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The Draftsman and His Sleeping Dog
The night in Delhi did not descend so much as it settled, deliberate and unhurried, over the sprawling capital that was still learning how to call itself free. In the high-ceilinged room where the air carried the mingled scents of paper, ink, and fatigue, a single lamp burned with unwavering resolve. Its yellow light pooled…
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Equations in a Garden
In the quiet hour before Bombay fully awakened to its own ambition, a bird stitched sound into the morning air and altered the course of a thought. The study window stood open to the sea, admitting salt and light in equal measure. On a broad teak desk lay sheets dense with symbols, their disciplined geometry…
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Lata’s Lullabies
The microphone had been waiting longer than anyone in the room. It stood upright in the centre of the studio, silver ribs catching the soft amber light, its wire coiled like a patient serpent at its feet. The tanpura strings had already been tuned, the tabla skin tightened, the harmonium tested with a cautious breath.…
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Frame 23
The pencil broke at precisely 2:17 in the afternoon. Not with drama. Not with protest. It simply surrendered. Graphite snapped against paper, leaving behind a thin, incomplete line across a face that refused to resolve itself. The face belonged to no one yet. It hovered somewhere between hero and coward, between lover and witness, between…
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The First Light
This story stands complete on its own, but if you wish to start at the beginning, you may read the prequel, The Last Click, first: There are photographs that capture a moment, and then there are photographs that wait. They wait in darkness, in drawers that smell of camphor and old paper, in forgotten corners…
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Moonlight in Kanha
The night did not fall. It assembled itself, leaf by leaf. In the forest rest house, the kerosene lamp hummed with a tired glow, its flame bending each time the wind slipped through the ill-fitted wooden shutters. Beyond the veranda, sal trees stood in their tall, patient silence, their trunks rising like pillars in a…
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The Crossing: AUDIO STORY
A barren desert. A relentless journey. And a crossing that tests not just the body, but the very will to go on. The Crossing is a stark, haunting tale of survival, endurance, and the fragile line between despair and hope. Set against an unforgiving landscape, it captures a moment where every step forward feels like…
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Prime Minister and the Cub
In the middle of the night, the Prime Minister of India was not asleep. The lamps in the long corridors of Teen Murti Bhavan burned with a patient yellow glow, illuminating polished floors that had known both empire and independence. The portraits on the walls, stern ancestors of administration, fading generals, forgotten viceroys, watched with…
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Ramkingkong: AUDIO STORY
In the narrow lanes of North Kolkata once lived a man who seemed carved from myth. Towering at seven and a half feet and weighing more than 150 kilos, Ramkinkar Dey looked less like an ordinary human and more like a legend walking among people. After watching the film King Kong in a cinema hall…
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The Captain Who Could Not Command
In Ranchi, mornings do not arrive with applause. They seep in quietly, like dew threading itself through blades of grass. The farmhouse lies still under a pale sky, its long driveway scented with damp earth and faint petrol from machines that slept through the night. Beyond the gates, the city stirs in low murmurs, but…
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Rooftop Ruffians: AUDIO STORY
Before mobile phones, video games, and the endless distractions of modern life, childhood in the 1980s had its own kingdom of adventure. In the old neighbourhoods of Kolkata, a gang of restless boys claimed the city’s rooftops as their playground. From daring leaps across terraces to secret missions under the blazing summer sun, these self-proclaimed…
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Silent Tracks
There are railway stations that exist on maps, marked with crisp letters and precise coordinates, and then there are stations that exist only in memory. Suryanagar Halt belonged to the second kind. It stood a few kilometres away from a small eastern town where mustard fields stretched to the horizon and dusty roads wandered lazily…
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The Bard and the Deer
