Tag Archives: Fiction

A Far Cry from Mr Darcy

The concluding part of ‘Tell Me, Cleopatra!‘ As I stood stiff under a jet stream of water, the set of four faces kept throbbing in my head, they all saying something to my eyes squeezed shut. Hemant, Robin, Sonia, Ruby and a stab in my heart. I lathered myself like a soiled bedspread and let […]

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A Polar Bear Remembers

‘There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before.’ ~ A Study in Scarlet Read the preceding part ‘The Man from Baker Street‘ here. The story begins here in ‘Tell Me, Cleopatra!‘ ‘Yes, I am mad about books. And for a bookworm like me, it is sacrilege not to have heard […]

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The Man from Baker Street

(The story begins in ‘Tell me, Cleopatra!’ Read it here. ) I was about to begin hating ‘dodger blue’ cars for years to come but I didn’t know it then. It was morning still and we were swarming the porches of Tagore Block. The air was crisp, tinged with smoke from the bonfires of fallen […]

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Tell Me, Cleopatra!

She was not a friend, nor a classmate, nor a social sibling –the veil under which some people fraternised in the college. We were graduating in the same year and we both had English Literature and she was in the other section further down the hallway. Although the timings for the classes were the same […]

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To Kill a Dying Monk -II

The concluding part of the Dying Monk series. Read the first part here. Murali recovered his canvas shoes from a hollow in the trunk and slipped to the ground on his toes. Moving quickly, he broke into a half-crouching run through the mustard fields till he reached the abandoned tube-well shed. Looking up at the […]

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To Kill a Dying Monk

Murali lay still on a festoon of boughs of the twin mango trees at the edge of the orchard. The pair of owls that had tried their best to scare him off with a medley of boos had fallen silent. A half moon hung in the midnight sky shedding a faint light on the somnolent […]

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The Monk in the Rain

I’ve had a love-hate relationship with March, the onset of summers since early days. The weather in that small patch is just perfect, neither hot nor cold and rarely wet. The air is fragrant with flowers bursting on mango trees. Gusts of wind sweep the fallen leaves aimlessly amidst the rhythmic calls of koels. Fields […]

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Painter of Omens

When Avi said he saw Dr Sharma’s wife’s ghost, what he meant he had seen a ravishing young woman, fair as lily and buxom as a nymph, sitting stark naked on the terrace of the house that overlooked his patio. Her legs dangled onto the thin ledge as she looked ahead, her golden hair flung […]

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