Published Stories

Stories published in ‘The Hindu’, ‘Yentha.com’ and ‘Readers Digest’.

Beefeaters of Kerala

The cows and incidents depicted in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to real cows alive or dead is purely coincidental and not intentional. I regarded her face again, and then slowly, without giving her any clue, walked across the meadow to steal a look at her from the other side. Sleepy eyes. Large ears. Long muzzle with nostrils flared. She stood there re-chewing the cud from last day’s meal she very thoughtfully stashed away in her rumen. ‘Amme’, I called her … Continue reading

Why I Never Became a Poet After My Father

Why don’t you write poems, sir? You write well. Whenever people ask me, I clear my throat, look away and pipe the easy answer: I have good friends as poets – Sabin Iqbal, Arun Prasad, Ajayaghosh sir, Babitha Justin, Meera Nair etc. Can’t write a line without cadging a few fans off them. I don’t like to spoil relationships, you know eh? “So you never wrote poems in your life?” My student asks. “Are you Pradeep? You come from him?” I … Continue reading

SWIMMING BLUES: Our Experiments in the pool

My dream: a) To float on the surface of a pond or a lake for minutes like a fallen leaf, like what my father used to do. Save for a nose and tummy protruding, everything else was submerged in the water as he floated and meditated on the clouds flitting by. 2) Shed the tyre around my belly. 3) Claim I am still young to learn swimming. Experiences before: Indebted to my students Vinod and Saji for my long experience … Continue reading

A cup of black passion

Just trying to feel my fingers around words (after a long gap in blogging) with the aid of a cup of black tea, my new-found love. I disliked black tea. The dark, astringent, dusty liquid with jagged corners every molecule, that cut and rearrange the very formation of my taste buds and thoughts had nothing in common with me, I always knew, and but, yeah, I must admit, I too never caught it – that egoist of a beverage – … Continue reading