The Dead Camel and Others Stories of Love by Parvati Sharma

Author:Parvati Sharma [Sharma, Parvati]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00TFOPAQ6
Published: 2020-08-26T23:00:00+00:00

Five hundred and eighty-seven hard-bound pages on a desk far away. He could not read a word.

Concentrate.

A half-thought half-formed flew up on a breeze and landed far from home.

Useless.

He tried imagining the paper. Nothing. Old and soft, like ageing skin. He uncapped his father’s fountain pen and held it over the empty desk. He shook it violently; drops of fat ink fell on the brown wood and sat as still as frogs in the night.

She must have been ashamed of those paintings; she hid them away didn’t she? He should have burnt them. He could do it now. The bell would ring and nothing, choo-mantar, empty hands! He could ask Bahadur to do it! The short old man walked in silently and placed a glass of lukewarm liquid on the table. He glanced solicitously at Shamsher, and left.

Except, Bahadur wouldn’t understand.

Manslaughter and the mutilation of his life’s work. He closed his eyes. Girls, employers, teachers… Deepak? He began his life’s work after Deepak left that night.

Deepak? That shit gay bastard not that I have anything against homosexuals. Deepak? His only guest at his nineteenth birthday party. His mother had allowed alcohol. There was outside catering. The deep laughter of her friends. A grand wave of the hand, a shy smile. This is my friend Deepak. “Hello ma’am, I have your painting in my room. Sweetness. I think it’s so beautiful.” “That’s very kind of you Deepak. And please don’t call me ‘ma’am’, it’s Nayantara.” “Oh no ma’am,” he blushed. She sipped at her third whiskey and took his arm. “Come, I’ll introduce you to my friends.” Sweetness: two elongated, androgynous figures, their fingers intertwined and their eyes dolorous, all the life in a seemingly infinite, metal canteen. Afterwards, in his bedroom, Come with me, these people are so boring, how can you stand it? “You’re swaying, Shamsher,” laughed Deepak. “I really enjoyed meeting your mother, she’s a national treasure!” A high-pitched giggle. Here look at this one, me, that’s me. A child, light-eyed, soft-featured, weak-chinned. Deepak turns in surprise, Shamsher grabs his waist, puts his tongue in his mouth. I was fucking drunk. “Oh, listen, I…” A high-pitched giggle, a sneer. That’s

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