“Y’know, Marilyn Monroe was a Russian spy?” “Nope. But a postman wrote Ham on Rye.”
I can’t exactly remember what happened in the days before the blockade was imposed. But I do remember that just as the gates in the mysterious south went down and prices went up a beautiful girl with dark curly hair moved in to the next building.
Raman took his first photograph at the age of eight. An oblong window in northern Kathmandu looking out on land that had turned to marsh in the monsoon rains, peopled with frogs and the young of mosquitoes.
Love is the huge suffering that grows and grows within you like cancer when the one you love isn’t within your reach. Sometimes it’s not even about physical reach, but just a deep longing that makes us miss people, even when they are close enough to touch.
(excerpted from a short story by Prajwal Parajuly, who is on the shortlist for the 2013 Dylan Thomas Prize) Studying abroad was a malaise that was yet to afflict the northeast the way it had swept over the rest of India. It was uncommon, especially during Asim’s times, for a native of Shillong to study […]