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Maya, Judgement Night and other stories -New Asian Writings 3rd anthology of short stories
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Maya, Judgement Night and other stories is New Asian Writings third anthology of short stories
that comprises the fictional work of writers from around the world who set their stories in a
distinctive Asian context.
A brief paragraph about the authors themselves is also included with each story.
Maya, Judgement Night and other stories -New Asian Writings 3rd anthology of short stories
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Maya, Judgement Night and other stories -New Asian Writings 3rd anthology of short stories
Summaries
My Love Story by Surbhi Thukral is a
short story about a Muslim girl, Aaliyah who
falls in love with a Hindu boy, Kunal.
However, when Aaliyahs family comes to
know about her relationship with a Hindu
boy they are enraged. As a consequence, her
life is enmeshed in a nightmare. Aaliyahs
mother
understands her
daughters
quandary but is powerless in front of her
obstinate husband who refuses to marry her
with someone from outside their faith.
Aaliyah is later forced to marry a Muslim boy
of her fathers choice: Aamir. After a few
months of her marriage, Aamirs nobleness
begins to fill Aaliyah with an unintentional
culpability. But, before she is able to
reconcile herself to her fate, the newly
wedded couple meets with a terrible car
accident.
Towards the end of the story, Aaliyah opens
her eyes in a hospital. When she enquires
about Aamir, the melancholy evident on her
parents faces narrates a terrible story.
Later, it is revealed that Kunal has saved
Aaliyahs life by donating blood. It is then
Aaliyah confronts her father by asking: how
would he ever be able to separate Kunals
blood from hers. The story ends at a
question put forward by Aaliyah for her
father: What will he do now?
My Sperm Donor by Padmaja
Menon is a short story of a twist of fate that
brings two lovers together with a baby to
boot. Based in Chennai and Sydney, it brings
together two cultures. Mention of a rare
disease is also an eye opener.
The Jungle Crows Song by
Samantha Sirimanne Hyde Piyal is new to
fatherhood. After he lost his job at a
munitions factory, he spends most of his
time at home looking after his infant son.
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Maya, Judgement Night and other stories -New Asian Writings 3rd anthology of short stories
CONTENTS
16
20
31
130
40
OLTHOF
44
132
134
ADHIKARI
49
54
LAMA LINDBLOM
139
69
146
73
80
82
NET QUIRING
155
84
89
104
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What paper?
The one on which you wrote your phone
number. I wanted to call Ishita to ask for
your number, but thought that you would
definitely call me. He paused for a moment.
Why did you not call? he asked
desperately.
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***
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MY SPERM DONOR BY
PADMAJA MENON
Aparna looked at her Mother exasperatedly.
Amma, please be reasonable , I dont want
to get married again, I am happy on my own
and I am going to adopt a child. In Sydney,
no one bothers about how you live or who
or how many sire your baby or if you have a
live in relationship. I am fine there, I like
being away from prying Indian eyes.
Saraswati Amma wiped her eyes. She had to
admit that her daughter was right. She was
tired of all those questions of why her
daughter stayed alone in Sydney, why didnt
she get married again, how had her husband
died so soon after marriage , hadnt they
matched horoscopes, in fact some even
wondered if he had really died as everything
had happened in Sydney! These Indians,
specially the Indian Brahmin.. ever nosey and
ever doubtful. She sighed again, in fact in
her heart of hearts she was happy Aparna
was away from the past..the past
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Glossary:
References-
http://learn.genetics.utah.edu/content/disor
ders/whataregd/nf1/
Padmaja Menon, 56 years of age is an Indian
National.
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matter.
So,
the
babys
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samsara:cycle of birth
Samantha Sirimanne Hyde, born 1960, is a Sri
Lankan Australian. She has published a
collection of short fiction and her work has
appeared in several anthologies.
Mm: uncle
nand sal: types of evergreen trees with
large fragrant flowers, found mainly in the
Indian subcontinent
pya: full moon day, religious importance to
Buddhists
Putha: son
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That first trip she and Tom had stayed for six
weeks. Every morning theyd been woken
before dawn by the quavering strains of the
call to prayer, broadcast over a loudspeaker
from the villages mosque. She had woken
to that sound and felt sick. Tom had been
angry, cursing everything in sight, the
villages muddy streets and the groups of
skinny men squatting in the shade or
walking arm-in-arm. Bunch of queers, hed
said. Look at them! You cant trust these
people.
Shes not sure when the trips had changed,
when shed stopped counting on answers.
