Short Stories

“Tara!” A silver cobweb tingling my elbow tore as I scurried into the dark, crouching below. “Tara!” My younger brother ran along the corridor that hemmed the many nameplates under one chawl. I could hear “Tara!” A silver cobweb tingling my elbow tore as I scurried into the dark, crouching below. “Tara!” My younger brother ran along the corridor that hemmed the many nameplates under one chawl. I could hear his footsteps pacing the length, shuffling outside the shut door. A thin strip of light had rolled a larger than life shadow of him on the floor. Youngest in the family, he was the most loved, also the most difficult. In his nine years of ... Read More

“Taki, Taki, Taki,” sounded the conductor with metallic thumps on the moving bus. The wet tires hissed and screeched to a halt. Hordes of people with luggage piled on their heads, children on their hips, rushed“Taki, Taki, Taki,” sounded the conductor with metallic thumps on the moving bus. The wet tires hissed and screeched to a halt. Hordes of people with luggage piled on their heads, children on their hips, rushed for a seat in that empty vehicle- forgetting they all had a ticket in their name. The driver turned from the framed deities – fresh marigold and incense stick in hand – murmuring prayers as he saw his passengers jumbled at the door like a ... Read More

The dusted baby powder hung in the air, beneath which, Bushki, a bright baby was chuckling with her jiggly soft belly. Her grandmother was scolding her, as she struggled to get her dressed for her pram-ride thaThe dusted baby powder hung in the air, beneath which, Bushki, a bright baby was chuckling with her jiggly soft belly. Her grandmother was scolding her, as she struggled to get her dressed for her pram-ride that evening. Still in diapers, she was paddling hard as she tried escaping the gather of a frilly dress coming upon her like a lasso. In her six-months of existence, she had learnt to derive a devilish pleasure in causing trouble- so claimed ... Read More

A soft square loaf succumbing to the steely edge of a knife plumped back when Jonny got a call saying that his mother was dying. He kept the phone and stood staring at the swirl of lemon and orange rinds in theA soft square loaf succumbing to the steely edge of a knife plumped back when Jonny got a call saying that his mother was dying. He kept the phone and stood staring at the swirl of lemon and orange rinds in the crystal jar that had caught the sun in that upscale London deli. All around him tables were abuzz, with spoons and knives clinking on ceramic plates as waitresses swivelled around pouring coffee with their lipstick smiles. It was Wednesday ... Read More

"There’s magic in your hands, Bhola," they tell me, as their numbed bodies beneath the blue gowns come alive. In that quiet hour, the LED panels above are killed. But the rustle of the cold sheets lit at the to"There’s magic in your hands, Bhola," they tell me, as their numbed bodies beneath the blue gowns come alive. In that quiet hour, the LED panels above are killed. But the rustle of the cold sheets lit at the toes by the solitary streetlamp outside gives them away. Those Dettol-soaked shrouds could be mistaken for the dead but then comes a stir; sometimes moans. It’s not just the anaesthesia and painkillers, but also years of weariness from too mu ... Read More

Doors were slammed. Suitcases in the dickey jumped, with joy. But as the school building began winding high towards the sky, a familiar old heaviness settled in Bonku’s heart. Fading behind him were the warm exDoors were slammed. Suitcases in the dickey jumped, with joy. But as the school building began winding high towards the sky, a familiar old heaviness settled in Bonku’s heart. Fading behind him were the warm exchange of pleasantries and goodbyes, and with the next turn, the crowd wobbled out of his sight. It was a bright sunny afternoon, but the tall pines escorting them down the lazy hills were grieving in silence. Without pockets to fill, pinec ... Read More

At sunrise each day, Malvika cycled to the temple with her basket of flowers. Her internal clock attuned to the circadian rhythm, nudged and propped her on feet much before the village rooster could crow her neAt sunrise each day, Malvika cycled to the temple with her basket of flowers. Her internal clock attuned to the circadian rhythm, nudged and propped her on feet much before the village rooster could crow her neighbours from their sleep. After a few clanks on the tube well that snaked shivers through her skin and spurted chants of the morning prayer on her lips, she sat by the woodfire and cooked sambar rice for her elder brother who was paralysed ... Read More