Varun Part-1

I was (in a way) handling a certain euphoric eight year old during an impromptu gathering with my mother’s friends. Varun’s frail frame and broken teeth made me feel that he was a millionaire receiving money from the tooth fairy. He had a neat fade on either sides and a letter haircut- V -at the back.  Someone needed to give that barber a pat on the back and the jealous monster within me muttered how “liberal” schools have become with regards to haircut (excerpt…)

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Jameel or Jack?

“Amma what would you do if I changed my religion?” I asked my mother with hopes of picking on her. It was a lazy Sunday morning and we had just had our routine South Indian signature coffee- the filter coffee. Sitting on a nilkamal chair with legs on the coffee table, my mother’s undivided…(excerpt)

Traffic

The honking never stopped. Red lights flickered from the Skoda Rapid in front of us. Looked like a car was blocked by a bike trying to take a right turn. The roads were bad but it really didn’t make a difference to me because I loved driving. It was going to be a long drive, a thing that my mother hates…(excerpt)