The Unforgettable Desire

I spent the entire day reading about the once-in-a-lifetime lunar eclipse.  Super Blue Blood moon.  ‘Can the name not be short?’, I thought just like I had thought about my cancer - Pre B Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, ten years ago. I saw people sharing the time of eclipse’s visibility in different places.  ‘Ahh, not in India.’ Cool things never happen in India,  sighed the multiple-times-disappointed-kid in me.  But, then. I saw someone share the time of visibility in the metro cities of India.  I googled immediately, ‘Lunar eclipse visibility in Hyderabad.’ I saw many articles describing the reasons behind this particular eclipse being unique. I gave it a thought, not much. I am not one of those moon-watchers, you see. The idea of moon’s beauty brought the idea of longing lovers.  I tried, I tried really hard, to bring together love, longing, and moon. It never happened. But, for a little while, somewhere in my...

The stories of already established mythological works from the point of view of an almost invisible character has given way to the contemporary genre of retellings and mythological fictions. Among these, a strong voice has been that of the women who were mere props in the metanarratives that were written with patriarchal ideals. Kavita Kané’s Karna’s Wife , Sita’s Sister , and Menaka’s Choice are newbies in mythological retellings and fictions. The three books are love stories of side tracked voiceless women in the grand narratives. What the books do is that, introduce the readers to characters that they might not have thought about, like that of Uruvi, Urmila, and Menaka respectively and yet hail them based on the favourite patriarchal feature associated with women, self-sacrifice. The three books have their women protagonists smitten in love and eventually subjugated by it. In these stories, the storytelling is quite contemporary as opposed to the characters who are eon ...

One January evening in a small mining town, Pralav decided to meet his old friend. His friend had returned to town after five years. They had known each other since their first day in an engineering college. For the most part of their job, they had been colleagues. At the age of 57, Pralav, feeling quite right in his head after a few months of dullness, wanted to visit his friend in his new house. Or, so he made it seem to his friend. Over the 32 years of his occupation, he had gotten used to whispers that surrounded him. “Mad, he is crazy.” “He is not in his right mind.” “Oh, what was he talking? Is he active these days?” “Just listen to him.” “Poor man.” “It’s a pity.” “His life isn’t even worth living.” PTSD has a strange way of unfolding. Two near death mining accidents later, Pralav was admitted for psyche consult which perhaps would have helped him had mental disorders been an open talk in the town. People assumed him to be a mad man because he needed the consult. The whisp...