About Ishani Mehta

Ishani Mehta

Independent Consultant in Public Policy

 

Ishani is an independent consultant in public policy research, analysis and design (R.A.D.) with over eight years of sectoral experience in India and the US. Her areas of expertise include housing, water supply and sanitation, transportation, waste management and urban planning. She has written various reports on urban infrastructure management for India Infrastructure Publishing and on transportation systems for Global Mass Transit. Ishani holds a Master in Public Policy (MPP) from the
Harvard Kennedy School and a Master in Economics from the Delhi School of Economics.


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Unseasonal

Sole Walk

Everywhere I looked, things were whitewashed. All that was supposed to be green, was now covered in piles of fresh snow, spotless and glorious. Oh, the joy of unseasonal snow! Immensely delighted on seeing the mountains of vanilla, we clambered on along a section of land that resembled a river bed until we reached the foot of the mountain we were to climb. This is where the broad grins showing our pearly whites disappeared.

The trail, that was originally rather narrow, carved against the edge of the mountain, had now disappeared beneath our pretty snow. What was left for us to make our way on was barely a foot wide. By foot, I don’t mean twelve inches; I mean the width of my non-spikey, ice covered, wet-to-the-bone foot. The trekker behind me was both, experienced and patient, and taught me to stomp on the curiously textured snow a particular way…

View original post 1,090 more words

The Heart(s) of My Life

everydaymusings

I’m the only daughter in my tiny little family of two fathers and one mother. ( before you get the horses in your mind running, the members are my mother, my father and my father’s elder brother whom I lovingly called Thuji and no he wasn’t involved in the 2G scam!)

So you can only fathom how I felt when we had to undergo an open heart surgery for my father. I say we, because a surgical procedure is never alone the patient’s, it is also the loved ones of the family who are deeply affected.

As I walked into the hospital on that fateful Monday morning, I had steeled myself. I knew the coming 21 days were going to be the toughest of my life and I’d decided that I would be graceful, patient and display utmost tolerance towards everyone and everything – and the resolve lasted, a total…

View original post 444 more words

Are you free for a call?

Great piece all of us metro dwelling millennials need to read right now, and then call someone dear.

everydaymusings

I’ve taken to not reading papers nowadays. More often than not, I am horrified by the city happenings – a murder here, a rape there – I am a suspect of the usual evasion technique, much like the ostrich, I hide my face in the sand.

It was an unfortunate Thursday when I picked up the paper, glancing through the headlines when I stumbled upon a news item that made me feel suffocated in a room with enough ventilation.

There used to be a very happy family of three – mother, father and son, in a very posh colony of South Delhi. The father put together all that he had accumulated over his 45 years of service and managed to send the son to prestigious America, for an education that his motherland couldn’t provide him. Pride enveloped him like a warm, woollen shawl when his son held the admissions letter…

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