Now she cant shake the fear that Andrews
fate depends on her coming, as though her
failure to come here might result in his death
or something even worse, if thats possible.
What had begun as a search had turned into
a pilgrimage, a superstitious offering to a
God she doesnt even believe in, as if Hell
bear witness to her sacrifice and throw
down a miracle. She is his mother. If he were
dead she would know. She would feel it in
her bones. Wouldnt she?
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***
Elka Ray is the author of one novel, Hanoi
Jane (Marshall Cavendish, 2010), and two
childrens books about Vietnam: Vietnam A
to Z and 123 Vietnam! (Phan Thi Press, 2012)
that she also illustrated. Elka holds British
and Canadian citizenship and has spent the
last 18 years living in Vietnam, where she
works as a writer and editor. This year, Elkas
short story The Yellow River was featured
in Lontar: The Journal of Southeast Asian
Speculative Fiction. Another story, You Get
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Maya, Judgement Night and other stories -New Asian Writings 3rd anthology of short stories
ice-blue background was nailed to the paintcrumbling damp wall. Underneath the
painting a label had the following
inscription: VINCENT VAN GOGH; Self
Portrait: Saint-Rmy, 1889 (oil on canvas).
The man studied the painting, which he had
painstakingly acquired from a friend in Paris.
It was a neatly done replica of the real selfpicture that Van Gogh painted shortly after
he had left the St. Remy asylum in 1889. Said
to be one of the most intense self-portraits
in the history of art, the painting depicted
the careworn man adorned in a vivid shade
of blue. Against the roiling commotion of
the azure background done up in confusing
swirls gathering energy as they ripple
through his raiment and hair, we face the
hollow eyes of a depressed individual from
whom life had unkindly extricated the last
vestige of hope and left him fighting a
solitary, lopsided battle with the demons
dwelling in his head. The psychological
tension that the painting emanated made
our artists already cold features even
colder. He touched the cool glass of the
picture frame with one finger, sighed, and
moved away. Having walked a few steps
down the room, he suddenly stopped in the
middle of his stride, turned back, his eyes
glistening, a frown on his face and came
back toward the portrait. Stopping before it
shortly, he went to an inbuilt bookshelf and
brought down a heavy, dusty art manual and
a thick book containing pictures of famous
paintings of the world. He hastily leafed
through the pages of the latter.
Subsequently, he stopped; a smile added
color to his face. The picture of Vincent Van
Goghs Starry Night stared at him from the
papyrus.
The inmates of the City of Joy, her beggars,
her rag pickers, her famished street dogs,
her friendless widows all except her
insomniacs slept soundly in the small hours
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how did you get it? Its not the real one I
hope.
Oh, no, no; its a replica. A friend gave it to
me, said Vijay Varun neatly giving the
touch-ups to his new Starry Night painting.
The poor fellow died in a plane crash when
he was returning to Paris after giving me this
painting.
You know what, said the man in a thrilled
tone, still gazing at the painting, you
look
A lot like him, right? Vijay Varun said
without looking up from his canvas.
Yes, I mean, its just like your face,
complete in all details except that lump on
your forehead. Must be uncanny looking like
the man whose painting you copy, he said
looking at Vijay Varun.
It doesnt bother me, Vijay Varun said with
a forced smile listening to the quickening
beat of his heart. You must go now, he
presently said to the visitor, and be careful
with the painting; its not quite dry yet.
The visitor paid the artist his fees, thanked
him, and inspecting the artists face in utter
amazement for some time, left.
The artist shut the door and rushed to Van
Goghs portrait and carefully brought it
down. He then went to the bathroom and
switched on all the light bulbs as well as the
tube light and looked into the mirror. A cold
shiver ran down his spine. He observed with
utter amazement that his hair and beard had
started to turn red, not the natural red, but
the vivid burgundy of Van Goghs face in his
portrait. He noticed how a couple of lines
descended from underneath his left eye, just
like the ones on Van Goghs face in the
picture. Vijay Varun felt nauseated and
putting the painting on the toilet seat
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***
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Glossary:
puja-room- Room where the deity is kept
and worshipped
prasadam- Food, which is a religious offering
consumed by worshippers
sambhar, kozhambu, Mangai pachadi
South Indian cuisine
Patti-Grandmother
Reeta Mani is a doctor by profession, and a
writer by passion. She lives in Bangalore,
India. She writes to free herself of thoughts
that plague her, issues that dishearten her
and inequities that leave her feeling
helpless. She has written short stories,
essays and travelogues for Pulse, Reading
Hour, YJHM, Chicken Soup series etc. She
has also published several short stories for
children. She loves to weave medical
information into her stories to educate and
foster inquisitiveness in children. She won
the second prize for her short story in a
competition for Writers of Childrens books
organized by Childrens Book Trust (CBT),
New Delhi in 2005.
