seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Spain
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Dominican Republic
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Pakistan
seen from Canada
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Tere paas apna dupatta bhul jaun,
Issi bahane tujhse phir ek baar milne aau.
I'm such a "nah i got it" and suffer in silence ass person
Author Spotlight: Shariva Khan (Authors for Palestine Host)
Meet author Shariva Khan, host of the event Authors for Palestine that raised over $1800 for families trying to evacuate Gaza. Find out about them and their novel Maiden of the Hollow Path! #AuthorInterview #IndieAuthor #QueerSFF
I’m a first generation queer, trans desi person (what a mouthful). I’ve been writing ever since I was a kid which usually meant putting things off and scraping by with grades. Nowadays, I spend time fostering exotic animals through several charity foundations that help save them from terribly abusive and negligent situations. When I’m not writing, I’m usually thinking about it, immersing myself…
This could be us, but mera to koi best friend hi nahi hai
Hear Ye
Chapter 2: Old Faces
Anger is a funny thing. Early on Sagar had found it to be rather destructive. As he grew older, he learnt how to let the rage brew under his skin and be let out in small bursts. People commended him for his ability to control it. In fact, the worst fit of anger anyone had ever seen with Sagar was three years ago when a criminal got a lowered sentence than what he deserved.
The same criminal sat in front of him.
Even the scoff that left his mouth was inadequate. The anger that rushed through his veins was capable to burning down buildings. He could throw the little rodent in a cell and be done with it. He could throw him in the ocean, though it would do nothing to those half fish creatures. He could-
“Is there going to be any talk or are we just, admiring each other’s faces?”
His anger did not control him, Sagar reminded himself. Even if the thief’s voice was like a grater to his nerves, Sagar could behave rationally. He could figure out how to deal with the problem.
Alfar, a graven nearing the third decade of life with over fifty thefts to his name but never proven due to the item mysteriously returning back to the owner. That remained ignoring the number of pickpocketing, bribes and knowledge that he kept stored away. Even if he was seen at the scene of the crime, it was impossible to catch him.
It took Sagar four years and hundreds of failed plans to finally capture the thief, only for him to receive a meagre banishment instead of a lifetime sentence or even a ban.
“I know I am a beauty, but are you really going to keep staring at me?”
He was a beauty. He was charming. The thief had talked sweetly to the King on the day of his trial, a story of dead brothers and poor mother with young siblings limiting his punishment.
Alfar was also skilled. Sagar had no doubt that he could untie the knots on his hand, no matter how tightly Sagar had bound him. In the game that he bad started, Sagar knew he was always a step back.
“How did you set foot in the kingdom?” Sagar asked calmly.
The thief grinned, “An invitation came for us.”
“Us?”
“My troupe and I. You must have seen us perform.”
Sagar had. He had also seen Alfar’s back and found himself admiring him before the dance started. When the song began Sagar had been spellbound, like the rest of the people. The tale of two lovers sneaking around to meet after having only exchanged letters was a long loved tale. To see it in performance, that too so well done was a treat.
That was until his eyes landed on the male dancer and his entire body froze up.
Sagar licked his lips, looking away, “When did you learn how to dance?”
“Perhpas when I was five, or was it six? I do not remember.”
“And why come here today? What is the purpose of parading in the halls that banished you?”
The thief chuckled, craning his neck, “It’s wonderful, isn’t it? I can do whatever I can. All the punishments are over, soldier. Oh, I meant Chief. What are you the Chief of anyways?”
Sagar ignored him, instead circling him like a predator. Unlike other Bayiks of the Royal Line, who could see into the future, Sagar’s Sight was stuck in the past. He remembered the things that were long gone, that other Bayiks would forget at every turn of the decade. Perhaps that was why he could not let go of the thief. That was why dragging him into the tiny office he shared with Nihar was not enough. Why he knew he was losing the battle even before it began.
And it only angered him more.
“Now, is this how you treat your guests?”
Snarling, Sagar leaned forward, holding the chair handles in a tight grip. When Alfar chuckled, he grabbed his curly hair and pulled back his neck.
It was like a drop of water in a raging inferno.
“Listen here, you piece of filth. You are no guest. You were banished by the King and should not have dared to step foot inside this kingdom.”
The thief was barely an inch away from him, ad he still smirked, “The banishment was for three summers, or did you forget?”
Sagar wanted to. Three summers banishment was ideal for theft, but Sagar felt he should have gotten more.
He left the thief’s hair, ignoring his stupid grin and crossed his arms. Sagar took in a depe breath, then another, before looking at him.
“So you decided to dance your way in?”
“I told you, an invitation came for my troupe and I.”
“For you?”
“Well not specifically us,” the thief chuckleed, his curls bouncing up and down and laugh lines appearing at the edge of his eyes, “For the entire town. The four of us won the little competition and boarded the ship here.”
