I Was Five

By Abhinav Nath Jha

I was five, and I’d wait for Mum to cook omelette curry, not for its taste but for the bluffing she engaged in by calling it cockroach curry every time I asked her what she was making.

The fantastical was her forte, surviving a mundane life on borrowed lies from novels, carefully curated letters and mixtapes from foregone lovers.

By Abhinav Nath Jha