(The story begins here) Mark pulled level at three hundred feet. He had flown enough around to know no hollong tree grew up that size, giants that they were. Buffeting was nasty so close to land and it was going…
Category: Fiction
Come Home to Fog (A Novella)
Prologue Fat Man had followed the Little Boy. The war was over for those who lived. Those who didn’t, they were still on battlefronts, crouching in bunkers or planes, or breathing water on the seabed. It was an endless night…
End of Dusk
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 did only last summer. The pain…
A Far Cry from Mr Darcy
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,…
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 'Never Forget a Ruby' ‘Yes, I am…
The Man from Baker Street
(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…
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…
Sam Was Sad
It was a sultry summer morning when I first met Sam twenty-five years ago. My roommate was grovelling for an omelette, sprawled in his bed. He had been missing his turn at cooking breakfast for the fourth day in a…
The Monk in the Rain
I’ve had a love-hate relationship with March, the onset of summers since early days. The weather during those few weeks is almost perfect, neither hot nor cold and rarely wet. The air is fragrant with panicles bursting on mango trees.…
Painter of Omens
When Avi said he saw Dr Sharma’s wife’s ghost, what he meant was he had seen a ravishing young woman, fair and and buxom, sitting stark naked on the terrace of the house that overlooked his backyard. Her legs dangled…
It Happened to a Wobbly-legged Boy
Many years ago, when time had still not shrivelled my Mother and I was still a shy little boy, I was struck by a bout of measles. The only memory of the suffering that has survived the quicksand of consciousness…
The Ghosts of Jamun Trees
Before he died, Karamuva was the best tree climber of the village and the clusters surrounding it. He loved to clamber up anything green with stalks and leaves that could bear his weight. From the foot of a tree, he could race to the canopy within seconds.
One Grain Amongst the Storm 