In the early mornings at Santiniketan, the earth does not merely glow. It smoulders. The red laterite soil holds the memory of last evening’s heat and releases it slowly into the pale blue hour before sunrise. A faint scent of shiuli blossoms lingers in the air, mingling with the raw, metallic tang of dew settling…
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Mudskippers: AUDIO STORY
On the muddy banks of the Ganges in North Kolkata, two mysterious twins are discovered by a humble idol maker from Kumartuli. Raised among clay, river tides, and the ancient craft of sculpting gods, the boys grow up with an uncanny bond to the water that first brought them into the world. But when a…
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The Fragile One
At dawn, the Sabarmati does not glitter. It exhales. The river lies low and patient, a silver ribbon pressed into dust-brown earth, the wind moving gently across its surface carrying the smell of damp clay, spun cotton, and last night’s ash. The ashram wakes without noise. There are no clanging bells, no shouted instructions, only…
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Derinchi: AUDIO STORY
Derinchi is a dwarf who grows up as the constant target of jokes and ridicule in his village. Mocked for his height and even named after it, he learns to live quietly on the margins of society. Yet life has its own mysterious way of balancing cruelty and kindness. In this poignant tale, a man…
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Missile Man and the Mutt
By late evening the laboratories at the Defence Research and Development Organisation campus did not fall silent. They merely changed their breathing. The clang of metal softened into the hum of air-conditioning ducts. The sharp, acrid tang of solder and heated circuitry gave way to the faint sweetness of night jasmine from somewhere beyond the…
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Fish n Rice: AUDIO STORY
A frantic morning. A superstitious mind. And a plate of fish and rice that was never meant for him. Fish n Rice follows Bipin Bihari Choudharee, a ritual-loving, fish-obsessed Bengali gentleman whose perfectly predictable life unravels on a day when everything seems cosmically misaligned. After a series of absurd mishaps at the bustling Maniktala fish…
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The Map Seller of College Street
There are streets in a city that merely carry traffic, and then there are streets that carry memory. College Street in Kolkata belongs to the latter. In the early mornings, before the buses begin their impatient honking and before the tram bell rings its metal warning, the street wakes slowly. Booksellers lift the tarpaulin sheets…
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Bagha
At four in the morning, the Ganga does not speak. She breathes. Mist hangs low over her patient waters. The air tastes faintly of wet clay and incense long extinguished. Somewhere in the distance, a conch has already surrendered its cry to the dawn. The Math still sleeps, wrapped in saffron shadows and the smell…
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Lives Between the Dates
Twenty Short Stories from India’s Unrecorded Hours History records its milestones with precision. A year. A battle. A proclamation. A coronation. The dates remain fixed, neat and unquestioned in the margins of textbooks. Yet between those dates lie hours that history rarely pauses to notice. Hours of hesitation before a decision, of doubt before courage,…
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The Ground Before the Name
The land did not yet know what it was meant to become. It lay open and undecided, grass bending unevenly where the wind found reason to pass, red earth showing through in patches that refused neatness. A line of trees stood at a distance, their shade unoffered, their patience untested. Jamsetji Tata stood still long…
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Before the Bell Finished Ringing
The bells did not ring all at once. They answered one another across the temple complex, sound arriving in layers, folding back on itself, refusing to settle quickly. Madurai received it with practiced ease. The city had learned how to hold excess. Camphor burned near the thresholds, its sharp sweetness cutting through the heavier smells…
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What the Snow Did Not Silence
Snow arrived early that year, not with drama, but with persistence. It softened Srinagar until sound forgot its own confidence. Footsteps learned caution. Voices lowered themselves without instruction. Woodsmoke curled through narrow lanes and lingered, carrying with it the smell of pine and damp wool and meals stretched carefully across days. The city seemed suspended,…
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The Sound the River Kept
The room held the heat as if it were a duty. Walls breathed dampness back into the air, and the floor retained the day’s warmth despite the hour’s attempt at mercy. Outside, Guwahati moved carefully along the river’s edge, its houses listening more than speaking. The Brahmaputra was close enough to be felt even when…
