A Chandelier for Vidya

NOTE: This is a work of fiction. It comes from the mind of Sarbari Sen, a world famous chef in her family. She feeds one husband, one daughter, one son and their many friends as often as she can. When not making rosgullas she dabbles in homeopathy, tolerates her kids and concocts tales of murder and mayhem. She has zero tolerance towards anyone who chops a tree, which is strange since she apparently has no issues knocking off people in her stories. So, folks, you have…

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One Year Ago

In the November of 2014, I wrote a short story. It was very raw, very abrupt and it didn't really work. But it did have one central theme that seemed to have lots of potential. I showed it to Anjana Dutt and we went back and forth over it for several weeks. Over the next three years, I built it up, added more depth, worked on the characters, their motives and tried to make them believable. Somewhere in those three years, the short story morphed…

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Johnny be Dead

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind was high, he didn’t pay it any mind. He had his boots on and he walked on down the hallway. He came to a door and he stepped outside. It was a stormy Monday. He knew Tuesday would be just as bad. It was time for the blue bus. He climbed aboard. “Driver, where you taking us?” “Strap in, son, we’re setting our controls for the heart of the sun”, said the driver. “Oh…

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Ecks and Vi

Ecks was lonely, they said. Ecks didn’t think so. He was always busy, doing something that most people thought was doing nothing. Jay Ecks was 42 and single and this made people click their tongue and make sympathetic noises. In their book, loneliness, or being alone, was not a desirable way to be. In the early days, Ecks would try and correct them. Eventually, he found a way to ignore the noise and go on doing what he was doing, alone as always.…

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Iris

< An edition of this story first appeared in Unbound EMagazine. > Andrew Quinn had spent 8 years writing. Burned out from playing corporate games, Andrew had turned off, tuned out, and then dropped out. He was 48 years old with a receding forehead, an aquiline nose and curls greying at the edges. This gave him the air of a Roman senator and not just any senator, but a careworn and grave senator. One could truly have said of him that melancholy had marked…

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Insidious Sunshine

< An edition of this story first appeared in The Telegram Magazine - https://www.magzter.com/IN/Talking-Books-in-Delhi/Telegram/Fiction/215124 > In the car, he was unusually silent and if Sushil Deka was silent, then, the situation was serious. I had expected that. It’s not everyday that a man learns that his wife is in a sexual relationship with another woman. I did not break the silence as I concentrated on threading my way through the city traffic. Then we were on the highway to the airport and I felt…

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