The Daily Knowledge Center

My husband and I belong to different religions. That, I think, was reason enough for my mother-in-law to dislike me. One Sunday, we had a quarrel. Things got out of hand when the three of us began screaming. I lost my temper when my husband took her side and stormed out of the house. I felt lost, so I went to the nearby church where Mass was on. Inside, I found a desolate corner, sat on a pew and started crying. As the service was ending, I made the sign of the cross, went out and sat on the stairs. Soon, a very old lady came and stood beside me. I looked up at her pale, wrinkled face, and she asked me to lend her a hand. With my help, she got down the first two steps, but to my surprise she sat down beside me. My first thought was that she was waiting for someone to pick her up. But no one came. She remained quiet and still held my hand gently. Although I found her behaviour a bit odd, I must admit, I also found it comforting. Neither of us said a word. After a while, when I had calme...

In February 2006, I was returning home after a holiday in Goa with my wife Shivali and our two small children, Janhvi and Basu. We reached Delhi, where we had to change trains. After spending hours in a waiting room I was also disturbed, by having been informed that my father had fallen ill we boarded our train when it arrived. It was past 4pm. The train started moving and I searched for our berths, but the coach was full and all of them were taken. Puzzled, I soon realized my folly. We were on the wrong train! In our haste we had boarded the Shatabdi Express to Amritsar instead of the Kalka Shatabdi Express to Jalandhar. I panicked and pulled the emergency chain. But nothing happened. I rushed to the door flung our luggage onto the platform, then jumped off, holding my son. Shivali, who was with my daughter, tried to alight in much the same manner, but could not, as the train had gathered speed, In a matter of seconds, the train was out of sight. I ran to inquiry office. I was told th...

Every year when monsoons taper off and winter sneaks in, Kashmiri vendors travel around the country to sell their handcrafted shawls, carpets, purses and blankets. It is a hard life. Their toil does not end with their journey; in fact it is just the beginning. They stay at cheap hotels and roam around all day lugging their wares and looking for buyers. I would have never known all this if it were not for chance encounter with a couple of them at my brother-in-law Dayashanker Pandy’s house. We were seated in his veranda when two Kashmiri vendors, who looked like father and son, approached. The younger man carried a bundle on his head, while the other, frail and old, called attention to their wares. I was surprised when Dayashanker beckoned the vendors, knowing that he needed nothing from them. But he began examining their carpets and shawls. His wife Manju, meanwhile, got busy in the kitchen, knowing that her husband wouldn’t buy a thing. I felt sorry for the vendors, and when my brothe...