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Author: umashankar
I am just a watcher then. Sometimes I watch life, sometimes I watch death; many times I watch in between...
Protected: The Pallbearer
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Protected: Sandhurst Road
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The Pentagon Down
The commander of the forces of associate provinces barged through the door of my tent two days before the clash of the legions. His chubby face was ashen with nothing less than volcanic fear; his fingers shook like peepal leaves…
A Pony in a Carousel
Like a pony fettered to a carousel, I’ve been travelling miles after circular miles and yet not have moved a millimetre from the pole I am suspended. I am not in charge of this motion, nor do I control this…
The Bungalow by the Tracks
Five years after she fled to Delhi in an unreserved coach of Lucknow Mail on the eve of her proposed marriage, Miranda returned to the town where she had grown to be a woman from a blob in a womb.…
The Naked and the Mad
“You can think clearly only with your clothes on.” ~Margaret Atwood Somewhere down the evolutionary hill, or up the vertigo inducing precipice if you rather have that, we lost the ability of thinking clearly in our birthday panoply. The moments…
Unnameable Things
Hailing from a childhood both untainted and unenlightened by television, I have fond memories of the whole bunch of siblings huddled up in the box room that our parents had converted into a common study, which also served as a…
The Crusted Slice
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…
The Palace of Illusions —A Review
‘Love comes like lightning, and disappears the same way. If you are lucky, it strikes you right. If not, you'll spend your life yearning for a man you can't have.’ ~ Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni It has been raining stories set…
A Hunger Game of Books
I have taken a vow of abstinence from the book market, which since the advent of blogging has begun resembling a fish market where everyone is hollering to sell his dreams and nightmares alike. The social media is bursting at…
Reading The Forgotten Waltz
The Saturday is melting away like an ice lolly in afternoon. Swift bursts of rain have given a washed look to mould-ridden walls and rooftops. Even the mounds of garbage look clean. It is a noisy old suburban rail coach,…
One Grain Amongst the Storm 