana Desai, is one such book. It’s not a biography, not exactly a memoir, but a feeling — warm, humane, and quietly luminous — much like the man at its center: Ratan Tata.   I still remember the first time I turned its pages on a quiet Sunday morning,

There’s a peculiar kind of madness that only Mumbai can offer — the kind that smells like rain on asphalt, sounds like a thousand horns arguing at once, and feels like hope stubbornly pushing through chaos. Vrushali Samant’s Madness in Mumbai: When Forty Gets Naughty bottles that madness, shakes it up with heartbreak, humour, and heat — and hands it to you with a wink. It’s fizzy, messy, and utterly intoxicating.   Vrushali Samant, who’s known for her sharp wit and eye for em

It began with the smell of old paper. That faint, woody fragrance that seeps into your skin when you hold a well-loved book — the kind of...

There’s a quiet power in watching two lives unfold in parallel — ambitious, demanding, and yet beautifully intertwined. Growing Together...

Imagine walking into a college where there are no classrooms, no exams, no professors with tweed jackets and tired eyes. Instead, you’re...

The first time I picked up Tales from the Absurd, I half-expected a neat little box of stories where everything had its place, logic...

When was the last time a children’s book made you cry? Not the quiet sting-in-the-eye cry but the kind that makes you stop, put the book...

There’s a peculiar comfort in leafing through a book that feels like both a mirror and a map. I didn’t expect a book on the Constitution...

There’s a certain sound that belongs only to India during election season. It isn’t the speeches or the drumbeats, not even the...

I’ll tell you where I was when I opened Sach Kahun Toh. Midnight. Rain outside. My bedside lamp spilling that warm amber glow across the...

When I closed the book, it felt less like shutting a Kindle and more like slamming shut a courtroom door echoing with unanswered...

Reading A Grain of Sand felt less like turning pages and more like hearing a temple bell in the middle of an ordinary day—sudden,...

Last night, I found myself grinning at a plate of hot chapatis on the dinner table, and I’ll tell you why. I had just finished Tales...

Have you ever had a conversation that left you lighter, as if someone had quietly rearranged the furniture of your thoughts? That’s...