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Imaginary Conversations with You

I went by your house last night again. It become a habit now passing by your place, drunk. Like it's some typical Bollywood movie. only it's not because I know what I am doing. I am in control and I'll never lose it. I looked up the window I used to always look up at. I saw me. Sixteen year old me. Patiently looking down from your window. There was a calm in her I know wasn't in her when I was sixteen. My breath grew shallow and paced up. There isn't anything the same in the both of us. You were right. I camouflage really easily and before I could know, I became this person. I think I gave in to the lifestyle; the parties booze and boys caught up to me and it's okay. I am not complaining. I won't say that that I detest the woman I have become. I absolutely do not think I should have been the way I was when I met you; fragile and easy to love. I don't want to be easy.  I don't want to love the way I loved you, like a traveller in a desert loves a mira...
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A Face in The Dark: An Alternate Ending

Mr Oliver, an Anglo-Indian teacher, was returning to his school late one night on the outskirts of the hill station of Shimla. The school was conducted on English public school lines and the boys - most of them from well-to-do Indian families - wore blazers, caps and ties. "Life" magazine, in a feature on India, had once called this school the Eton of the East . Mr Oliver had been teaching in this school for several years. He's no longer there. The Shimla Bazaar, with its cinemas and restaurants, was about two miles from the school; and Mr Oliver, a bachelor, usually strolled into the town in the evening returning after dark, when he would take a short cut through a pine forest. When there was a strong wind, the pine trees made sad, eerie sounds that kept most people to the main road. But Mr Oliver was not a nervous or imaginative man. He carried a torch - and on the night I write of, its pale gleam, the batteries were running down - moved fitfully over the narrow for...
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Dear Rituparno

Dear Rituparno Ghosh, I hope this letter finds you(if in some extra-terrestrial, ghostly way it ever does) happy, peaceful and above all, accepted in the new world you now belong to. I do not really believe in an afterlife but deaths like yours want me to believe in some sort of continuity. Something that my heart can still cling to because the blank truth of somebody's existence so blatantly wiped off from the surface of the world makes so little sense to me. In a historic judgement made by the Supreme Court two days earlier, gay couples are now legally allowed to get involved and married and live together happily ever after. Finally, they have the permission of the law to have their own fairy tale ending. But how much of the war is really won, I do not know. Law is a cold statement meant to be brought to life by the people meant to enforce it. You fought a lifelong war trying to get adjusted in a society that looks down at effeminate men with mockery and contempt, ostracizes peop...
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