It is the stories where human lives stray plausibly, but irrevocably, into surrealist territory, while remaining touchingly human, where Sarang is at his most powerful
That girl, the one without the name. The one just like us. The one whose battered body stood for all the anonymous women in this country whose rapes and deaths are a footnote in the left-hand column of the newspaper...
Older and wiser, none of us want to be Modesty Blaise any more. Instead, we'll settle for making war, money and love the way she did. That should be enough.
A flock of bookish birds: Restless Chattering Starlings, Feather-Brained
Cuckoos, Bibulous Bulbuls, Culture Vultures, Page Three Mynah Birds digging for gossip, Greater Common Shrills, the caustic Butcher
Birds...
My guests have been hooted at, had obscene gestures made at them, and showered with muck. "Really," they say nervously, retreating from verandah to main house, "it's a zoo in here."
"In my mother's house and my grandmother's house, meals came in two varieties: Indian and English. Between these two extremes, the Indian lunches and the English dinners, lay a third path: not moderate, but iconoclastic." The joint-runner up entry i
