Spring

The grasshopper clicked his head rubbing his hands together, he rolled his eyes and wriggled his body. Spring was upon them, its brilliance unfurling in the tendrils of the guava leaves, in slivers of green shards that defied the dry brown patches on the ground, where the ants still toiled and trundled in long trains…

The tool kit

now all I gotta do is write that book! I don’t wanna write in 5 months I don’t wanna write in 5years I am not in a race to finish first. I wanna finish when I finish even if it takes a lifetime. I just want to write that one book that I know is…

In need of little insanity

If you are reading a book at a public place and happen to laugh uncontrollably, are you threatening the sanity of the place thereby exposing yourself to the dangerous situation of being craned off to a nearby asylum till you finished your book? If so, can you please leave the address of such a place…

Reviewing Paris Review

Reading about different writers in Paris Review and their writing environment and styles in writers room series provided an illuminating read, a sneak peek into their lives, it is interesting how we all draw heavily from our society when we write. The writings of Annie Proulx mostly seem to have a setting of country life,…

My fav passages..

This passage is from “The Hitch hikers guide to the galaxy” by Douglas Adams. In the scene the character Arthur Dent’s house is about to be demolished, the bulldozers have arrived and he’s protesting Mr. Prosser said, “You were quite entitled to make any suggestions or protests at the appropriate time, you know.” “Appropriate time?”…

Love

It’s twisted like a knot Somewhat frayed at its ends It’s like a ball sometimes Hit straight at your stomach With much force And sometimes it’s like poison Spreading to each and every cell of your body Stinging it like thousand needles struck at the same time And you say love is gentle Maybe we…

An unreliable narrator?

We all talk about different narrative voices in fiction and there is the famous unreliable narrator. I am quite fascinated by this narrator who leaves the ultimate power of discernment to the reader. This technique which is assessed from different critical point of views by various schools of thought is a gloriously satisfying narration and…

Point of view

The moldy smell of old decaying wood hit you as you entered the tiny unkempt premises of the Smiths. The boundaries of the lawn had overrun the house or maybe it was the other way round but neither looked any better for it. The rooms were on the first floor accessed by a rickety flight…

Mr. Chatterjee

Mr. Chatterjee had taken Quarters near the Stadium, the cheaply available ones that came with a shared bathroom for its lodgers. The house was owned by a dog, probably a half-breed for it displayed some characteristics of a gentleman and some of a drunkard along with an old man who reeked of alcohol and dog…

Story about marriage

when i first wrote this story I titled it ‘begining of a story’ but it gave a sense of incompleteness to it but I’d be darned if a story about marriage could ever be a complete story. So I present a complete incomplete story with a simpler title this time.

Morning Cafe

Cafe Black Beans usually opened at seven in the morning and catered to the highly focused strollers, joggers, newspaper boys, janitors, doctors, that got off the night shifts or someone like me who wasted all their efforts and energies in the night.  I liked to sit at the right flank of the cafe whenever I…

Being silly

I paid eighty rupees for a sixty seven rupees coffee today, which meant I left a tip of thirteen rupees. I don’t know why I did that, when I come to think of it thirteen is not even a favourable number for many. For all I know, the waiter that I tipped could be a…

Killing Osama

My five year old son asked for a toy gun, well it is the gender thing I guess he and his brother have always been fascinated by guns and wheels to play with. So having procured a gun he went out to play with his friends and a retired Army personnel who happens to be…

The Healing

CREATIVE NON-FICTION In the fall of 2009 I was taken ill. It started with regular fever and got worse over the month. My life got cryogenised in terms of priorities; the fact that I had recently acquired admission in one of the finest Universities in London with a full scholarship did not alter my situation….