i stand before a lovely lawn of a beautiful home for an hour and embrace its early morning warmth. patients old young rich poor make waves like the Jalangi of my village. sky is heavy with great expectations– a child is born, an elderly touches the sky of heaven–some berate breasts, some steely pass carrying dying limbs, others adjust looks in rear glasses. Paid polished men and elegant ladies wear coded uniform and like domesticated dogs they bark and stir tails as codes dictate. guards abuse the poor and spread red carpet for the moneyed. the counters full of coins,
Now when he said to Shama: “Hole! That’s what your family has got me in.This hole!”… Now he keeps his address as secret as an animal keeps its hole. And his hole was not a haven. His indigestion returned, virulently; and he saw his children increasingly riddled with nervous afflictions. Savi suffered from a skin rash, and Anand suddenly developed asthma, which led him in bed for three days at a time, choking, his chest scorched and peeled by the futile applications of a medical wadding.
A gifted versetile writer who writes excellent stories and poems on the invisibles, pariahs, margins, aged, weaklings of our society. A rising star on the literary firmament.
“Your story Undersell left me with a lump in my throat, so did your poem, He also lights candles.”
"A finely honed observational piece recording the minutiae of everyday life. Rendered with the author’s customary poetic aplomb suffused with a Borges like quality of the mythic."