Maybe after all is said and done, our words will be preserved in some manner. Maybe some living beings will decode what we said, a long while after we are gone. And maybe they will wonder about us. Or maybe we will have been too primitive for them. I have my story, titled Can you … Continue reading A story in these times
[ before ] Rania wished, not for the last time though, that food could materialise out of thin air. The three times a day, seven days a week of racking brains on what to cook and finally accomplishing it was fraying her nerves. But everyone, including herself needed to eat. So cook and eat she … Continue reading Some soup?
[ before ] Their grandparents' home was a sprawling bungalow. A bit fraying at the edges, but a beautiful sight to behold. It was probably built just before the Independence. It was slightly different from the local havelis, in that there was no courtyard in the middle, but rather lawns spread around the building in … Continue reading Wind chimes
[ before ] It was market day. Her bag filled with farm vegetables and fruits. Fresh duck eggs. She stopped to buy some milk. There is a Palestinian man who sells manaeesh and fattoush at the next stall. She heard him say, My name is Tahir. Thank you very much, while he returned some change. … Continue reading Man at the market
Rania walked today, the same path on the trial she had gone on everyday for the past one year. The baby was asleep in the buggy, but Rania was not so peaceful. There had been a letter from home. She could not make sense of what they had written, and neither could she concentrate on … Continue reading A walk and a letter
I was drinking black tea with a friend in the small kebab shop in town. The place is run by Turkish people and there is an elderly man with a splendid turban seated behind me. The man is there every time I go. It was the friend who told me of the group going to … Continue reading Tea in exile
Twin towers fall down. A small town in Southern India. I am in the computer lab of my college, helping my classmate with her coding. We have tea later in our college canteen. Your people did it. She speaks in a gentle voice. But it sounds accusatory. I sip my tea in a steel tumbler. … Continue reading Can you taste the tea?
A story from a bygone era: 1976 Aadam was his name. He was a man of probably about 55, tall and lanky, but his face was drawn with lines crisscrossing all over, perhaps a result of many years of living and travelling. He brought out two glasses of black tea. And a small plate of … Continue reading Ceylon tea
A new story for Kaitley: Juwairiyah was my old classmate from Secondary School, it was serendipitous that we had met now. I was living in the Old City for a project and my trusty blender had broken down. A neighbour had suggested the Modern Works repair shop next to our office printing press in Laad Bazaar. … Continue reading Irani chai with an old friend
[ before ] Days passed, she had smuggled in a pack of dust tea into their new home. After all she was a fearless woman. She would brew a sugarless black tea before he woke and wash down all signs of it quickly. But it was not the same, there was no milk and sugar … Continue reading Latay for the lady – part 2