She looked at him, frozen. Everything stopped. There was only this moment when his hand slid down her neck, shoulders, chest, gently and tenderly followed her contours, wrapped her waist and pulled her close. Her body flared under the movement of his hand. She felt his lips, their butterfly touch.
The Tanzanian-born British novelist, who was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 2021 “for his uncompromising and compassionate penetration of the effects of colonialism and the fate of the refugee in the gulf between cultures and continents,” crafts narratives that deftly navigate the complex terrain of displacement, cultural identity, and the lingering shadows of empire.
I told the policemen, ‘Charu Nivedita is my chittappa (the younger brother of father), and he has stepped out briefly. Please have a cup of tea somewhere and come back soon; I’ll call him on the phone.’
Whenever I think of Georges Bataille’s story ‘Ma Mère’, I start pondering about the concept of sin. Most of what he wrote was autobiographical and was condemned during his time, as pornographic. Yet, the idea of sin runs like a thread through all his writing. Whereas, in India, which is considered by the west as a society that is …
Wonder. Those eyes were rounded with wonder the first time his glance caught them. The big rounded eyes, topped with the beautiful golden colour eyebrows arched in the same surprise made him fully turn his head towards those eyes and stare. They had the colour of a pale, grey sky.
The Asian Review 