Passages: 24 Modern Indian Stories (Signet Classics)
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24 stories from today's best indian authors
India's literary tradition has found a growing audience around the world. Many talented writers have arrived on the scene, each illuminating different parts of the Indian experience, from years of colonial rule to the unique challenges of life in the West.
This important anthology includes short stories and novel excerpts from Salman Rushdie, Kiran Desai, Rohinton Mistry, Jhumpa Lahiri, Ruth Prawer Jhabvala, Anita Desai, Bharati Mukherjee, R. K. Narayan, and sixteen more.
charming exterior, however, was a screeching rakshasi. Oh yes, how she had simpered and smiled and worn those tight little blouses. How she had wrapped her husband’s eyes with ribbons of desire, until Kitta was so drunk on her body juices that he willingly turned over every penny that he earned to her. Not his mother, mind, not like he used to, and with that pay packet, with that little slip of a cheque, slid Ajji’s power in the house that her husband had built. In the blink of an eyelash Rukku
antique shop on Cumberland Street, but it had no memory of any amber monkey. In the room where the apples used to be brought in from the orchard for sorting by hand, Arvind’s charpai still stood—but it sagged slightly. On the nightstand, a portable oblong with a 45-33-78 lever had played the songs from My Fair Lady and Kati Patang for hours. Once a parrot alighted on its felt turntable, ﬂipped the switch with a wing and sailed round, bewildered as an immigrant on a new continent. He was looking
encountered the autobiography of Colonel James ‘‘Sikander’’ Skinner, a legendary nineteenth-century soldier born to an Indian mother and a British father, whose story became the basis for the novel. Published in 1995, it won the Commonwealth Writers Prize for Best First Book and the David Higham Prize for ﬁction. In 1997, Chandra published the short story collection Love and Longing in Bombay, containing the story ‘‘Dharma,’’ which ﬁrst appeared in the Paris Review, where it was awarded the
was a town of many toddy shops, all of which my father would soon discover. A town where credit was difﬁcult to get, where from the ﬁrst people looked at us with faces like closed ﬁsts. I didn’t blame them. We were a far cry from the model families displayed on the family-planning posters the municipal ofﬁce had put up all over town. One of these posters was pasted on the back wall of our school. I remember it perfectly from all the afternoons I stood there looking up until my neck ached. My
interfere in things you know nothing about. But there were those other nights. Bitch, we’d hear him bellow, and we’d melt into the moldy shadows under the porch. Here I am, killing myself to feed all of you, and all you do is nag at me. Sound of a slap, a pan clanking onto the ﬂoor, spilling the dal that was to have been our lunch tomorrow. A breathless grunt. We knew how it felt, that ﬁst slammed into the side of the head, turning everything black for a moment. The kick against the ribs that