She stood there at the doorstep. Wearing a red T-shirt and cream coloured trousers. She was not like all those women. Like all those women in sarees. Women who bowed…
W.R. Anbu Mathika
16 Articles
I am not me. I am not original. I am a mixture of a lot of things. I am like the gentle breeze. Like the tranquilityand suspense of the calm ocean. Like the orange-red colour of a hot iron rod. Like the freshness of the first drizzle of the August month. Like a small toddler with gleaming eyes who says, " I will be a writer one day". Like someone who believes that " The pen is mightier than the sword".
W.R. Anbu Mathika
7 Min Read
Even the creak of the boots of a girl walking way from me was too loud. The flipping of pages of the books was deafening me. I opened up the…
W.R. Anbu Mathika
5 Min Read
I never meant to start a war. But that is where everything led to. "I will always be there for you." He always convinced me. And I never got…
W.R. Anbu Mathika
4 Min Read
His hair was full of mud. Small feet that kept moving frantically from here to there midst a dozen of people at the beach. Extra large trousers that were hanging…
W.R. Anbu Mathika
6 Min Read
“Where is the other earring?” I asked myself. The hands of the clock were ticking away like a bullet train. I had to reach my office soon. I was…
W.R. Anbu Mathika
3 Min Read
The rashes and bruises had still not gone. Her shoulder was wounded. The blouse torn. I could see the birthmark on her right shoulder clearly through the blouse. She wept….
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