nandinidhar
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My stories
For Us
The friction of our pens on Paper do not produce any Sparks anymore. We survive On the fringes—you the bitter Sufi me the aspiring luddite. Evenings would have been
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- 709 reads
What I Would Never Know ( My 200 Words)
Ma’s voice over the phone sounds anxious, “Mamon…how are you?” Long pauses between words. “Ma, is everything alright?” She blurts out, “Mamon, Dimma is no more.”
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- 1212 reads
Things Untitled
On that particular Wednesday morning Titin did not have any classes.
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- 1149 reads
A Sonnet For Darkness
( For generations now, kids in Bengal have been told that there is an old woman inside the moon who is ceaselessly operating her spinning jenny—the charka.
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- 906 reads
Manufacturing Love
What if I look up and a corpse dangles? What if the nail sits tighter around my lips? What if your kiss makes me lose the words? “I Saw in Louisiana a live oak growing.”
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- 691 reads