Stories are never made. They are born. We never sit down to think of stories,
they just flood in whenever they want. It happened many times that we sat down
thinking to write a story but never a word could we write. And many times we had
to stop our studies to write them.
These are in no way connected to any person, place or happening. If ever they
appear so, then it is purely co-incidental. But we would like to specify that in
our stories, somewhere, somehow you'll see reflection of ours in them.
Return : A story of a newly married couple, who suddenly face an ugly
side of life. Its how they found a soothing path through lanes of pain.
I ... : One thing he asked her was not to get married after his death. But life came with open arms to her. She went forward to meet it only to find past back, who insisted on being the future.
Ripples : Year 1913, in a boat that moves rhythematically slowly over the waters of stream. Sunderbans was somewhere far in sight disappearing. Slowly he took out 'his' flute and started playing.
Stone : She never cried! Was it because she had no emotions or was she just a stone? There was always a smile on her lips. Was being happy a crime?