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FICTION
How to Fall Out of Love Madly
Jana Casale
Let me tell you something about my stomach. It’s big and I hate it. I think about it all the time. I think about the way it looks in shirts and dresses, the way it sits over my jeans and hangs over the edge. When I’m sitting, it juts out in the most hideous way with big folds. There’s no flattering way for me to sit with it so I think about ways to not sit, and I think about sucking it in whenever it is that I am sitting.
I think about what other people think about it, and what they think of me because of it. I never want to look at it, but I can’t stop staring at it in the mirror whenever I get the chance. I would love to tell you that it doesn’t define how I think of myself, but those are just words and they’re not making me feel what it is I want to feel and what it is that I want to feel is thinner. I cry about it a lot, mostly to myself and sometimes to my mom. She usually tells me I’m crazy and that I should stop obsessing. One time, just once, when I’d called and started in on the same conversation about my weight and how fat I am, she said as I was sobbing.
NON-FICTION
Sovereigns of the Sea
Seema Alavi
In 1842, Sayyid Sa‘īd (1791–1856), the Sultan of Oman and Zanzibar, checked with the British Consul at Muscat if it would be disrespectful to recycle to the Nizam of Hyderabad, in India, a carriage and harness that was gifted to him by Queen Victoria. He said he had not made any use of it, as there were no roads of any description in Zanzibar where he could use it. As a result, the carriage remained in its packing case. He once got it taken out to have a look at it and then got it repacked.
FICTION
Unspoken
Sharmishta Gooptu
June 2024.
‘Miu, you really shouldn’t say such things, you know’, Aisha gently scolded her mother.
Miu had wanted an alphonso mango gateau and she was finishing the top layering of the fresh cream before she put the last of the mango slices on the cake. Her mother liked fruity desserts the best.
‘Did you understand what I said?’ she asked her mother who was hungrily watching the cake getting finished.
Miu nodded. Then said. ‘You remember Baby aunty, who used to make those lovely cakes, when you were little? I once took one for him. One like this one, with mangoes in it.’ She stopped, and licked her lip. ‘No, not for him, for everybody. But he had a piece.’
Aisha made a face. ‘What him? Who?’
NON-FICTION
Eating the Present, Tasting the Future
Charmaine O’Brien
It was a Monday when I met restaurant entrepreneur Rohit Khattar for lunch at Indian Accent, the pre-eminent eatery in his Delhi portfolio, esteemed for its menu of contemporary interpretations of classic Indian dishes and regional specialities served in chic surroundings. The elegant dining room was respectably patronized on what is the quietest day of the week for the hospitality industry, and with the socially fabulous (usually prominent here) at home recovering from the weekend, this left Khattar free to give our conversation his undivided attention.
FICTION
The Coincidence Plot
Anil Menon
WELCOME MY FRIEND, WHAT CHANCE HAS BROUGHT YOU HERE?
The question on the screen was starkly lit against the velvet darkness of the cinema hall. When Saki had told me about the screening of A Throw of Dice, I was enthusiastic. I had always been curious to learn more about the Hindu’s conception of chance and destiny. So far I had seen a tiger, coiling snakes, an elephant-shikar, a turbaned sage and an unusually fair Indien princess. All in under three minutes or so. I checked my pocketwatch. There was one hour and twelve minutes left of this oriental spectacle. Saki turned her head, smiled, and snuggled closer.
FICTION
Imaginary Rain
Vikas Khanna
Dust swirled around the sandstone pillars of the Jama Masjid, as the sun made its white domes glow. It was 1975 in Old Delhi, and an excitable crowd stood huddled around a transistor radio, waiting to hear whether India had successfully launched its first satellite, Aryabhata, named after the Indian astronomer, into space. Amid the traffic and flag-waving throngs, a young girl, who couldn’t have been older than ten, with the complexion of dried sugarcane and the rounded, hopeful features of a cherub, held a ragged bouquet of orange paper flowers in her hands.
NON-FICTION
Welcome to Aaraampur: A Sleepy Little Hill Town
Dhruv Nath
Dear reader, welcome to this book. Where I will take you to a sleepy little town, tucked away in the majestic hills of Himachal. The town is called Aaraampur. And no, that’s not a spelling mistake. It’s not Rampur.
It is Aaraampur.
What did you say? You haven’t been there? You haven’t even heard of it? Ah, my friend, you’ve missed something in life. It’s a truly wonderful place. If you happen to live in one of our huge, congested cities like Delhi or Mumbai or Bangalore, you must visit Aaraampur. And discover for yourself just how peaceful life in these small towns can be.
FICTION
RAW Hitman: The real story of Agent Lima
S Hussain Zaidi
6th September 2011, Nainital, Uttarakhand
Half an hour past midnight, raindrops pelted the roof of the Ford which was speeding past the jungles of Bhowali. The car was being driven by Rajendra Pargai aka Raju Pargai—the most dreaded criminal of Uttarakhand. Pargai’s love for speed was at its peak as the speedometer flickered around the seventy kmph mark. It was as fast as one could drive on these mountainous roads.
FICTION
Feeling Kerala
Translated by J Devika
Yama
The ants—trapped in the blob of mucous fallen on the hollow, termite-eaten windowsill—stopped struggling. She was weeping, chin pressed against arms crossed on the ledge; once or twice, her mother’s curses fell on her ears like meteors—falling, helpless, exploding. It wasn’t clear who she aimed them at. It seemed from the racket that the misshapen pots and pans in the kitchen were changing shape again. Her thin hands must be searching desperately for unbroken things now. Her mother, cursing death that slid away without bowing to her. Life, like a sharp spike of iron that the years could not corrode or waste away. Their relatives knew well how to keep a safe distance so that they would not fall on it . . .
From HT Brunch, June 10, 2023
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