Sibling Rivalry

Changez was sitting up in his bed when Ranjit entered. The ward boy handed him his medicine and passed by Ranjit, who took his seat beside the bruised and battered patient.

“Ranjit, what brings you here?” asked Changez. Ranjit rolled his eyes and looked at Aamna. She did the same as she sighed at her brother’s chronic sarcasm.

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Commending Commenting

“Sunday’s the only day I get some rest, but today you strip me off that respite,” said Ranjit.

“You rest your bum in your computer store all day six days a week. I’d say Sunday’s the only day you have a chance for some action! I invited you over because this is the kind of football game you will never have a chance to witness,” said Vipin, slightly turning his head. The biting morning air pricked his cheeks and ears.

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Genes and Jeans

Ranjit parked his motorcycle and walked to the entrance of the university, carrying the bag with sweets his mother had sent for his sister. His jeans kept trying to sneak away from the entrapment of his belly. It would have been best to wear the belt, he thought.

Visiting his sister there brought back memories from his days in college. The fervid, frantic, melancholic, and purposeful faces made him smile wistfully. The faces outside the gates resembled those within, but in there, there was a most refreshing guilelessness about them.

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Year of the Dog

While Vipin had been invited to a house party for New Year’s Eve, Ranjit spent it with relatives. He tried protesting, but his mother was too persuasive, and his father too domineering. Playing Antakshari with family until the clock struck 12 wasn’t his idea of spending the last day of the year. But his sister tried lifting his spirits, and his uncle pitched in with a few pitchers of local ale, inserting spirits into him. In time, Ranjit forgot his sullen mood and most everything else.

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Shoe Away

It was the last auspicious day of the wedding season, and the first day Ranjit wore his new suit. One of his friends was getting married, which gave him the opportunity he was waiting for. The garment was of a hue of grey more suited for old people, but his innocent face and clueless eyes conquered that minor obstacle. He had approved of what the mirror reflected, and so had Vipin, his roommate. But the moment he entered the traffic-laden areas of outer-Delhi, his mood soured.

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Debugger

Ranjit was driving home on his Bajaj motorcycle. It had been a long day repairing computers in south-west Delhi. It wasn’t his job anymore to go fix faulty machines, but their chief repair person had gone to his village, leaving Ranjit as the only one capable enough for the job.

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The Writer Who Couldn’t Write – Final Chapter

Vikram is finally able to write something with his hands. He is worried about its quality and appeal more than he has ever been in his career as a writer. His heart beats frantically, but it’s more so because of an emotion he has never experienced before.

 

When Vikram handed her the letter the day after she returned, he saw a look of disbelief on Malini’s face. He hadn’t said anything but just placed the letter in her hand. Her hands had felt the dotted impressions immediately, but her mind was taking its time believing it. She passed her hand over the sheet of paper and sat down without a word.

Vikram watched her both keenly and apprehensively as her fingers traced the characters slowly. Varsha joined them a minute later but froze when she saw the two of them. She knew what was happening before she saw her sister read something she had never read herself. She had seen it in his eyes.

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