Rajat Mukherjee - The Short Story Book

This is my first collection of short stories, some of which are set in India, and others in the U.S. You can read excerpts below. Better yet,  read the eBook!

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Camping Out
He could see himself on the badminton court, gracefully meeting every shuttle with an outstretched arm and a fancy flourish of his wrist....his strokes came smoothly and he could hear the ringing of the strings on the little cork ball and the swishing sound of the birdie as it hurtled through the air...

She stared at him, but jerked her glance away every time his eyes swayed towards her. They were two Indians waiting for a Greyhound bus at a lonely little bus station, and were bound to stare at each other and try not to admit it.

The Tiger
'Has he eaten a goat or a lamb?' I bleated, while my mother tried to silence me and the rest of the bus ignored me. I was in a frenzy, looking through the dirt-covered glass window and seeing only scores of excited people.

The Wife
...The leaves of yellow and gold and brown and red and orange and crimson perched on trees in the golden sunshine with the clear blue sky above. The fall air was restful and invigorating. Proshanto and Jessica landed at Keene airport with their bags, sweating after their little twenty-seater plane had tantalizingly bounced around that blue sky.

The Turning Tides
'Please sit. Please. I drove here myself.' That sentence was well used. Karen had told him that she was afraid of driving... He turned and looked into her face with his dead expression. He could discern that she looked very haggard. Her hair had thinned and her eyes lay deep in their sockets. She looked ill.

Five Rupees
She smiled at me and placed her hand on my head and nodded her head from side to side. Maybe, in her mind, I was a child gone right, while the others were being stolen from her by circumstance and adversity. I was her child, released into the world of success and good fortune, and all we were doing in return was embellishing her gratitude and pride with a token five rupees.

The Incident at Nob Hill
He clawed at her, his fingers trying to get her to speak, his legs shaking under her. His fingers entwined her soft long hair, trying to involuntarily feel for blood. There was only mud and slime. She had beautiful hair. She had beautiful hair and she was not speaking to him.

Grandpa's Shotgun
He rose, tapped the cigarette case back into hiding in his breast pocket as a last sign of respect to the elderly, befuddled man before him, and made for the door. He turned and said, 'I will come back on Tuesday night, before load-shedding.'

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