Fiction
“An Unashamed Proposal”
Look, Sunny said, however progressive my mother is, she is an Indian woman from another generation. Do you really think I can tell her that we sleep in the same bed?
“The Chartreuse”
She could feel the mirror shining in her dark bedroom closet. Waiting for the offering.
“The Silence”
She could sit on a bench in Europe completely unmolested, without a single human being saying a word to her, until the sun fell out of the sky.
“The Comedian”
He was nothing and nobody, and nobody cared, and he thought that everyone was watching him, that even I was watching him.
“Jubilee”
I was simply happy to inhabit my birthplace, my janmasthan: this almost unbearably meaningful fact that linked me to every red letter box and double-decker bus.
“Happy Days”
Why shouldn’t Matthew Lim play Winnie? Inside his body, the role would be no spoof at all but the purest of incarnations.
“Any Human Heart”
And here sat Maureen, who had no one else to send flowers to as sweet revenge. And here sat Lilian, who had thought that little in life could surprise her anymore.
“The Queen of Bad Influences”
It is possible I’m too flexible for virtue and too virtuous for villainy.