My Heartbeat Simbu, I scribble in this diary from a place where death enjoys a life of its own. Where it isn’t feared or despised and no attempt whatsoever is made to deceive it. At times it’s even welcomed here, albeit with tired smiles and resigned shrugs. But let me not waste time and words. I’m not sure if I will ever put pen to paper again. For all we know, this could be the last time I turn the lens inwards, as it were, rendering myself in sharp focus for you. Now wait! Did I write that yesterday too? Or was it today morning? Must be those sedatives they give me. Pain management, it’s called. Ha! As if the pain of watching my only child lose me, day by excruciating day, organ by faltering organ, can ever be managed. If you’re old enough to read this, my child, I’m…
As I was reading a book at home last evening, there was a thunderous knock on the door. I went downstairs to open the…
Chapter 1 July 2006 : It was by far,the hottest summer since I arrived in Lebanon, twenty years ago. Sweat beads started to …
Friday the 25thof April 1992 was unique for two reasons; the fact it was the day after Chris’ 12th birthday was just one of…
The Davidson family was what some would call white trash and they knew it. They were aware of the stigma that came with their…
The small boy waited for his father to return home. He hung around the wide gate, leading to a massive compound with their house…
‘What do you excel at ?’ I asked her one day in idle curiosity as I lounged in my chair outside, waiting for the…
There was this assignment at the Refinery in Golaghat district in upper Assam and I looked forward to the pleasure of a road trip…
He died at the age of eighteen, my disabled older brother.Yes, he was free from the cursed life he was given. Yet he was…
