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…
Tag: short story
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…
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…
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,…
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…
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…
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…
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…
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…
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….
Weekend Stories by Trishikh 