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Where the Serpents Remember
The forest does not begin with trees. It begins with hesitation. Before the roots grip the soil and before the leaves argue with sunlight, there is always a moment of listening. The earth waits. The insects wait. Even the wind seems to pause, as if asking the old question again. Who belongs here? For centuries…
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The Hours Between the Tides
The harbour did not pause for war. It smelled as it always had, of fish laid out too long, of spice sacks sweating in the heat, of wet rope coiled and uncoiled by hands that knew their work. Boats knocked gently against one another, impatient not with danger but with delay. The sea breathed in…
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What the Stone Would Hold
Stone dust rose slowly, reluctant to leave the ground that had held it for centuries. It caught in the air and settled again on skin, on cloth, on the shallow grooves already scored into the earth. The smell of it was unmistakable. Dry, mineral, patient. Around the marked foundations, men moved with measured purpose, ropes…
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The Matter of a Signature
The court was modest by design. It did not announce power so much as contain it. Pillars stood without ornament. The floor bore the soft polish of years of movement rather than display. Incense burned lightly near the doorway, its presence more habitual than ceremonial, a faint sweetness that mingled with paper, oil, and the…
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The Distance Between Stones
Morning arrived carefully, as if it knew it was being watched. Pune held its breath in that hour before heat decided what kind of day it would be. The street outside the house was quiet, swept too early by someone who believed cleanliness could persuade fate. A crow argued with itself on a tiled roof…
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What the Courtyard Remembered
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…
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The Joke That Would Not Come
The room was loud even when it was quiet. Sounds arrived from the street without knocking, voices arguing over nothing, a cart complaining about its load, a radio coughing between stations before settling into a song that did not belong to this hour. Amritsar had not learned how to lower its voice yet. It spoke…
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The Waiting Outside the Gate
The gate did not open all at once. It never did. It released men and women in uneven measures, as if the mill were reluctant to let go of what it had taken for the day. Cotton dust floated in the heat, visible now that the sun stood directly overhead, turning the air pale and…
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When the Sky Refused to Answer
The sky had closed itself early, a high, unmoving lid of grey that admitted neither sun nor explanation. From the terraces of the observatory, the city spread out in careful order, its avenues aligned, its walls washed in a pink that softened authority without denying it. Jaipur was ceremonial even at rest. Its symmetry suggested…
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What She Did Not Say
The compartment smelled of coal dust, iron, and something faintly sweet that clung to saris folded and unfolded too often. The train stood still, its patience frayed, its windows open to a platform that had not yet decided what hour it was. Porters moved with practiced urgency. A whistle sounded and was answered by another,…
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The Margin of Error
Rain arrived with discipline, not force. It tapped the tiled roofs in measured intervals, a sound that kept time rather than demanding attention. The cantonment lay quiet under it, its roads rinsed clean, its hedges holding their lines. Eucalyptus hung in the air, sharp and medicinal, as if the city preferred clarity to comfort. Bengaluru,…
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A Language That Waited
The street belonged to another flag. It announced itself quietly, without hostility, through signboards that curved their letters differently and uniforms that carried their authority with casual ease. Bharati stood at the edge of it, just where the shade from the building thinned and the light sharpened, and watched the children play. Their game required…
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The Weight of the River
Night settled over Patna without finishing its sentences. The lanterns along the riverbank flickered unevenly, their flames bent by a breeze that carried the smell of mud, oil, and old water. Mosquitoes announced themselves with a persistence that felt almost moral, a reminder that patience was never free. The Ganges moved past in the dark,…
