ShortStory

The Beloved

The wind was silently whispering. Its subtleness sounded as sweet as Chandor’s wife’s melodious voice. But she was yet to return from her mother’s house. The only mode which would ferry her across the Hooghly to Calcutta was stopped from operating – harsh, ferocious winds and persistent rain had already wiped away dwellings on the western banks of the great river. Cyclone and heavier rain was forecast. Boats and water carriers were snapped; boatmen feared they could never resume their duties and provide bread to their families.

Beckoning Reality

You are ruining your present thinking about the absurd possibilities of the future. There is magic in every move you make and every breath you take but it works only if you let it.

Angel of Retribution

Complete annihilation for all forms of life was the order for the day, but the resistance put up by these villagers was stupefying.

Just like doctors do not make the best chefs, History teachers hardly make the best generals. History was obviously against Syed.

Happy Halloween

The cold gust slapped her strong; unbeknownst, Marlin picked up the candle and flared her gown. Before she could apprehend what had happened, she was on fire. Howling. Twitching. Screaming. The fire engulfed her; blazing up the skin, all teeth showing up, and bones gnarled up. Laggardly, all of the house at the end of the 5th avenue was on fire; ashen. Gone.

Desolation of the mind

Imagination is a marvelous thing for us – is it not? We make castles, build empires, dream our happy endings and what not. But somewhere in all that muddle and glamour we find ourselves questioning our lives and our work.