Some of the web links to her published
articles-
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http://yjhm.yale.edu/essays/rmani20101002.h
tm
http://pulsemagazine.org/archive/stories/177tryst-with-the-microscope
http://pulsemagazine.org/archive/stories/105
-keeping-secrets
http://readinghour.in/content.php?ctype_id=
Mjg%3D
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Hari in all possible ways till today; her illfated grandson. Hari is a lad of 20-years-age
who could hardly manage to pass his 10th
standard owing to their impoverished family
conditions. Whatever left by his late
grandfather was at its lowest ebb,
compelling Hari and Kamal Kamini Devi to
reach at the brink of a hand-to-mouth
condition. Hari had hardly any professional
options except to hawk.
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tired
and
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Mama, Im sorry.
No, you dont have to be sorry beta, it is a
natural part of growing upwhen I was
your age, I used to love reading these
romantic novels, she said with a smile.
Really? Anishas eyes lit up with curiosity.
She could never imagine her staid mother
losing herself in steamy stories.
Yes, dear, Renu placed a comforting hand
on Anishas shoulder. My friends and Iwe
used to borrow all these Mills and Boons
books from the local library and read them
in school, during recess. You know how
strict convent schools areonce Sister
Martha caught us and we ended up making
ten rounds of the football field, she
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Maya, Judgement Night and other stories -New Asian Writings 3rd anthology of short stories
heard a woman
background.
chuckling
in
the
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Maya, Judgement Night and other stories -New Asian Writings 3rd anthology of short stories
A
festival
that
commemorates the birth of Lord Rama, hero
of the Indian epic: The Ramayana
Holi celebrates the arrival of spring, of the
earth rejuvenating itself. Hindus celebrate
this festival by sprinkling colored powder
and water on each other, symbolically
replicating the colours that adorn nature
during this season.
Murli Melwanis short stories have been
published in magazines in various countries.
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I know! Can you believe it? Mia said wideeyed and giggly.
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***
The next day as she is pulling in the car lot of
her apartment complex, she sees the guy,
the busboy, getting out of a car too with
another Vietnamese-looking man. He is
skinny with a pointy face and a set of
cautious-looking eyes, while his friend is
shorter and smiley. They look like theyre in
their late 20s.
I didnt know you lived here, Mia says,
But then again, I only moved in a week
ago.
Hi, he says, abruptly, and looking as if hes
going to say something else but comes
short.
Im Mia, she extends her hands.
The guy introduces himself as Thuan, and his
friend is Nguyen. Philip was half right after
all. The two work in the same kitchen at
Carlos.
It is a medium sized complex divided into
three parts. The main building is a strip of
duplex inhabited mostly by elderly tenants.
Across the parking lot is Mias unit, above a
recently vacated house that faces the street.
Her unit faces the side at the main building,
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Then, who?
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PROGRESS BY SAYANTAN
PAL CHOWDHURY
The morning was not so sunny that day
unlike the three previous days. Rain started
the last night. Thunders pealed. Stormy wind
bent the heads of the coconut trees down.
On the roof of Rohiteshs cottage raindrops
danced wildly throughout the night. Hails
seemed to break the tiles of his outer
premises. But all that happened without his
knowledge as he was sleeping with his wife
and their only son in his quiet bedroom. Last
night was a very quarrelsome night. In their
nuclear microcosmic family everything was
expected to be happy unless his wife was
not very demanding and restless. It was not
possible for Rohitesh to meet all the
demands of his wife by virtue of his job in a
high school as a teacher. In his diary he
wrote last night:
Sunday, 23rd August
I dont know in my peaceful, conscious mind
why I am often disturbed by my better-half
and her demands. Both of you know my dear
study room and my silent diary, every night I
am growing more silent by the blows coming
from the outer world. My little one is very
dearest to me. But he is unknown of the
consciousness of the outer world at this age. I
dont want to disturb him. He will learn all
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Pretty joy!
Sweet joy, but two days old.
Sweet joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while;
Sweet joy befall thee!
His face fills with the glory of joy. He looks at
his child, smiles at him. Truly the song of
innocence. Sonai has the joy which Rohitesh
or his wife can never have again in this life.
They are now in the sphere of experience.