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The Price of the Crossing
Dawn arrived without ceremony, a pale loosening of the dark that crept along the river like a habit learned over centuries. The Ganga lay broad and patient, its surface carrying the smell of wet stone, ash, and old flowers. Bells began to find their voices one by one, not yet in agreement, their metal notes…
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The Letter That Stayed Unsent
The ink refused to behave. It spread where it was not invited, turning the paper faintly bruised, as if even words were learning the city’s new habits. Ghalib lifted the pen, shook it once, and set it down again. Outside, Delhi breathed unevenly. Smoke lingered where it should not. A smell of gunpowder threaded itself…
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The Flag That Stayed Folded
The room was small enough for the afternoon to feel crowded. Light from the Paris street entered reluctantly, filtered through dust and the thin curtain that smelled faintly of soap and damp wool. The bed had been pushed close to the wall. A chair stood beside it, holding a shawl that carried the memory of…
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The Name on the Wall
The gas lamps hissed like impatient insects, their glass chimneys sweating in the heat. Backstage smelled of attar and dust, rose clinging to skin, chalk to cloth, old wood to everything. Someone had spilled rice water near the doorway; it had dried into a thin white crescent on the floor, a quiet moon that nobody…
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The Shadow of Renko-ji
The temple does not face the street. It turns inward, as though whatever it guards is not meant to be seen in passing. Renko-ji stands quietly in Tokyo, its wooden bones darkened by years of incense and weather, its steps worn smooth by feet that have arrived carrying questions heavier than luggage. There is no…
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Bandook Gali
Some stories arrive softly. They do not announce themselves. They wait. Bandook Gali – A Fiction Drawn from the Margins of History, began with a name that lingered longer than expected. A lane crossed often, rarely questioned, in the city of Kolkata in India. A sense that the past had left behind traces rather than…
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The Tokyo Cadets
They arrived in Tokyo carrying the smell of salt, sweat, and old paper. Some had crossed oceans. Some had crossed borders that no longer existed on maps. A few had crossed nothing more than the narrow circumference of their own fear. Yet when they stood together on the parade ground, boots aligned, shoulders squared, they…
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The Secret Voyage Aboard U-180
The sea does not announce itself when it decides to swallow the horizon. It simply closes in. Somewhere off the coast of Madagascar, the water lay dark and deceptive, its surface betraying nothing of the steel behemoth slicing through its depths. The submarine moved slowly, deliberately, like a thought one dares not complete too quickly.…
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The Radio That Roared
The radio arrived in the village like a rumour. No one could remember exactly who had brought it, only that one evening it was there, sitting on a wooden stool in the corner of the schoolteacher’s house, its dark casing catching the last light of day. It was not large, nor ornate. Its knobs were…
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What Remains: A Life Practised Carefully
Some stories arrive loudly. This one arrived by sitting down and waiting. For years, many of you have walked with me through short stories on StoryNook. Stories that travelled through forgotten histories, unnamed griefs, quiet courage, and lives that rarely ask to be remembered but deserve to be. This book grew out of that same…
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Three Disguises to Berlin
The night Calcutta learned how to hold its breath was not announced by thunder or proclamation. It arrived softly, wrapped in fog and the faint smell of coal smoke, as if the city itself had conspired to lower its voice. January of 1941 carried winter in its bones; the air bit gently at exposed skin,…
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The Lost Letter To RSS
The monsoon had not yet slipped fully into the memory of summer; still, the scent of wet soil clung to every dusty lane, every narrow row of bricks, everywhere the city breathed in and out the musk of rain yet to come. Calcutta in 1939 was a city straining against itself, like an unfinished poem…
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Barry Baul
