Storytelling

“Is that Rohan Bharadwaj?” I gasp, the spoon holding my tomato chicken stew slipping out of my hands. “Who?” says Amit, my husband. “Be careful. Don’t make a mess.” “Um… Rohan Bharadwaj. I’m talking about that Russian who just left. Did you

By Jane Caryn Thomas I was an average student at school. I stood fourth in line, skirt always a little too lopsided, toes peeking from the shameless window in my socks. Hiding the hole from my mother was a whole different ball

“Do good and make it to a boat and throw it into the river. one day it will meet you as a camel in the desert.”Sufi Quote “We have wandered all over Dunlop Street…but there is none with flowers, the big flower

As I walked down that street and reached a crossroads, there stood a monk, his finger raised, scolding a man with fiery eyes – “Begone, you Tamil dog! Leave this land!”He listened in deep silence, and over his waiting soul fell the

I forgot the balloons. Not a big deal. There’s bound to be a couple left over somewhere, from another time. Maybe Rosa can find them. I make a mental note to check with her as I hang pink satin hearts over the

The beach was filling up gradually after the Friday prayers. People arrived with large bags, mats, andwater bottles. Some women were spreading the mats in the shade of coconut palms and arrangedthe lunch they had brought, calling out to their children who

Unpacking the untold story The story of my lunchbox Carried on for the entire week Mondays were aloo paranthasEnergised mother, excited childI was happy. She was happy. Friends were impressed. Tuesdays were bread pokorasDilli wali mother, Dilli wali daughterI was content. She

The Session Dr. Cass coughed, and then coughed again, and again, at the start of the first session. She sipped from a glass of water on the table beside her between bouts, for what seemed a very long time.  We’re into an

The air was fresh, the sky just on dusk as a purple and pink sky light up the ripples in the ocean. The frost has already appeared on the grass, in the trees on the spider webs and on the park chairs.

The first grey strand made its move during Thursday’s 9 a.m. strategy meeting. Maya tried to focus on the PowerPoint slides, but she could feel eyes on her, like she was part of the presentation. Surrounded by full and half-empty coffee cups

Anu enjoyed looking out the window whenever she was on the local train. In Navi Mumbai, the view mostly consisted of stout concrete structures with ugly chajjas protruding out of themand the occasional marshy wasteland with a cluster of small huts where the less

The rent for the house hasn’t been paid for five months; at least half of the amount should be paid. We’re also facing troubles at home,’ said the owner of the house to Rajeshwari.Rajeshwari replied, ‘My salary hasn’t been disbursed yet. I’ll

Mom took the initiative. “Turn the TV off for some time!” she chided my father. “Your kids are home after so long. At least talk to them while they are here.” He failed to hide his annoyance at having this request made

He’s blonde, his hair in a Man Bob. I look up at his dreamy blue eyes and he invites me in for a toastie. The sun is lowering behind his bedsit. The glare is startling my eyes through the window, and I’m

There once lived a mammal. He liked to call himself a dreamer, thought he wasn’t the only one. He liked birds a lot. Loved the way they flew to distant lands. He looked at them with bewildered eyes when they took off

I sank into the worn chair, drained from hours of lecturing. The soft rustle of papers beneath my fingers seemed amplified in the stillness of my small flat. Sometimes, I regret choosing this profession. But that was until I had a chance

Each time I eat a pomegranate, I taste the myth of Persephone.The red seeds, like drops of blood, tell her story – a girl stolen byHades, the king of the underworld. He kept her in the shadows,bound to him by fate, but

At the onset of one dawn Sarini died a fortunate death. The tendrils of fumes rising from her funeral pyre mingled with the distant blue, leaving her charred remains on the brown earth. Till that one dawn, Sarini’s whinge kept vaulting. Emotions

In the heart of this sprawling city, where the neon lights flicker like distant stars in an urban galaxy, there exists a place that dances on the boundary between reality and dreams, the Bull Ring. Standing sentinel in the pulsating core of

She left the bright lights of the promenade when the crowd began to feel unpredictable. She could breathe more easily as she headed away from the coastline with its seething beach and festival atmosphere, and into the balm of the darker streets.

Draksha-cha Sharbath. Sherbet of raisins. Our cups overflow with this special drink for Shabbath, or to break the fast at Yom Kippur. Fresh wine made from long, black raisins we bought from New Market in Kolkata for these occasions. Instant sugar high

There came a time when the eldest girl of the six kids living in an old house on the hill could bear the caregiving duties no longer and fled her home. She left carrying only the clothes on her back. After travelling

Beneath the overcast and uninspiring sky, a training aircraft soared through the air, casting its shadow upon the hills below. If one were to gaze down from the heights of the hill or from the aircraft itself, the fields of cotton would

“Is the meat ready? How long does it take to cook, you lazy bitch?” I vigorously move the ladle in the wok as Salailen hollers from the living room. “And make sure you make it red hot and spicy – not the

I do not have walls around my room. Two sides always remained open, and two sides are occupied by the walls of the house in which the room lived peacefully. It did not worry me that all my secretswere laid bare, dissolving

Maybe a cake from that pastry place she likes will seal the deal. The sun was scorching and sweat plastered the shirt on the back. But the walk was important. No penny could be wasted on bus fare when the universe provided

They were here to dance the night away, swishing and swaying over the frenzied stage…One by one, they ramped onto the stage,the ground beneath their feet shook with jarring tremors. Were they feeling the tremors too, as the audience clapped on and

I hear. I listen. I do not utter a word. I patiently sit and absorb sounds. The sound of the first drops of rain, the small calls of tiny birds on branches, the waves hitting the shore. I just sit and listen.

When I decided to write this, I was unsure. I was unsure of what will happen to my fingers that would go back and forth performing waltz on the pale white page. Would they be paralysed? What will happen to the eyes