They are the tigers. They are galloping in the
world of experience. Still he wants to
preserve the innocence in him but he
wonders how his wife has coped herself up
with experience. She is truly up-to-date. She
has no psychological unrest in leaving
innocence. This is better although. The
image of the tiger comes to his mind.
Suddenly his wife calls, are you not going
to school today? It is 9-30 now.
9-30! Oh my God! I am going to bathe.
I have almost prepared your food. I had to
remind you only. Now the rest is your
decision.
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Glossary:
***
Lord
market-
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OUT OF MY LEAGUE BY
ANUPAM DEY
Victors mothers words hummed in his ears
like the air pressure in the cochlear duct
while landing. It hurt deep in an unbearably
painful but strangely, pleasant way. The
vigorous ear-digging seemed to help, at
least ephemerally. With time however, the
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aubergines
matrimonial
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SACRIFICE BY SATISH
PENDHARKAR
Father, should I help you in turning you
over to your left side? enquired the young
woman. Youll be more comfortable that
way. At least for sometime. Youve been
lying on your back since Agra. For over two
hours now.
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JUDGEMENT NIGHT BY
GAURAV DIXIT
Of the four men standing around Maulana
Abu al-Saids body, one resembled a statue.
He heard not a word of what the other three
were talking among themselves. All he was
doing was seeing; all he was seeing was the
image before his eyes.
Maulana Abu al-Saids face was contorted in
horror. His eyes were popping out, his
tongue was caught between his teeth. Both
his hands were on his chest, the fists
clenched, as if he had been shivering, as if he
had shivered to death.
The body lay on the bed on which he slept.
Everything in the room was as usual except
the petrified corpse, its toes stretched away
from each other leaving big gaps in
between.
Two of the four men left the room. The third
began inspecting the windows and the
furniture. The man who had been silent all
this while walked to a door at the back of
the room, opened it, and entered. It was
Maulana Abu al-Saids study. He shut the
door behind him.
Half an hour later, he came out when he
heard voices of policemen in the room
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***
Tahira had fallen asleep late in the night, and
then slept fitfully. For some time she
thought that the knocking on the door was a
dream. It took her some time before she
was fully awake. She realized that there was
someone shouting from behind the door. It
was the housemaid. Open the door, Tahira
bitiya, the police is here.
Without putting on a dupatta, Tahira rushed
out to the courtyard. Razzaq was standing
just outside the house entrance, in
handcuffs. The police inspector, two
constables, and IB officer Khan were
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Bhai brother
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Glossary:
tees rupaiye: Thirty Rupees
chalees: Forty
abhi wapis chale hain bas: We shall leave
immediately
yahan mobile bhi recharge hotay hain:
Mobile recharges are available here
jo hai ismein hai nikaal lo : Whatever I have in
in here, take it yourself.
Yahan dekho, dhyan kahan hai tumhara:
Look here, where is it that you are
engrossed?
Mujhe kya pata, aajaega: How would I know?
He shall come when he must.
Onir abhi tak aaya kyu nahi: Why isnt Onir
here yet?
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Of course I will
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BETROTHED BY JUANITA
KAKOTY
The flowery chiffon dress left a soft warm
sensation every time it touched him. He
pulled her close to him, his strong hands
around her soft stomach, cheek against
cheek, breathing in the sweet smell of her
hair; of her perfume. Then twirling her
around, as she turned to face him, he gave
her a hug, whispered something in her ears
and both of them laughed. Rishu loved the
way Mandakinis beautiful face glowed with
affection every time they were together. He
held her tightly; he wouldnt want to let go
of this woman ever. She brought so much
beauty to peoples lives.
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***
Glossary:
AaBhiJaa-Lyrics of a song.
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remained
distrustful,
not
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***
Aidan looked at the figure, at how it wore
his life so comfortably, with an ease that he
never had.
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TURBULENCE AND
CONTENTMENT BY T-NET
QUIRING
Plane rides were a rare commodity for
Consuelo. An old woman of sixties, she
remembers her last being a domestic flight
more than five years ago. The weather then
was sunny and the sky clear blue, she
nonchalantly managed the ninety-minute
flight.
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Image references;
The Heracles Papyrus (Oxford, Sackler
Library, Oxyrhynchus Pap. 2331), a fragment
of 3rd century Greek manuscript of a poem
about the Labors of Heracles.
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:P._O
xy._XXII_2331.jpg
***
Glossary:
adobo: a popular Filipino dish of meat
marinated in soy sauce and vinegar
ala eh: a Filipino expression commonly used
by people in Batangas
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