This is my first collection of short stories, completed in 1995.
Buy Camping Out (eBook)
Short stories with a twist!
From India to the U.S. some things change and some things stay the same - but live in the U.S. for several years and you wear new lenses!
Go on! Sample the stories ...
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.
'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 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.
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.
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.'
I walked to the light switch and flipped it. A million suns glowed in the room and courage seeped into my being. I took off my jacket and embraced a chair with it. I went into the little kitchen and turned on the tube lamp. A glass of water down my parched throat and I was sitting at the couch, fumbling foolishly with wet shoelaces.
He felt a twinge of hunger and bought himself a couple of hot vadas. Then, having washed them down with water from a station cooler, and feeling satiated, he wandered a little until the clang of metal on the hanging piece of rail told of the time to board the train. He stood at the door of the bogie until the guard waved a ghostly flag in the night, the distant signal turned green, and the train wheels squealed into submission.