By Selma Carvalho
The Friday they leave for a weekend in Belgium, Anju discovers Freddo is cheating on her. She doesn’t share her knowledge with him. What she should have said was, ‘Freddo, I’m tired of this shit. This time, I’m leaving.’
Her heart feels like it is going to stop breathing all on its own, distinct from the rest of her. The pain is so intense, she realises it is possible for the rest of her body to survive the carnage, while her heart, expelled from her being like a refugee, would simply die.
By Nilankur Das
You had to be mad to take the pills and the syrups the way they did, deliberate madness. They weren’t chasing a high, they were trying to fall off the edge of the world, strip after strip of Spasmo Proxyvon, swallowed dry, Corex syrup guzzled warm and metallic, a haze of Benadryl and the white pill, Nitrazepam.
By Cordelia B. Francis
Verek’s eyes searched the horizon for the slightest sign of rain. Her old dog Balu crouched next to her, calm and alert. The horizon was a flat line. It shimmered in the afternoon heat. It had been this way, unchanged for years. The day Verek’s husband and son died, along with most of the men of the village, was also the day the land and the sky drained of colour.
By Rita Chhablani
Palm trees swayed gently in the December breeze as Maria, the household help, lit the candles on the veranda. The aroma of roasting chorizo, their favorite and special pork meat sausage, and bebinca wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the scent of frangipani. It was Christmas Eve in Fontainhas. The streets were alive with Konkani carols and laughter.
By Saachi D’Souza
Before the city, there was a village: one long road, mango trees, and a house made of clay bricks whose red bled in the monsoon. Ira’s father had called it a home; her mother, a waiting room. When the water overflowed, it came not like a beast but like a large, gripping silence. The water climbed walls, then memory. Her sister’s anklet was found wrapped around a broken window. Her mother’s last word had been “run.” Ira did. At seven, she learnt that not all losses are loud.
By Damodar Mauzo
Issue no 24
While reading a book, I came across a thought. Quite a profound one. That nudging thing would not let me sleep. No matter how hard I tried, it didn’t give up, so I simply decided to sleep with it. When I woke up in the morning, I found that the thought had sprouted, so I rushed with it to my front yard, in order to plant it. However, I knew that the soil in my own yard was not quite productive while my neighbor’s land was very fertile. Besides, he liked gardening. So, I crossed over the fence and carefully planted the tiny sprout there.
