
The Crack
A fast husband, a patient wife. Out of love, without either of them noticing, she begins to lose her own voice. In an old house in Seoul, the story of a broken bowl.
Original short fiction — written in Tamil, retold in English

A fast husband, a patient wife. Out of love, without either of them noticing, she begins to lose her own voice. In an old house in Seoul, the story of a broken bowl.

2050. A family scattered across Earth, Moon and Mars. From far beyond the stars, someone is asking one very old question. A father's fading life on Mars, a son's impossible research, and a secret older than our universe — all meeting in a single handful of soil.

One rainy morning, a single cup of coffee kept Karthik alive — and that same morning, in that same minute, it took four of his friends. Does merit decide who lives and who dies, or is it just chance? The answer, Karthik goes looking for on his own kitchen floor, among a line of ants.

Twenty years ago, two lines of an Ilaiyaraaja song — his own voice, a woman's answer — stopped Aravind from ending his life on the East Coast Road. The question of how mere sound could remake a mind in a single second drives him to build Prana — a machine that makes the body's energy visible. It shows him everyone's light. He misses only one.

In Arumugam's last clay pot comes a mother octopus, wrapped around her eggs, shielding them instead of herself. Why won't she eat even one bite? A creature of the sea ends up teaching an old fisherman the one thing about his own mother he never understood.

In 1991, a young man boarded a ship to Singapore and promised to send his address. It never came. So Lalitha wrote him a letter every Friday and locked it in a tin box, for twelve years, waiting for just one line back.

Mahesh has a small forest growing inside his home office in rainy Redmond, and he talks to every plant like it's a friend. Then a layoff scare swallows him whole, and one night he discovers the plants that always comforted him have been screaming for him the whole time — on a frequency he could never hear.

2026 Chennai. A WhatsApp tip group, one screenshot, and Vinoth — an IT guy who can't stop staring at a blue screen every night. A few desks away, Ayyappan makes the office tea. Fifteen years of investing, and he's never once looked at his account. Guess which one of them sleeps well.

Thamaraikkulam had one theatre, one tea shop, and a bus that came once an hour. I was eight, and I had one question — about the smoke that curled up so beautifully from my grandfather's cigar. That question would drag me through three secret plans, one big escape, and finally, a dosa ladle.

A colleague sets a small jasmine plant on Kiran's desk one ordinary afternoon in Silicon Valley. He is forty-two, successful, settled. Then the wind shifts, one scent reaches him, and twenty-six years fall away in a single breath.

On a misty mountain platform, a pair of eyes meets his through a fogged train window. 'I don't know you… but I feel you.' A reincarnation love story of two souls bound across time and death by a single gold star.

The creative process behind my Tamil short story 'Aanal Unarkiren (But I Feel)' — from a single image to a complete narrative spanning centuries.