In the year 1902, when the Hooghly carried more silt than sorrow, and Calcutta still smelled of ink, indigo, horse sweat and empire, Lieutenant Barry Banks stepped onto Indian soil with a spine straightened by duty and a heart not yet bruised by history. He was twenty-seven, pale as unslept paper, his boots polished with…
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Roscoe And The Others
The Lower Circular Road Cemetery woke each morning before the city of Kolkata did. Before trams clanged awake, before kettles whistled in nearby kitchens, before the first newspaper slapped against a veranda floor, the cemetery breathed, slow, ancient, and vegetal. Dew clung to marble like unshed tears. Moss thickened the edges of bevelled names on…
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From Cana To The Coconut Coast
When dawn flared on the Persian horizon, it splashed salmon and gold across restless waters, and there, between fierce waves and trembling light, stood Thomas Cananeus, his fingers wrapped around the battered wheel of his ship, his heart still clinging to the echo of burning homes and frightened faces. It was the fourth century, sometime…
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Invisible Footprints
They carried a carton wrapped in old newspaper, the dull thud of shoes on stone echoed in the narrow lane as the young couple and their teenage daughter climbed the stairs of their small rented room in the Bhowanipore area of Kolkata in 1990. Outside, the morning brooded with humidity, and the smell of damp…
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Beneath The Basilica Of Bandel
The turbulent waters of the river Hooghly were still half-asleep when the sky cracked open, in the circa of our Lord 1632 AD. A roar, low, rolling, the sound of hooves, boots, and the metallic breathing of war, tore into the Portuguese settlement on the banks of the river like a monstrous tide. Those who…
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St. John’s And The Spolia Of Lost Gaur
Chanak Chakraborty adjusted the shotgun mic with gentle care, like a craftsman tending to a fragile bloom. It was dusk in November 2025, and the dying sun painted the pale neoclassical façades of St. John’s Church in soft gold. The hush in the courtyard felt sacred, broken only by distant traffic and the rustle of…
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Saltwater Songs Beneath The City Square
As the metal claw of the tungsten carbide-tipped drill inched forward deep below the bowels of the bustling city above, Tunnel Manager, Arya Agrawal, suddenly felt a strong hunch to proceed no further. “Stop the drilling. There is something wrong,” she shouted. The sound of the metal claw of the drill screeched to a reluctant…
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Whispers Of The Unholy Trinity
It all began with a shriek, a siren slicing through the silent night. The people poured into the streets, faces pale in the ghost-light of fires. The air smelt of cordite and singed wool. Mothers clutched children to their bosoms; men ran with buckets, their steps slipping in soot. Somewhere, church bells tolled once and…
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The Valley Of Thundering Hooves
The dawn fog of 1850 clung to the Imphal valley like a half-remembered dream when Lieutenant Joseph Ford Sherer first heard the thunder of hooves. It came faint at first, like a heartbeat rising through the mist, then nearer, stronger, until the ground itself seemed to breathe beneath him. He drew rein, his mare snorting…
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Taj Of The Raj
The monsoon-misted dusk of September 1943 softened the edges of Victoria Memorial’s white marble dome. Once pristine, the edifice now stood muted beneath the grey Bengal skies. Its shining Makrana marble slowly wrapped in shadows, and its great bronze angel atop the dome, almost invisible in the gathering gloom of wartime blackout. At the height…
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Elephants Beyond The Horizon
It was a smouldering dawn in May over a battlefield strewn with thunder and ruin, 326 years before the birth of Christ on the banks of the river Jhelum, which the Greeks called Hydaspes. The plain was littered with shattered armour and half-buried bodies, the metallic stench of blood heavy in the humid air. In…
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Unseen Lines – The Haque and Bose Story
The monsoon had just lifted above the Calcutta sky of 1896, leaving behind a smell that was half ink, half sweat, and half the ghosts of mangoes gone to rot. Inside a narrow room of the Anthropometric Bureau, located in the British colonial Writer’s Building, ceiling fans creaked like lazy sentinels, and the light from…
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The Man Who Could Hear The World
Bhaskor Mollik was born on a humid summer afternoon in the year of our Lord 1900, in the narrow bylanes of Jessore, in undivided Bengal. The monsoon clouds hovered heavy above, the scent of wet earth and mango blossom swirling in the air. His first cries mingled with the drone of mosquitoes and the distant…
