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indrani robbins

Arshi OS/SS : Short and sweet

the break of day : an asr khushi one shot

the night closed in around the white mercedes-benz suv as it shot through the empty after hours roads. there was a slight drizzle building up to something more falling lightly onto the asphalt, the large old trees, and the pretty landscaped circles of new delhi. dark windows sat behind high walls and rolling lawns, the rich part of town. he drove without seeing a thing, eyes fixed straight ahead, hands gripping the leather of the steering wheel, knuckles white, his…

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sarees tell stories

the nizam of mangalgiri

i didn’t even wait to iron a blouse. i had to wear one of the five sarees instantly. my husband had just returned from his trip to the chilli fields of india in guntur and cuddalore with bags of dry red chilli and the sarees. there they were, the sheets of newspaper around which they’d been folded lay on the floor, i had shaken them out impatiently. there was no carry bag or box. when he said to me he’d…

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indi

a sycamore in the garden… bahceda yesil cinar : song review

it’s a beautiful song. her voice is mellow and smooth and has a reach in it. it calls without being maudlin. i don’t understand a word of it, but this morning i heard it in a loop. a story of love, of the sycamore and the rose and na na nay. a young and lovely turkish actress called fahriye evcen sings the song. i get the feeling, it’s an old lyric, a love song that’s close to the heart. there…

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indi

talking about the good old days

oh no, do i have the word “old” in the title? that’s it. no one is going to read this. anyway, let me carry on. no idea how the years passed by, i noticed though, they have a way of doing so without any effort whatsoever (something to learn in that, i’m sure, especially for my knees), and suddenly i was on the other side of the story. i was no longer the one rolling my eyes and throwing fits…

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indi Poetry

when i see flowers i think of you

when i see flowers i think of you purse your lips and perhaps you smile there is no distance beyond the hour the hour that comes unmindful of season and time   this flower whose name i do not know yet it sits right by my sitting room’s window and amid its cloak of silken unbending leaves bursts forth in colour of hue intense and pure there is no uncertainty in its lines no murmur of may i or if…

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Espresso Shots

the girl on the terrace

i am quietly freaking out right now. ever since yesterday, i’ve been thinking of a “ghost story” my mother told me years ago. i’ve been pondering whether to write it or not since the one i just posted about bungalow no. 7 in digboi was liked by so many people. my mother didn’t believe in ghosts. no, not at all. she worried much more about human beings. people. and maybe she was right. in fact, she was. still, i can’t…

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Festive Specials food indi

fish kochuri… a halloween recipe

i was sitting in front of my computer, working and completely absorbed, when it came out of nowhere and spooked me. i suddenly had to make fish kochuri. i don’t know how to make these delicious pastries with fish stuffed in it. this was a fiend though that was hellbent on scaring me into submission. think the only time i’ve had fish kochuri or maachher kochuri, as we call it in bengali, was almost ten years ago. maybe more. it…

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Fiction

the man in the lift : chapter 1

celebrating the festival season with a brand new romance. enjoy the first sparks, back with more soon.    he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. catherine was swearing under her breath, fuming, and anxiety struck as she ran into the lift. the roads had been pathetic, the taxi driver worse, she was almost ten minutes late and seth ji was a stickler for punctuality. of all things, she thought getting more agitated, this man who gave not a…

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Mythology and More

the dark one… and the night of lights

night descends. the lamps are ready with oil and wick. my heart is in my mouth. it’s bhoot chaturdashi. the ghost fourteenth day, if i translate literally. and tonight, unless we put fourteen diyas or oil lamps, or even candles, in fourteen corners of the house and eat fourteen kinds of leafy greens, watch out, anything might happen. the spooks are out and about. i am laughing as i write this. i used to quake with fear every bhoot chaturdashi…

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Espresso Shots

the offering : a short story

the flames lunged up, their ends tapering, blowing, dancing, impatient and in a rush to catch the khoi. the parched rice, light, plump and crisp white, had just started to slide off the winnowing fan. it floated down, a lacework of shimmering grain. a streak of fire shot forward and caught a khoi. there was a spark of light, then it was gone. a flash of heat hit her face. the sound of the khoi crackling as it burnt shot…

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