By Achyut Dutt
Oblivious that the traffic had now started moving once again and some very angry folk were blaring their horns behind him, Arjun kept his foot jammed on the brake pedal and stared back at the lovely face of Nandini Shyamrao. She had known he was in Pune but hadn’t told him she, too, had connections with Pune. Far as he knew, her folk were spread over Bangalore and Chennai.
By Achyut Dutt
This time, he waited till he saw a cyclist approaching the bike path that ran along the length of the bridge. He wanted his death to be witnessed. He did not want to make Shalik and Sparsh suffer the agony of not knowing, not having a closure that would help them move on.
By Achyut Dutt
He had then taken her by the hand, up the grassy slope, onto the narrow walkers’ path that ringed the lake. Exactly ten years from that day, they were married. He had a few conditions that she had respected. That she’d walk into his home with only one suitcase filled with just the things dear to her.
By Achyut Dutt
In the beginning, she’d been reserved, hesitant about talking of herself. He was just an unknown strange man who wrote outrageously funny notes that made her burst into laughter. As the days went by, though, the levee she’d hurriedly constructed seemed to look like it was made with cotton candy.
By Achyut Dutt
The meltdown came in what seemed like a flash. Two months into their friendship, she’d expressed that she wanted to talk. He called her up the following weekend. It was to be their one and only phone conversation. And a delightful conversation it had been.
Cafe Dissensus Everyday 