I hold the pen, but they control the writing. White Noise happened to me. I didn’t create my characters, My characters created themselves. Let me share with you the very first paragraph of my book: ‘It was his beard that instantly caught my attention. Nonchalant and unassuming, he made me want to dig deeper into… Continue reading I hold the pen, they control the writing.
To be honest, I’d never thought of writing a novel. I never thought I had it in me to write it. I started with short stories. I wrote about three short stories before White Noise happened to me. Sounds a bit strange right? “White Noise happened to me.” Let me explain. When I was writing… Continue reading The Making of White Noise
I came into their world on a sunny morning. Mommy was tired and heavily sedated. Not that I could blame her, I had kept her up the entire night. I guess I wasn’t ready to leave her warm womb just yet; it had after all been my safe home for as long as eight and… Continue reading Glad you came.
As a child I was told that death is the end of life. Yes that’s still true. But over the years I have realized that there are many things that can end your desire to live. Life goes on but the desire dies, maybe for a short while and because of something that might seem… Continue reading LOSS
We were soul mates. We were sisters. We were friends, best friends. No, I did not know her since childhood. No, we didn’t spend too much time together. Yet, we spent a lifetime together. Yet, she meant the world to me; the one I bared my heart, my soul to. Perhaps, that’s why when… Continue reading The One that got away.
The Alpana on the courtyard floor looked flawless that morning. The white Chirodi, the primary element of an alpana, was bought by Rana da a few days back; and the chirodi was dyed into many colours in order to create a multicolored, bright pattern. Suchitra very strongly believed in the power of colours and she… Continue reading Sisters
They lived in a small town on the outskirts of Calcutta. They were a huge family and she was often lost amidst many members. Her mother was from Lucknow and her father, from Raniganj- another small town on the outskirts of Calcutta. She often felt confused. They were Brahmins but the families of her respective… Continue reading Summer Haze
WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE “Excuse me? Can I take a look at your boarding pass please? I think you’re on my seat.” smiled Aastha. “Oh, I am so sorry. I assumed I have the window because that’s what I always book! I am Anindita by the way.” “That’s quite all right.… Continue reading Water Under the Bridge
This is the excerpt for your very first post.
thestorytellersparadise 