short story
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Simulin was looking out a window, hands crossed tightly across her chest. She was wearing a non-descript blue uniform and her hair, which was usually tied in a bun, was open. The scene beyond the window was dismal. The air was filled with dust particles. The vibrant blue vegetation was turning dull and grey. Though
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Arjun and Kabir were seated on a park bench facing families that were picnicking, enjoying the perfect October weather. The two men wore identical expressions of scorn, their arms crossed tightly across their chests.
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The tabla beats – two bass heavy sounds followed by a sharp tap – welcome us, the audience, into the theatre. We take our seats. The tabla makes it impossible for us to fidget or make small talk with each other. The empty stage with a single spotlight and the dhing-dhing-tap ensures we’re in a
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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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Saksham had seen his mother cry many times – she could cry at any advertisement where a child was being horrible to their parent – but he had not seen her inconsolable before. Usually, a joke here from his father, and a funny face there from him and she would forget her tears and laugh
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I’m sitting in a chair, my legs up on the bed. You hate it when I sit like this. Say it’s bad for my back and hips and gut and legs. When that does not work, you tell me it’ll affect my productivity. A word that never fails to provoke a reaction from me. But
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As soon as the hour hand and the minute hand of the clock hug at the midnight mark, an unheard bell goes off inside the mind of Mr. Hickory, the caretaker of the Dickory Dock hotel. It is an unusual hotel, to be sure, and requires a special kind of person to run it. Mr.
tales of Suchita 