Everyone has a personal museum

It is called memory.I visit my own museum every day. Everyone visits their own personal museums every day, consciously or unconsciously. When I visit, I see my first bicycle that my maternal uncle bought me when I was in first grade. I see our first cassette player that my father brought one day along with a couple of my favorite cassettes. I see the foldable iron bed which I slept in and shared my dreams with when I was in junior secondary school. I see the broken radio (which was…

Read More

The Message

It had all started with that small piece of paper. Maya was taking his shirt out for washing when the folded slip of paper had flipped out of Anit’s pocket. She recognised Anit’s crabbed handwriting, but the passion and intensity etched on the tiny slip were completely alien to the man she so intimately knew for so many years. When she asked Anit about it, he just smiled and said in a dismissive tone that it was just like any of his other idle doodling, nothing else. But the worm…

Read More
Page 2 of 2
1 2