I suppose a certain kind of Calcutta novel can be written. By a certain kind of Southern Avenue Calcuttan such as me. These are read…
Richard’s clay sculptures could say a great deal about him. Luckily, he did not sculpt very often. He spent most of his time bagging groceries…
Pushpa did not know about the Gospels. In fact, she barely knew anything about Jesus. But she would have appreciated one of his teachings—to be…
Goirick Brahmachari’s poems on the theme Indian Classical
The voices spoke when he was alone,
instructing him to carve words with a pocketknife
to the side of an assault rifle.
Windy shore, speckled seagulls,
a black-haired girl with azure eyes, climbing on rocks,
the gray-haired father’s pale hands wiping her mouth.
Every month, The Reading Room showcases a short story, or excerpts of a book, from some of the greatest writers the world has ever seen.