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Bonomali’s Cathedral
A cold winter dawn lay across the St. Paul’s Cathedral grounds, in the heart of Kolkata, like a thin veil of grey. Faint mists curled between ancient tombstones and evergreen shrubs, and the air tasted of damp earth and the distant tang of dew. On one side of a narrow pathway, under the skeletal arms…
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Two Bengals Across Ichamati
The moon was a pale lantern over Ichamati that night, its silver light spilled across the rippling waters, trembling on the floats of sculpted clay that drifted downstream. The river smelled of wet mud, moss, and the faint, sweet burn of marigolds. Somewhere upstream, women’s laughter mixed with the deep drum of a dhak; somewhere…
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The Armenians
The whistle shrilled like a winter’s breath, sharp and cutting, in the frosty air of the Calcutta Cricket and Football Club field, better known as the CCFC. A low sun filtered through the overhead clouds, scattering gold upon the dew-kissed turf. La Martiniere Old Boys or LMOB Captain, Harrington “Harry” Devlin, full back, stood at…
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Fat Mama
The wok hissed like a temple gong struck in fire. Fat Mama’s large, seasoned hands dipped the last wonton into shimmering oil, its skin puffing golden almost instantly. Steam rose, twirling into the dusky air of her drawing-room-turned-eating-house. The smell of pork, garlic, ginger, and a whisper of sesame clung to the cracked lime-washed walls,…
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The Great ISC Entrance Debacle
Dilly and Dally Mendes were born seven minutes apart in 1980, but their mother swore it felt like seven hours. The doctor said twins. Time said mischief. From the beginning, the boys were late. Late in crying, late in walking, late in talking. And when they finally spoke, their first words that anyone could remember…
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Pandu And The Beast
As the sounds of a moonless night descended on the nameless little village of twelve tiny huts situated amidst the dense sal-wood forest in the heart of Bengal on the 12th night in August of 1854, Pandu tossed and turned in his jute-rope bamboo charpoy. Anxiety of the journey at the crack of dawn, just…
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The Varanasi Seer And The English Shadow
Pandit Pankaj Pandey had been waking at the auspicious hour of 3:00 AM for as long as he could remember. Long before the swelling roar of the city fully stirred from its dreams. On this particular winter morning in 1984, as the faint chill of mist clung to the crumbling rooftops of Banaras, he rose…
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Ye Olde English Hillclimber
In the crimson-lit hush of a late 1930s Himalayan dawn, young Sam Bolo, aka Sambo, roared through the uncharted jungle flanks of Shimla aboard his trusty metallic steed, Silverblaze, a 1936 Model JF 500 cc Royal Enfield Bullet with a gleaming 4-valve bronze head, his engine thrumming like a wild heartbeat. He traced paths unknown,…
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Baburam
The sun was soft gold over a teeming park in Kankurgachi, North-East Kolkata, early 1980s, but to galloping fitness freaks, vegetable‑laden housewives, wandering loafers, fish‑loving babus with bags of silver‑scaled Hilsa, and children skipping along, the heart of the day was held in a mystical man’s hypnotic melody. Baburam sat cross‑legged on a frayed grass…
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Last Cup For The Day
The market slept beneath an ink‑black sky, Burrabazar’s labyrinth of lanes silent at 1 AM. A pallid moon hung low above shuttered shops, warehouses looming like sleeping beasts. Rickshaw wheels rested, bamboo handcarts fitted with truck tyres stood stacked one after the other, piles of cloth lay dormant, and only an occasional distant clang of a…
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Chitey Dakat And Commander Chakrapani
A moonless night smothered the dense forest in velvet darkness; not even a single star dared pierce the sky. Deep within this wild, an old temple – its idol of Goddess Durga made from the wood of the Lilac or Margosa Tree, commonly known as Neem, glowing in vermilion paste and smeared with blood –…
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The Heart That Brought The Elements Home
The sun, half-awake and already burdened with guilt, broke through the grey of the clouds like a spotlight, unwanted, but necessary. On the corner where a labyrinth of roads met, a barefoot boy of perhaps seven squatted beside the traffic light. The asphalt hissed under him, but he didn’t flinch. His skin was caked in…
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The Last Yellow Knight
