By Dev Chaudhry
I took my pen from the counter and we left the shop, without saying anything. Nobody spoke anything on our way back to school. We had never had such a long journey in our life before. A senseless journey with dead feet and lead laden hearts.
By Dev Chaudhry
Our now-almost-famous writer had written a story of a woman from Bediya community in Morena district in Madhya Pradesh. This was a story of a girl, who rebelled against her destiny of becoming a performing artist, which was each girl’s fate in her community. Instead, she decided to go to the school that Snehi Baba ran for girls like her.
By Dev Chaudhry
The producer’s words broke his tandra, the reverie. In hard crisp and distant voice, he was saying, “Cut the girl from the story”. Without fully listening and comprehending what the producer had said, Bhudho said, “What? Remove the girl from the story? The girl is at the centre of the story. If we remove the girl, then what will be the centre of the story?”
By Dev Chaudhry
She opened her folded hands and folded them again to the skies above first and then toward the cots, where the elders were sitting and said, “I only want to say one thing – I want to take the names of all the people who visit me.”
By Dev Chaudhry
Why so much fuss over these two young souls falling in love, why has the whole world turned against them, why has the whole world become their adversary? Why was love so abhorred, why was it so threatening that people come to this stage in their hate, in their opposition?
By Dev Chaudhry
I started walking towards the dhaba. I had on my mind tandoori paratha along with dollops of white butter on top of it and some hot strong tea. At least for the next half an hour or so I was safe, I thought. This very thought and the thought of the crisp hot tandoori paranthas and him stuck with the broken car brought a wicked smile on my face.
Cafe Dissensus Everyday 