Short Fiction

IV. Bengaluru, 2032 “Sometimes, Saturday has a lonely sound,” said the guy to the girl. A black-and- white from seventy years ago. That was the last line before the power cut out. Goddamned India. I guess some things never change. They nuked the grid to save the country, but the construction was rigged, crooked in … Read More

Vinita, the bird, thought this: how splendid a woman, this one with hair so golden-brown, so “foreign,” how shapely her eyebrows, arched, as if pencil-drawn (she squinted here; she was growing old and blind­ – fat, old and blind)… Well, she probably has kind eyes and oh! how pretty her pink-slippered feet (her own so … Read More