Story of the Week

When I stepped out of the actor’s abode, I was in a daze. I understood why Lean chose him for A Passage to India. Seeking to soak myself in his surroundings I sat on a bench overlooking a cemetery nearby.

The image of him slumped over the hospital bed has dropped anchor in me never to leave.
Unable to sleep, he called me one late-night, his voice a husky whisper.

I stand near the road-verge. The artist who brought me here from another realm caresses me whenever I feel homesick. Passers-by who see my flower-clusters can’t take their eyes off.

Travelling to any place, I often go out exploring it in the dark.

That night, in a secluded spot under a last quarter moon in a town called Bansuri, I found a besuited man in conversation with himself.

Just as I appeared directly in the line of his vision, he fell silent.

Read the book by the Jewish Memoirist I prescribed for you? She regards journaling thoughts as her Saviour. Tell me straight up what does writing do for you? When I get eyeballs on my work, I live, otherwise I wilt. So publication comes uppermost, right? Yes! You must revisit Emily. Bronte? Dickinson. She’s very famous. …

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The wind was ripping at him as he entered the tree-shaded Ashram. The garden path led him to the riverside where he sat on a chair and looked out at the coursing river.

Recording at the Radio Station done—a talk on Ernest Hemingway—he felt thirsty.

Hello Ka, do you still write poems these days at the drop of a hat? Stopping by at mysterious nooks at odd hours waiting all-eyes-and-ears for its birth with a notepad and a pencil, sharp as a quill, resting between your finger and thumb?

Train and my mouthpiece: how could you separate the two?
Homeless, he spent years inside a rail-carriage, almost like Penelope Fitzgerald did on an old barge.

Quite early one morning I was crossing on foot the bridge on river Ganges. There was noone save a lady coming from the opposite direction. As we got closer, I could sense she was shooting repetitive glances my way. When we were about to pass each other by, she waved her hand as if to say hello and said: “Your face rings a bell. Although these days I have memory lapses, didn’t I meet you at this very place many years ago?”