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 Felicio Cardoso
Translated by Augusto Pinto
Issue no 18
It was raining in torrents. It wasn’t all that late in the night but outside, it was pitch dark. At most it must have been about 8 o’clock and the frogs and the crickets had already begun singing their songs. As usual, Caetano, Lawrence, Squinty Jose, and Ram were sitting with a bottle of feni at Pedro’s place chatting away.
By Maria da Rocha
Translated by Paul Melo de Crasto
Issue no 17
Powdery moonlight drifted down on both sides of the Sandalcalo. On its back of ramshackle crenels and collapsed turrets the Old Fort received its due of the moon’s warm caress. Yet it could muster no smile. It could but sigh for the revels of past times, for blackly beaded men toying in the dark with the gossamer-thin clothes of gorgeous banianas… Ena!
By Steve R. E. Pereira
Issue no. 17
‘You have to find a cock, a big, black cock. It has to be black. A very big, black cock. Unaelewa?’ Mai looked fierce as she wagged her finger vigorously in Annie’s face.
‘Naelewa,’ Annie said, trying, not successfully, to hide a smirk as she wrapped her kitenge around her house-dress.
By Janet H Swinney
Issue no 15
Navneen loved everything there was to love about women. Everything. He didn’t object to armpits, for example. Unlike many men, and many women for that matter, he didn’t think of them as zones of unwanted perspiration and offensive odour. When a woman raised her arms, revealing the secrets within those hollows, he always caught his breath.
By Saritha Rao
Issue no. 14
Francisco de Melo Palheta surveyed the roomful of elegant people who had turned up in his honour. Only the French had the audacity to build a villa of this kind in humid Guiana, and the gall to insist on a dress code for dinner that would otherwise befit the salons of Paris.
By Yvonne Vaz Ezdani
Issue no. 14
The topic of shadows always reminded me of my childhood friend Tony. When he was in primary school Tony would sometimes punch or kick friends who teased him because he was short, shorter than the rest of his classmates. Scolding, punishment, no corrective measures worked to stop Tony from lashing out.
Issue no. 14
By Sheela Jaywant
Issue no. 14
The old jungle trees that had stood sentinel over that little house-cum-hotel throwing inviting shade over her small property. There weren’t many flowers, but the canopy, the foliage beckoned birds, butterflies and passers-by. And they gave her solace. When the rest of the village went ‘bald’, with people sacrificing the flora for constructing houses to sell for profit, Sheena’s Home stood out
By Meena Kakodkar
As translated by Vidya Pai
Issue no 13
If this whole exercise was being conducted to guide Soshakka’s soul from this world to the next one, it was all in vain, Mukta thought. Soshakka’s soul would hover about in this house, keeping an eye on everyone; it might even yell at someone if things were not up to its standards, she thought mischievously.
By Krupa Manerka
Issue no. 12
She is a little thing of twelve; filled with the zeal and curiosity that childhood demands. Sitting by the countryside river, she’s rippling its water near the shallow end. Her eyes are intense, as if she never knew anything between black and white and never spent a dull moment in her life. She is in deep thought.
