This book brings together a variety of short stories from different genres. Each story is concise, yet powerfully crafted to delve into the complexities of human feelings.
Spanning across different eras, from ancient times to the modern day, these...
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Karthik stood before the mirror in his room, his feet positioned in the aramandi stance - the half-sitting posture fundamental to Bharatanatyam.
At sixteen, his lean frame didn't quite match the muscular build of his cricket-playing classmates, but years of dance had given him a different kind of strength. His eyes focused on his reflection as he practiced the adavus, the basic steps that formed the building blocks of this ancient dance form.
The sound of approaching footsteps made him freeze. His father's voice boomed through the door. "Karthik! Are you doing that nonsense again?"
Quickly, Karthik straightened up and grabbed his physics textbook from his desk. By the time his father opened the door, he was sitting cross-legged on his bed, pretending to study.
"I thought I heard tapping." his father said, suspicion etched across his face. "You better be focusing on your studies. Board exams are coming up, and I won't have my son wasting time on... on this dancing business."
"Yes, Appa (father)" Karthik replied quietly, his eyes fixed on the textbook he wasn't really reading.
After his father left, Karthik let out a long breath.
He glanced at the small altar in the corner of his room where, hidden behind the brass lamp and Krishna idol, he kept a photograph of his grandmother - his paati(grandmother). She had been the only one who understood, the only one who had supported his passion for dance. A renowned Bharatanatyam dancer herself, she had secretly taught him until her passing three years ago.
"Dance is not just movement, Kanna (dear)" she used to say, her wrinkled face glowing with pride as she watched him practice. "It is prayer, it is storytelling, it is the language of the soul."
Now, in the silence of his room in their Chennai suburb, those words echoed in his mind. Outside,the temple bells rang. Karthik returned to his practice, but this time, without the accompanying rhythm of his feet hitting the floor.
At school the next day, things weren't any better.
During lunch break, as Karthik sat alone under the neem tree in the courtyard, practicing mudras with his hands, a group of boys from his class spotted him.
"Look, it's our dancing queen!" Rohit, the school cricket team captain, called out. The others sniggered.
"Dei (Hey), why don't you join the girls' classical dance class? They're looking for new members!" Another boy chimed in, triggering more laughter.
