Posts

Where There's a Will

(Previously published in The Best Asian Crime Stories 2020, Kitaab, Singapore) Inspector Vohra sighed as he saw more OB vans pouring in. From his vantage point in the balcony of Kashyap mansion, he could see the gathered reporters strutting about the compound wall with their cameramen. The officers stationed at the gates were under strict orders to not let any of them breach the barricades and enter the mansion. “As you can see, right behind me is Dhanraj Kashyap’s residence,” he heard a K-TV reporter say, “it was this very morning that the head of Kashyap Constructions was found dead up in his room,” she pointed randomly at a window. “The police have confirmed poisoning to be the cause of death and they suspect foul play. The motive and identity of the murderer is still unknown. Right now Kashyap’s family and associates are in there, under Inspector Vohra’s lens. We’ll bring you the story as it unfolds. With cameraman Surjeet Singh, I’m Fiza Khan.” News does spread like wildfire t
Post a Comment
Read more

The Festival

  "Mommy pleaseee," little Raju tugged at Shaila's saree. Packing her tiffin box into her faded handbag, she looked down at the expectant face, innocent eyes alight with eagerness and hope.  She hated the thought of putting them out.  "I'm sorry baby," she quickly knelt to his height, but not before she had thrown a quick glance at her wristwatch. "You know mommy can't miss work. Not even today." "But it's a festival! All my friends are celebrating with their whole family. Why must I be alone? I'm a good boy too, mommy. Just like the rest. I don't even-" but the five-year-old suddenly checked himself. This action was so surprising - not least because of his tender age, but also because he had never ever kept the tiniest of secrets from her - that Shaila momentarily forgot her concern for reaching the office on time.  "What is it?" she asked, "You don't even what?" The little boy pursed
Post a Comment
Read more

The Teacher

  The sound of the key clicking in place feels strangely relieving. I push open the polished wooden door and enter my apartment, flinging my handbag on the centre table before falling onto the sofa. I try to calm myself with deep breaths, but now that solitude has broken the dam, the flood is inevitable. With each new sob, rises the hope that the frustration would be washed away, the helplessness would flow out with the tears. But they both stay, like true friends. It is ironic how we hate the very emotions that faithfully keep us company in times of distress. I am angry, I am hurt. This is the seventh time in a row that my business idea has been rejected. And not for its lack of potential, no. That is what maddens me. The first two investors had been subtle, “You er… you do have excellent credentials, Miss Sharma and the idea seems good too. But… well, you are proposing a tech startup. Had it been fashion or perhaps even healthcare, we would have considered…” Three days later
Post a Comment
Read more