Author

Subham Talukdar

Browsing

Mr. Sunandan lifted the portrait of his wife from the placid wall cupboard left to his door. ‘You don’t even know if I am alive or dead. But I still follow you on your social media accounts. You have not changed. You look the same as you are looking  my hands. But you know what?’ He keeps the portrait of his wife who was draped in a lustrous saree looking shabby because of the dusky photo cover. The sky was the same as the photo cover. The sky was crowded with rain. ‘I starve for another person’. The man in his early 40s lifts another stamp sized photo frame adjacent to the enormous bookshelf. The face was visible only to him in the unceasing yellow light hanging from the top. ‘I remember the date. Happy birthday, my dear daughter’. He got hold of the photo frame as quickly as his…