Browsing All Posts filed under »Fiction«

Readers Write In #15: The Forbidden Kiss

April 29, 2017

50

It was still dawn when I stepped out of the cab and walked towards the entry gate of the Delhi airport. The early morning February air was pleasantly cold. I was travelling to Bengaluru to attend a college friend’s wedding. It had been four years since we graduated from the same college. This wedding was […]

Out in newsstands now…

April 5, 2016

29

The new issue of The Indian Quarterly is out, and I have a story in it. (As in, fiction.) Do check it out. PS: A big shout-out to everyone who read early drafts and made suggestions. PPS: It’s not online yet.

Day two

June 21, 2015

16

The second day of laryngitis is the worst. The first day, you’re just coughing, and the doctor feels your throat and nods, as if you’re supposed to be well-versed in the language of doctorly nods. Pursed lips means: It’s bad. Raised eyebrows mean: Well, I never. That sort of thing. I am not a nod […]

In verse

April 18, 2015

17

April, I hear, is National Poetry Month. Only in the United States, technically, but we can, we should appropriate it for the global village too. And so here I am, wondering how to celebrate NPM this morning While at my desk, waiting for my phone to charge And the laundry cycle to finish. Maybe I’ll […]

A month without Mary

April 2, 2012

63

About thirty days ago, I said goodbye to Mary. We were expecting a call, and when the call came we ran to the hospital, to the ICU, past the sweetly round-faced woman at the door who betrayed her Bengali provenance through air-heavy admonitions, and as the others waited outside, I went in and stood by […]

The Girl Who Smelled of Rum

June 9, 2009

12

SHE ASKED ME WHAT MY FAVOURITE SWEET WAS and I said groundnut balls and she wouldn’t stop laughing for five minutes. She’d sober up, her moonface reflecting the resolve to leave my feelings unhurt, then she’d make the anatomical connection and begin to laugh again. I told her she didn’t speak my language and that’s […]

To My Left, On My Bed

June 8, 2007

18

IN THE CENTRE OF HER BACK, between two knobby outgrowths of spine, there’s a mole. It rises slightly from the skin, a tiny hillock of dull red, shaped like a strawberry with its top chewed off. It’s not a mole, she concluded one afternoon, when I told her about my discovery. She tried to feel […]