The house lay veiled in a thick cloud of secrecy. Despite their best efforts, Ashok and his friends never saw its inmates.
The passionate love at the time of marriage -- my friends foretold that this marriage would go to the rocks, that I was crazy to go for the wild Pragya -- soon petered off.
They remained close, almost indistinguishable, so similar were their interests and attitude, yet they fought, sometimes bitterly, like two rivals trying to score debating points.
Man had always been a lonely being. Now he could read every one, every one of his children like a book.
Don’t we all crave for happiness? So, says my florist brain, why care about flowers, which are anyway going to end up into the waste bin?
The rider and horse, on a battlefield, had to have a companionship on which the lives of both were firmly dependent.
His body will be recovered by the government, and his death assigned in dusty files to a heart attack.
He is a jailbird who if killed while on duty will not be memorized as a martyr.
“It had been a beautiful day.” He thought dispassionately. “The first day of the rains…”
The day had begun with dark overcast skies that gave way...
Paddy was busy reading the note attached to the box. It simply said "From America, With Love." But there was..
"At least we can light a candle for hope, and try once again for a better world."
The light shone brilliantly, cutting across the storm-darkened night. He blinked at its intensity. The fisherman’s lantern!
Though he was only a peon, there was nothing about the work at the office that he did not know.
Shiladitya sat utterly dejected at his failed affair with Rubina. Those 30 days were great
Jaggu threw himself on the hapless victim, trying valiantly to cover him with his body. The men were losing patience.
Something stirred deep within. He felt the first note of a new song. His heart was pumping a little faster now.
Yudhishthir asked, “Tell me, O mongoose, who are you that speaks the human language in a human voice? How did you get this beautiful body with its golden colour?"
She did not feel like telling her husband. It did not seem strange that the thought of telling him did not occur to her.
She couldn’t have known why — it was...
On entering the gate, I heard a muffled cry. No, it was not emanating from the bushes around. It seemed to be coming from the depths of the past, from times that now belong to history.
It was more than a year back when I first met her while surfing on the net. Our first few words of exchange
Wearing their gown I was led into a room with a terrifying array of instruments. A needle pricked my arm, then a blessed blackness descended..
The inspector let out a loud yell. "Catch him!" He cried. "That guy is a criminal who has escaped from jail!"
She thoughtlessly slipped the polythene parcel of minced meat in the khaki paper bag-the bag held by her long and slim hands...
An open ended short story set in Kanya Kumari. Read how to write the Open Ended Story in Writer's Scratchpad.
A short story about hopes, aspirations and favoritism in management hierarchy and multinational corporations
I could not take my eyes off her face nor could I turn away from the red salwar kurta she wore that blended so well with the red which had caked her face.
The pit-pats of fingers on keyboards and beeps from neatly arranged cubicles fell like a soothing drone on his perception.
So many times I watched in movies, policemen chasing the hero and the hero jumps over the bridge and escapes. But this is not a movie and even if it were… I am not a hero.
