Short Stories
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Mr. Metson looked up when the door opened and shut with a violence unknown to the tucked into a corner – where only those seeking its doors could see it – library. It was Mrs. Agarwal, red in the face, panting, flapping her hands in front of her face to cool herself down.
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Kabir’s house was in chaos when he stepped inside after a gruelling day of work. His boss had been in a mood, half his team was down with the flu and the agency who was supposed to have sent him the deck for his boss had mysteriously misplaced the entire forty-eight slide PPT. Yes, it…
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The appearance of one Arjun Gupta in her dream unbalanced Rashmi so much that she completely discarded her morning ritual of burning incense sticks while talking to Gaia, using lavender oil on her pulse points to soothe her mind and choosing a crystal that best represented the energy of the day.
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“We’re forty now,” she said, apropos nothing. “Yes, we are. Well…you are. I still have,” she checked her watch, “four months to go.”
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The first time Harish noticed the man, he was running from one side of the hotel lobby to the other, carrying two identical pieces of towels, which according to his very exacting guest were actually lilac and lavender and so, vastly different.
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I’m standing naked in front of my full-length mirror. The door is locked behind me. But my eyes are not on my body. Instead, they are looking at the open curtain of my French windows. My body’s primaeval reaction to that open curtain is to run and close it so no one can peek inside…
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“Fly me to the moonLet me play among the starsLet me see what spring is like on a-Jupiter and Mars.” The jazz song welcomed Krupa as she entered a building that was considered swanky in its better days. These days, it wasn’t home to offices where people in fancy clothes walked about, yelling into their…
tales of Suchita 