Short Stories

The watchmaker’s job is only to make watches. The watches he has made, he does not care for. For his watches now tick by themselves every second. He only sits back and watches. For now the art is perfect; The artist deserves not the luxury of meddling with the art. “Train number muru, muru, ombattu KSRinda Mysurige hoguva Inferno express eega hattne platform alli nintide” The noises were deafening. Cain did not seem to mind though. This tunnel woul

Dasan felt as if his legs would be torn away any second. His face bore the marks of two days of ‘interrogation’ under the Kerala police. A sight to see, the party workers watched as he was dragged into the jail cell. Not a second passed. He was in the same place. The Commissioner of Police sat on a barely standing steel chair. His white mundu was stained with the party’s colours. There were two people in the whole state with the power to call off the coup. Both sat in the sa