Sagar nodded. It was the most explanation he was going to get out of the graven, “And you are here to what? Steal again?”
The thief sighed, as if Sagar was a child asking foolish questions, “Would ya believe me if I said I have left that world behind?”
Sagar would not. So he said nothing.
“Look, you may not trust me,” he says as he pulled his hands on his lap, letting the rope fall to the floor, “And I know I have skills. But to be honest, soldier- Chief- I want to stay in Vyagar and so does my troupe. That’s all that there is to this story.”
Sagar did not believe him. He told him as much, causing the thief to chuckle. Sagar did not have the power to contain him, but he could always look out. And that was what he intended to do.
Still, telling the graven to ‘stay’ as he rushed to get an audience with teh King was thrilling.
“Jeez, not a dog.”
Sagar smiled to himself. Small victories were all he could take.
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Read the rest of the chapter here!! And the first part here!
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Hello all, welcome to the story of Hear Ye- a desi, fantasy, queer, enemies to lovers with a twist of politics and mystery.
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Chandrika
Chandrika peeled her sweaty back off the stone floor. The summer was particularly unforgiving this year. The days were long and humid, the sun was beating down on their backs with the intention of turning them to ash. The thick walls of the fort barely did anything to help with the heat. The day was humid and still. There was not a single waft of breeze.
“O Suryadev, what have we done that has angered you so much?” Chandrika lamented. The sun did not offer a reply.
Chandrika sighed. This summer had been a particularly boring one. The long summer days stretched by without event. Asha visited from time to time, but her family was keeping her busy at the temple. They performed Yajna after Yajna, anything to subdue “The wrath of the Sun God”. Ever since that night, The House of Surya was convinced that Suryadev’s wrath had been unleashed upon them as a form of punishment. Punishment for Soumya’s actions, punishment that they too would have to suffer through, for they had let him get away with it. So now they performed Yajnas, sacrificed atleast 20 goats everyday, did everything in their power to appease him. They believed that if they failed, Suryadev would burn so bright, that everyone and everything would be destroyed. Total annihilation, for the actions of one entitled pig. Thanks a lot, Soumya. Chandrika did not understand why they had to suffer for what an insufferable twat did. It’s not like they had let him get away with it, that wasn’t exactly true. He did rot in jail, all throughout the winter, and he was exiled by the House of Agni. But no, that wasn’t enough for the House of Surya. They had demanded that his blood be spilled inside the temple he had dared to desecrate. But Chandrika’s father had intervened. He along with Asha had reasoned that Soumyas death could not only mean war, but it would also be in violation to the oath they had taken vowing never to spill each other’s blood. The Gods do take oaths very seriously, and breaking one would be a greater offense. Lord Aditya, head of the house of Surya, had begrudgingly agreed. And so, Soumya was allowed to go free, as long as he promised to stay out of trouble. Like he would ever keep that promise, thought Chandrika darkly. These days Asha visited less and less. As her father’s advisor and diplomat, she had to travel to faraway cities and secure relations. Jaya had stopped visiting entirely. She was off doing Gods know what in the sea, and she had been gone the whole summer. With her friends gone, she had little to do. She stopped visiting Aranya too, since Soumya was staying at the House of Chandra, and she did not want to risk running into him, because she was sure she would strangle him if she saw him.
And so, she had nowhere to go either.
She wished that her father would give her more responsibilities, especially since she was 21 and the heir to her house. But her father insisted that she wasn’t ready, and travelling was dangerous for her, since there were many who would love to kill her. And so, she was confined to her chambers, studying endlessly to prepare for her future role.
What was the use studying, she thought, if she couldn’t apply any of her knowledge to real life? She helped her father with some of his affairs, but she wasn’t allowed to go off to other places like Jaya or Asha without her family accompanying her. She felt suffocated more and more as each day passed by.
She looked out her window. In this heat, no one was out in the gardens. Even the birds were hiding in cooling trees. It seemed as though the world was holding its breath for something to happen.
Suddenly there was a knock at the door.
“My lady” said the maid who had entered the chamber “His grace summons you”.
Father. He rarely summoned her. He barely had any time to spare for her. If he had summoned her, it must be important. Her heart sped up a bit with excitement.
“Tell him I’ll be with him in a minute.”
This summer might pick up after all.
I just finished my dear friend Shveta Thakrar's newest book and can't recommend it enough. Dream magic and Hindu mythology weave together to create a lush and immersive world sprinkled with literary faerie tales. One thing I so admire about all of Shveta's writing is the compassion and empathy at its heart. So much of fantasy takes the "solve by stabbing" approach to problem solving, but I love how Shveta's characters resolve conflict with creativity, compassion, and communication. Plus, her aesthetics are a dream in and of themselves.
I was so honored to go to the launch party for this beautiful book, and can't wait for the next one!
https://bookshop.org/.../the-dream-runners.../9780062894663
