Exile had its own weather. In Nepal, the mornings arrived quietly, without the elaborate courtesy Lucknow had once insisted upon. The air was thinner here, cleaner in a way that felt almost impolite. Begum Hazrat Mahal sat near the window of the house allotted to her, a shawl drawn close though the day had not yet cooled. Beyond the glass, the hills held their silence with conviction. They did not invite conversation. They did not expect to be remembered. Lucknow, by contrast, returned without asking…
To read the full story and 19 other short stories in this series click on the links below:
This story is a part of the book “Lives Between the Dates“, my first printed collection of short stories, bringing together twenty well thought moments from twenty well known lives across twenty Indian cities. These stories do not revisit achievement. They enter the quieter hours around it. The hesitation before action. The doubt behind conviction.
Rooted in real places and shaped by history, this collection gathers the unrecorded moments that define a life more truthfully than any monument.
If you have found something here that stayed with you, some of my books are now available in print and digital editions. They gather longer journeys, quieter questions, and stories that continue beyond this page.
Weekend Stories by Trishikh 
While reading the first few pages of Bandook Gali, I remembered our time spent in Neveh Shalome Synagogue in Barabazar. We loved the place and when we walked it was as if we were in a different world. The noise of the outside world seemed far away.
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Dear Lakshmi, this is so beautiful to read.
Neveh Shalome has that exact quality, does it not? You step in from the crowded pulse of Barabazar and suddenly the air changes. Sound softens. Time stretches. The outside world feels respectfully distant.
If the opening pages of the novel carried even a hint of that shift for you, then I am deeply grateful. That sense of entering another world without travelling very far is something I have always been drawn to. Certain places hold silence like a living presence.
Thank you for buying the book and for carrying your own memory into it. I hope as you read on, the lane continues to open slowly, just as that synagogue did.
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I was reading a page from your page to my son Aravind and he loved it. He is an assistant professor in Manipal Institute of Social scienes and arts of Manipal University. He has a PhD in English Literature from EFLU, Hyderabad. He is visually impaired and listens to everything on his computer using his screen reader. He requests that your books to be made available on Audibles if possible. Thank you.
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Dear Lakshmi, please convey my warm regards to Aravind. It touches me deeply to know that a page travelled from your voice to his ears and found a place there. That is perhaps the most intimate way a story can move.
I am honoured that he would wish to listen to the books in audio form. Making them available in Audible formats is something I genuinely want to explore. I have not yet navigated that process, but this encouragement gives me an added reason to do so seriously and soon.
Please thank him for the suggestion. Stories should travel in every way they can, especially to readers who meet them through listening. And thank you, as always, for carrying my words into your home.
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I forget whether it was in Barabazar or near it. I am also reading Miss Samuel by Sheela Rohekar. An interesting but sad srory.
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Dear Lakshmi, yes, it stands right in the Barabazar area, almost folded into its restless energy, which makes the quiet inside feel even more profound.
How interesting that you are reading Miss Samuel by Sheela Rohekar alongside this. That novel carries its own tenderness and ache, especially in how it holds memory and community. There is something about stories rooted in these old neighbourhoods that feel both intimate and fragile at the same time.
I hope as you move between the two books, the worlds speak to each other in subtle ways. And I am grateful that Bandook Gali is keeping such thoughtful company on your Kindle.
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🙏👍
Aum Shanti
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Thank you…🙏🏼
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She seems like such an intellectual already. Filled with wisdom won by grief. I can’t wait to read more about her!
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Dear MM, I am glad she reached you that way.
Her intellect is not loud or ornamental. It has been shaped slowly, by loss, by watching, by learning when to speak and when to remain still. Grief can be a harsh tutor, but it leaves behind a clarity that no classroom can offer.
If you sense wisdom in her already, it means you have heard the undercurrent beneath her words. There is more to uncover in her journey, and I look forward to you walking alongside her as it unfolds.
Your eagerness to read more is the finest encouragement a humble storyteller can receive.
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Your works are an inspiration my friend. And yes her presence is quiet yet powerful.
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