She felt this wedding was a test, and as the late afternoon sun blasted down at her she had the pathetic thought that as long as she kept drinking she’d be okay.

Literary Autobiography

I came to writing "late", in my early thirties, though writing fiction had always been a dream, one which for years I shoved to the back of my mind and the bottom of my soul as something that was impractical and indulgent. Also something I’d probably not “succeed” at.


Sumedha, the bride bought by her husband some years ago, has no school certificate because she had no school. She also doesn't have a home or parents. Where were her parents born? She guesses a new state every time she's asked. 

The Atlas

The frayed Atlas, like most of Trina’s clothes and books, was a hand-me-down from her thirteen-year-old cousin sister, Paramita. The clatter of steel utensils being washed in a neighbouring flat mingled with the notes of a hit Bollywood song that played on someone’s radio. Trina’s own noisy house was peaceful for a change.

Anne Frank Keeps Me Going

Anne isn’t listening. She doesn’t have time. She’s left already, half-way down the street, her back to me, her hair bobbing. Her shoulders are thin, her sweater threadbare. Her knees are knobby, her hem uneven. One shoe buckle beats against the asphalt. She carries a diary.