Tag Archives: Short Story

Sandhurst Road

March 23, 2015


Sandhurst Road

As my decade long stay in this city draws to a close, a prescient thought sets in like an invisible mizzle. It will not leave me, this feeling, that I may never set foot on this turf again, but I am not sure what it means to me. Will I miss the mossy whiff of […]

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The Bungalow by the Tracks

December 29, 2014


Image credit: Joshua Earle

Five years after she fled to Delhi in an unreserved coach of Lucknow Mail the evening of her marriage, Miranda returned to the town where she had grown to be a woman from a blob in a womb. She found an accommodation in the neighbourhood of the house that used to be home. Mrs Mukherjee […]

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The Crusted Slice

October 3, 2014



Always on Dussehra, my sister who is a rung up in the family ladder would remember the older one who lived with us briefly. She was not too old when she fell ill on a winter night that thundered and wept with rain. By the morning she was gone, a few days short of my […]

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End of Dusk

October 27, 2013



The evening is still, the birds silent, the wind dead like a tramp, flopped on a footpath. The sky is dressed in dust and dusk. His lungs cannot pull in half the air they used to soak till the last summer. The pain is boring holes through his shins. It has been welling up for […]

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A Far Cry from Mr Darcy

May 24, 2013


Image Credit: 'Pride and Prejudice'

The concluding part of ‘Never Forget a Ruby‘ 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 […]

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A Polar Bear Remembers

May 19, 2013


Image source: wikimedia

‘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 ‘Never Forget a Ruby‘ ‘Yes, I am mad about books. And for a bookworm like me, it is sacrilege not to have […]

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The Man from Baker Street

May 17, 2013



(The story begins in ‘Never Forget a Ruby’ 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 […]

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Never Forget a Ruby

May 11, 2013


Never Forget a Ruby

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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Sam Was Sad

May 1, 2013


Gianlorenzo Bernini

It was a sultry summer morning when I first met Sam twenty five years ago. My roommate was groveling for an omelet, sprawled in his bed. He had been missing his turn at cooking breakfast for the fourth day in a row. ‘I swear I’ll take over tomorrow.’ I hate the promise of tomorrows. Ask […]

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To Kill a Dying Monk -II

April 24, 2013


Painting by Gysis Nikolaos Capuchin

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

April 22, 2013



Murali lay still on a bough that sprang like a canoe from the trunk of a mango tree at the orchard’s edge. 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 […]

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The Monk in the Rain

March 10, 2013



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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