“My dear Vicky, we are not certain of our future, neither do we know what is God’s plan for us” said the teacher tapping Vicky on his back.

It was 7 o’clock, a Sunday morning. I was at Margao (Goa) railway station waiting to board the train to Mangalore.

“I want to be a famous writer” was my quick reply, to the question Raju, the newspaper distributor posed to me...

I rolled myself on the ground playfully and hit a hard plastic bucket in the corner. Hearing the noise, my grandma inquired “who’s that?”