Sometimes The Honesty’s Not Too Much

By Arjun Basu | Published: February 28, 2013

I was just GMail chatting with a friend and she told me she was at an event with a writer and he was asked: Can anyone be a writer? And the writer was honest enough to say NO. I’ve been asked this as well. I often respond with a question of my own (which, I […]

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In Between Days

By Arjun Basu | Published: February 24, 2013

I have started writing my next novel. I’m not making an announcement, just saying it, in a non grand way (well, why say it at all? you may ask and you would be right to ask it). But after a good six months – it’s more than that, but I’ve been rather single minded the […]

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My Very First Stupid Insignificant Tweet

By Arjun Basu | Published: February 11, 2013

Twitter has been rolling out personal archives to all users and I recently received mine. This is my first tweet (and it’s not what I remember):   And this is my first Twister (which I do remember):   In the past, I’ve said that just a few days passed between my first tweet and my […]

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T 6298

By Arjun Basu | Published: February 11, 2013

He catches her kissing her laptop. He says, You love that thing too much. She says, Send me a Tweet. And he does. And she reads it. And cries.

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T 6297

By Arjun Basu | Published: February 11, 2013

He grows tired of making money. It’s never enough, he tells his wife. That’s my line, she says. And he realizes he’s let her down once again.

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T 6296

By Arjun Basu | Published: February 11, 2013

Some days we sit around and recall things that define us. That brought us here. Now. When did I step in shit? I ask. Not for the first time.

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T 6295

By Arjun Basu | Published: February 11, 2013

We sat by a tree and worshipped it like Druids. I stuck Cheetos up my nostrils and made grunting sounds. Then it was over. And the sun rose.

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T 6294

By Arjun Basu | Published: February 11, 2013

The game was on. She says, You have a heart of clay. He ignores her. I’m allergic to hay, he says. She gets up to leave. Touchdown! he says.

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T 6293

By Arjun Basu | Published: February 11, 2013

What begins as opinion coalesces into self-righteousness, not becomes naught, blood drips and is hurled; the reality of brunch is sacrificed.

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T 6292

By Arjun Basu | Published: February 11, 2013

He told a bad joke and he heard forced laughter and the room slowly emptied and he said, Where’s the love? and he took note of the furniture.

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