Storytelling

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

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