Short Stories
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As you sleep, curled into your side, a blanket raised right up to your shoulder, something moves in the darkness. You don’t sense anything in the beginning, asleep as you are. Confident that a closed door will protect you from events that may mean you harm.
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I should stop, I tell myself. I scroll through AG’s stories. I pause at a story where they are posing with a girl in a bikini. Something ugly rises inside me. But I don’t stop. God I’m being pathetic. I should stop, I tell myself again.
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I love my brother. Don’t get me wrong. I do love him. And he’s my older brother so the regard and love I have for him aren’t something I can explain. But he’s a stubborn bull and if he locks his feet in, no matter how much I drag, he won’t budge. He. Will. Not.
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“There she is, my entertainment provider,” said Swarup to his granddaughter. He didn’t remember anymore that she was his granddaughter but he remembered, vaguely, that when she came to his room, she brought gifts along.
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I’m sitting in the drawing room. I can hear the whirring of the fan. The sound of someone racing their motorcycle on the road twenty floors below wafts in through the open balcony door. It’s neither hot nor cold, dry or humid. It’s a perfect Bombay afternoon. It’s a slow work day. It’s my perfect
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Girish had taken work from home that day. He was unwell and he had this intense need to cook a three-course dinner for his wife. Today was a special day for her, she was winning an award for employee of the year. He knew she thought she was being given the award because her organization
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She’s lying on the bed because she’s in pain and her body has finally stopped responding to her signal of move, move, move. She is used to moving: whether to organize the household, organize her son’s day – because he may be twenty but that does not mean he can look after himself – organize
tales of Suchita 