Short Stories
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It is strange, how and where stories begin. You would think my story begins the moment I was born. You would think: but there had to be two people, even before my birth, who thought about bringing me into the world. And you would be right.
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It is a glorious winter morning, the kind that you no longer see in the world. The sky is light but you can see the moon and the stars. There is a special quality of winter morning that I miss: the air is cold but I am sleep warm. Everything feels clear, even my mind.…
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I was seventeen years old when my mother first told me that I would bring shame to the family. It was something I was used to hearing from my father, grandmother, aunts and uncles but for the first time, it felt like the ally I had always relied on was no longer available to me.
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Katyayini had been summoned an hour ago to the room of M. Jogi to record her last words. The nurses suspected the woman would die any minute and it was a tradition to call a Keeper of Last Words. Their job was to faithfully recreate what was spoken by a person on their death bed.…
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Once upon a time when I didn’t know what time meant, I arrived on mother Earth as a young sapling. Young could mean many things so let me clarify: I was a seed inside a sealed incubation chamber. I was lab made with the hope that if the mothership didn’t survive, I would. And I…
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A man sits on a chair. He is curiously dressed. He’s wearing a golden coloured dhoti. His chest is bare, pale in a way like it doesn’t see much sunlight. His arms are dark, as dark as the earth after rain. His left hand is raised. It’s clutching a sponge with white paint on it.…
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Loss is a sticky thing. You will not think about it for years and years and then one random question will ignite that yearning again.
tales of Suchita 