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Espresso Shots

Espresso Shots

rainy days and sundays

“bzzzzzzzzzz!” it was the carpenter bee. black and rotund and a little hazy as it whirred about and dashed against the blooms of the bright yellow trumpet flower. “oh, up early today i see!” exclaimed the lavender mauvely, it was the nearest to the blues it could get. “let it be… let it be…! let it beeeee…” replied the carpenter bee, he had a thing for punning. no one ever said a bee couldn’t, after all. lavender rolled its spikes,…

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Espresso Shots

fifth day of spring : a story

the idols were lined up on the narrow ledge under the tall windows in the corner room. the ledge was designed to be a book shelf but no one remembered seeing a book on it ever; instead, dust and cobwebs gathered and had a good time on the yellow ochre lime wash, enjoying the slanting sun rays that fell through the shutters. but today, there was not a speck of dust anywhere. nor cobwebs. only eight beautiful idols. eight pairs…

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Espresso Shots

the decision

they started cutting the house the day after holi, so that they could finish before the monsoon came. she sat on her bed, legs crossed, staring at the zigzag of blue and dull pink on the fading green counterpane, almost meditative, as she heard the workers arrive. it was two minutes after nine. usually in calcutta, nothing happened on time. bini babu left for work at ten thirty every day, his office started at nine thirty. the cook rarely entered…

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Espresso Shots

a winter afternoon : a story

she stood on the third floor balcony, looking out at nothing actually. it was a bright day, there was a faint chill in the air even though everyone said winter was over. anyway, winter this year had not been that cold, she thought distractedly, although shurjo had as always worn his wool cap from the first day of november. every year, sometime in the middle of october, he pulled out his two balaclavas and had them washed. one was dull…

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Espresso Shots

I just choose not to… : A Short Story

I just choose not to intellectual conversation short story

They sat on the uncomfortable high chairs in the sprawling lobby of a busy downtown building. They didn’t notice the men in suits of varying shades of grey in even more varying price range walk by. Their eyes were focused on the printouts spread out on the table. Meeting rooms got suffocating after a certain point in the day. They often moved to the noisy chaotic lobby and defying all logic managed to concentrate on work. Problem-solving. They were the…

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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 had begun jogging after purchasing a pair of running shoes from a website similar to vessifootwear.com and had been committed ever since. 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.…

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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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