The city of Kolkata had just begun to close its eyelids. The clock tower at Esplanade yawned past midnight, rain flirting with the edges of every lamp post, swaying shadows on water-logged streets. The storm had been brewing all evening, first in the skies, now in the hearts of those still wandering the city’s underbelly.…
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Mardini
A flash of lightning revealed the silhouette of an eight-foot giant, standing like a mountain, unaffected by the thundering storm that lashed his unusual and coarse, dark-grey skin. He moved with unfathomable stealth, speed, and agility against the backdrop of flashing dark and silver streaks created by the light and shadow of the raging tempest.…
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The Harmonium’s Melody
It is 1980, a contrasting era of political turbulence and cultural vibrancy in the bustling city of Calcutta in the Indian subcontinent – a boiling cauldron of various races, religions, and philosophies. A twenty-year-old man with a pair of unusual light brown eyes peers down at a broken bellowed instrument through the murky glass of…
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Ogni
Have you ever tried to burn paper or a dry leaf with a magnifying glass? Have you ever tried lighting a fire out in the open, in a desolate desert, on the icy surface of a frozen landscape, in the unbroken wilderness, beside a murmuring stream, somewhere high up on a mystic mountain, in a…
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The Inverted Ashvattha
Not so long ago, in a pretty little village quaintly nestled in the bosom of nature, occurred a phenomenon most extraordinaire. Back in the day, ‘Sonarpur,’ literally meaning the ‘land of gold,’ was just another unassuming farming coterie in the rural hinterlands of the South 24 Parganas district of the state of West Bengal in…
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The Greatest Gift To Mankind
A solitary speck of a shadow emerged from the mists that kissed the infinite still waters reflecting the crimson sky. Starlight travelling a distance of more than a hundred million kilometres across the cold expanse of space peeped from behind the horizon, gently bending to the spin of Earth to bestow on this water world…
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The Climber
When the dark aura of a cold and misty night gasped its last breath before surrendering to the faint illuminations of the awakening sun, a tall and dark figure walked through the nodding wheat fields to reach a solitary palm gently swaying in the chilly breeze of an early winter morn. Barring only a white…
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Bula’di
“Modern Indian women do not like to wear the saree Bula’di. It is 2011 and not 1971. We prefer jeans and a top. Further, the saree is neither sporty nor comfortable. It restricts one’s mobility,” smartly commented twelve-year-old Nehusta. “Stop calling your grandma Bula’di, child. Please call her granny. You address your elder sister as ‘Di’ and…
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Sky Fire And Wildflower
In the circa of the simian 1980 AD, the ninth year of the duodecennial cycle of the Chinese zodiac calendar, under the auspicious sign of metal of the five elemental symbols, an old and weary traveller found his final resting place on the banks of the nearly frozen Gurudongmar Lake at an altitude of 17,800…
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The Curious Case Of The Furious Mutton Handi
Quaintly nestled in a fairytale valley amidst the lofty mountains of the mighty Himalayan range, in the backdrop of the mystic snowcapped peak of Mount Kanchenjunga glittering towards the pristine cerulean sky, stood an old and beautiful Anglican Boarding School, in the Darjeeling district of India’s West Bengal state. It was a magical land where…
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The Price Of A Miracle
The jerk from a sudden impact startled Biju from his momentary slumber. In a split second, he applied the brakes as years of driving instincts kicked in, and the Toyota Innova Crysta veered and screeched to a dead halt. As the smell of grazed rubber gently floated into the MUV through its rolled-down windows, beads…
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Haji Harry
In the 980th year of the 2nd millennium of the Anno Domini, the 80th year of the 20th century, the leap year of our Lord 1980, a frail and strange-looking tiny boy was born to a mentally unstable beggar lady in a flimsy cloth shanty beside the Belur Math Kali Temple on the banks of the…
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Rickshaw Wolaaa
In 1869, in the land of the rising sun, an innovative individual found a brilliant up-gradation for the Kago, a sedan chair form of human transportation carried by two persons. He attached two large wheels to a seating cradle with two extended arms, which allowed a single human being to pull the vehicle. This new rolling…
