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Espresso Shots

Espresso Shots

sunday tale

“i think,” said the frog, frowning wisely, “you start feeling freedom once you have lost something…” he paused and gazed up at the sun moodily, then added a final word with an air of authority, “forever.” the lavender swayed as it laughed, a throaty provocative sort of laugh, “a loss, really? of what? or of whom? and why should loss make you feel free?” who’d have thought the slender spike of pale mauve flowers with those soft, intricately detailed, delicate…

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Espresso Shots

On A Jogging Day – A short story

It was early in the morning at 5.30, Nisha wore her jogging shoes, ready to jog around the apartment complex, a habit that she developed only since the last few months. She peeped into the bedrooms to check on her family. Her husband and kids were sound asleep. It was a Saturday and they had an off. There was no way that any one of them would willingly get up to join her on a holiday that came in after…

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Espresso Shots

sunlight through the shutters : a short story

she hadn’t seen it coming, she hadn’t even slightly considered the possibility… not in a very long time, that is. how long had it been? olivia frowned abstractedly, sitting on the edge of the bed. her breath had a shiver in it as she inhaled, but she let her mind go back all the way to the first time she’d seen avi… abhik. he was in a printed navy shirt, it was snug around his wide shoulders and chest, he…

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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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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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hidden flowers

  the heavy teakwood doors burst open. binota and gopaler ma looked up startled, a few bodis fell off  the muslin cloth onto the mosaic floor and broke and scattered. she came running out, her pale pink jamdani saree billowing, the pallu flying behind her. she held the fine gauzy gold tinted cotton bunched up in her fists on either side, lifting her saree at least half a foot off the ground, her ankles clearly visible, almost her shin, as…

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Espresso Shots

just another evening : a short story

“it is really the will!” barun said the words emphatically, slapping the table in front. the tea cup rattled on the saucer. krishna threw an exasperated glance at him. “sometimes you don’t have a choice…” chacko murmured, a meditative calm in his tone. it seemed to get barun. “nonsense! you always do. free will… we all have it, i tell you!” he exclaimed, thrusting back into the lumpy brown cushion and settling in a bit more, getting comfortable. “shotu da,…

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Espresso Shots

dream catcher : a short story

the hardest thing to catch really is a feeling. And yet, why must it be caught, why not just let it flow, go where it wants to. fly. shobhona strolled in the garden, the bed of roses was brimming with the light pink variety banker dadu had sent with chhorda. she wondered if like banker dadu, she should leave everything and go away to kalimpong. live up in the hills, among flowers and oranges and quiet slopes; and children with…

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i dreamt i met a man called… : a love story, sort of.

he sat there looking lost on the old park bench. when i saw the jaw line, i knew there was only one thing i could do. i sat down. “what’s up?” i asked when i found my voice. he looked so disoriented. he turned and there were his eyes. i remembered chocolate, my habit of quietly eating a little chocolate every night, chocolate all by myself. my throat went dry again. “huh!” oh, so he had a voice. how do…

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Espresso Shots

the steps: a ghost story

if you happen to live in bungalow number 7 in digboi, you’ll know you have to climb sixty steps up the tila to the house. this being digboi in upper assam, the terrain is dotted with tilas or hillocks; on top of many of these sit bungalows built by the assam oil company. the company’s officers live in them. digboi, if you’ve never heard of it, is a town up in the north east of the north eastern state of…

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