anthologies and literary magazines featuring my work
Ma
I turn fourteen the day my father dies and my mother falls into conversation with a man from our village who sings at local weddings, a man more bones than meat.
When my father was alive, my mother had two big complaints: one, he didn’t have the means to buy a two-wheeler, and two, he never took her to the cinema.
Coconut
Every evening at 7, the brahmin priest at the Ganesha temple cracks freshly washed coconuts on the cement stairs outside to offer to the Lord. He’s inside the sanctum, moving the oil lamp in circles with one hand, ringing the handbell with the other. Keerthi, my sister, giggles at his jiggling belly and breasts. Devotees stand in separate lines: men left, women right; no funny-funny at the temple.
From the anthology:
“The 15th Bristol Short Story Prize Anthology is an inspiring collection of stories selected from over 2,000 entries to the 2022 competition. It introduces 20 scintillating writers from around the globe.”
Seabus
Hey, bud! Indian? Like, not
‘Indian’, but India, Indian?
The man’s pink, mouth pink, eyes blue green. Loud, like people
with too much, are. Necks turn. Was in India
one summer. So much culture, colours, oof!
Talks over the announcement.
Freesnacks
Brother. Glad to meet you, brother. Was a Buddhist then Jesus took me. What
are you? Whatever, all same-same, brother, Jesus is everywhere. Come to church. I
had nothing now everything. Faith, brother, He doesn't want you to praise His
miracles, without Him we are nothing. He made me, you, everyone.