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Weirdo Behind The Window
Behind the College Square swimming pool on Bankim Chatterjee street in the Indian city of joy, Kolkata, stood a dilapidated tiny two-storey building crowned with unwanted banyan saplings sprouting from the cracks in its outer walls. A forty-year-old weird man with a midget face and enormous arms lived in a small plaster pealed damp room…
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Soul Of A Gorkha
The ten-year-old Tau sat in front of a glowing charcoal hearth under the cold moonlit night sky in a small and obscure village in the foothills of the mighty Himalayas in the ancient land of Nepal. His father pulled out a glowing piece of steel from the burning embers and hammered it on an old…
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Pied Piper Of Pojhi
Tracts of fertile agricultural land stretched as far as the eyes could see. With the changing seasons, the colours of the harvest varied from shades of green to brown to golden to fluorescent yellow, yielding bounties of rice, maize, potatoes, mustard, red gram, and rapeseed. A mix of some thatched huts and other unplastered brick…
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The Human Bullock
On a blistering day in June, under the scorching midday sun, when the surrounding air danced in a haze of heat and rose towards the glaring sky, a giant of a man standing eight feet tall and weighing nearly a quarter of a ton tugged on his shoulders a massive wood and iron plough. Scarring…
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Tears On The Sand
Under the fading silver veil of a moonlit night, in the last hour before the dawn of morning light, on the glittery shores of a once turbulent river, an eighteen-year-old low-caste boy tirelessly shovelled grains of rock and coral into a banged-up truck’s weathered wooden cradle. The driver handed over five shiny ten-rupee coins to…
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Citadel In The Wilderness
South of the outer foothills of the Himalayan Mountain Range and north of the Brahmaputra River Basin stretches the alluvial floodplains of Dooars in the northeastern realm of the Indian subcontinent. With eighteen historic passages between the lush green plains and the imposing stone and ice mountains, it is the gateway to the kingdom of…
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A Pair Of Shoes
Thirteen-year-old Monikanchon dashed into the sea of clueless strollers, joyous visitors, and perplexed shoppers. The enthusiastic teenager head-butted and elbow-jabbed to reach some of his favourite stalls at the annual street fair on the occasion of Charak Puja on Beadon Street of Calcutta of 1920. It was the last day of the festival, and waves…
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Goddess Of Mud And Flesh
It was a cold and shivering night on the last day of December in Anno Domini 1980. A young and frail woman in tattered clothes stood at the edge of the water of the Kumortuli Bathing Ghat on the banks of the River Hooghly in India’s Calcutta city. Close to her tormented bosom, she held…
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Keeper Of The Family Tree
As the tower clock on top of Maniktala Bazar chimed three at the nocturnal hour before dawn every morning, an ancient and wrinkled mysterious man was up and ready to perform his most unusual antic. Centenarian Jotayu Pakrashi was the last leaf in the Pakrashi family tree of the corner house at the intersection of…
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The Last Cake By Chand Ali
“If prepared correctly, a fruitcake can have a shelf life of more than twenty-five years,” chuckled the toothless betel leaf chomping Chand Ali as he mixed perfectly calculated portions of assorted nuts and dried fruits into a massive copper plate. Twelve-year-old Rani and her five-year-old brother Riju peered over the master baker’s shoulders to ask questions…
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Playing Brass
Strolling down the Mahatma Gandhi Road from the College Street end towards Howrah Tram Depot in the vibrance of the Kolkata metropolis, one can spot a unique world of orchestral cacophony. Little shops from the colonial days of the British showcase a wide array of musical instruments and jazzy uniforms of starking colours with gilded…
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The Red Bus Robbery
In their quest for colonisation, the British faced many tenacious races all over the so-called third world colonies; men and women of varied colour, creed, ethnicity, and metal. Stories of whose bravery and strength are etched in the annals of human history. Of all the people they dealt with, perhaps they found the Bengalis to…
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Weekend Stories by Trishikh 