Short Story ID- 9/2015 Tikbalang was the exact opposite of his more famous cousin, the centaur. Where the centaur was mysterious, quiet, and foreboding, and looked graceful with his chiseled abs, and powerful horse’s body, Tikbalang was not. He had…
Short Story ID- 8/2015 Her little shoes were bright red in the warm sunlight. They were the only part of her clothing which looked clean and new. Her green and white dress was ragged, and some of the jade beads…
Short Story ID- 7/2015 R. K. Narayan went to the office of the Registrar of Births and Deaths at the district headquarters at Malgudi to obtain the death certificate of his father Krishnaswamy Iyer so as to transfer money and…
Short Story ID- 6/2015 A beauty sleeps in the open brown box Its legs outstretched like sunbathing under The angry summer sun. It sings to me, its eyes closed “I am the corpse of a woman who loved.” The woman…
Short Story ID- 5/2015 1 My name is Shilpa. I believe in ghosts because I am one. I believe in the afterlife because I have been there. I believe in the occult because I have seen it happen. Long…
Short Story ID- 3/2015 Seikh Suleiman was made to learn the knowhow of making a bomb.A bomb, which would kill thousands of people. At one go. He knew next to nothing about it before. His father, a daily wage-earner of…
Short Story ID- 2/2015 The shrill screams from the room next door woke Ruma from her sleep. Since the time she had come here sleep had always evaded her, right now she held on tightly to whatever little of sleep…
Short Story ID- 1/2015 My dear Isaka, How many mothers have been forced to leave their children, only to communicate with them through letters? I am penning these words inKuching, bythe muara of the Sarawak River. I was told, and…
It’s early November; winter has just set in. The temperature hasn’t dipped much yet and the night is perfectly balmy. It’s a quarter past eleven. A time when thoughts, tangled in the din of pots and pans, and mundane chores…
Short story selected for the 2014 New Asian Writing Short Story Anthology Rajamma The young doctors took off their coats and left their consultation rooms. After five hours of duty, it was finally lunch time. As they slowly ambled out…
Short story selected for the 2014 New Asian Writing Short Story Anthology Jenna’s hair is fascinating to him, its golden curliness captivating in a way the poker straight and black kind that he has…
Short story selected for the 2014 New Asian Writing Short Story Anthology One of the first persons I phoned when I came to spend the summer with my son, Anand, in Toronto was Vivek. Vivek was in the wholesale trade…