A death now and then © Batul Mukhtiar, read at Caferati Read-Meet 18 February 2017 “Dhiren’s father died a few days ago. He was ill for many years. Last 2 months, he was completely bed-ridden. Dhiren could not step out of the house.” No one said anything. Sabiha thought, “Does Kartik expect me to say something? Is Vipin waiting to see how I will respond?” … Continue reading A Death Now and Then
A short story Titiksha knocked on the door. The lady opened the door. The lady was wearing a sleeveless knee-length dress; it was an indigo blue. Her hair was tinted with blond highlights. She looked old. I had never seen her so close up. We shared a lift sometimes, but I never looked at her. Our lift was so small; I tended to shrink into … Continue reading this is mine
She called today. The last I saw her was at Borivali station ten days ago. She had been standing there, smiling bravely, flapping her hands in good cheer, but I had jumped into a rickshaw with my luggage, pretending I hadn’t seen her. I may have stopped to offer her a lift, but my rickshaw was nudged ahead by two bullies of BEST buses. I … Continue reading nothing happened
“Rhea”, Bijji screamed. “My little dugduggi, how you have grown!” Rhea’s nose was jammed in Bijji’s armpit, which smelt a bit sour after twenty hours in the plane. Rhea tried to hold her breath, until Bijji loosened her hold on her. Bijji pounced on Karan next, who pounced right back. But what did he know? He was only a stupid, seven year old boy, Rhea … Continue reading Bijji comes from US of A
In celebration of organizing my blog some more, and creating new pages for my short stories and films links, one more short story – the reclining chair – one of my own favourites. These chairs, at the City Palace Museum, Udaipur, however don’t seem very comfortable. Fotoos by Teja, and here’s the story. Rewa was alone at home today, for the first time in her … Continue reading the reclining chair
Inspired by these, this: “You haven’t done it, have you? I knew you wouldn’t do it. It’s always the same with you. You just say you’ll do it, and then forget all about it. This is the fourth time I’ve come. Each time you say, come in one hour, come tomorrow, come in the evening. As if I have no other work. You think?” Madhukar’s … Continue reading pink slippers
When Basheer went home that evening, there was no home. His nephew, Faheem’s wife, Azra, had been arrested with 5 other women and 27 men from the basti, for scuffling with the bulldozers. Basheer hoped that his new blue shirt left to dry on the door had not gone under the rubble. And the small bag with his collection of second-hand tools was safe. But … Continue reading home, sweet home
