His beautiful hammer and the delicate soft head of the wilting, villainous, old hag met in the most endearing embrace. The pulp oozed from her brain like a mystic fountain only read about in fairytales.
Nishta Kochar
“Pa-tay-toes, Po-tah-toes! It’s a matter of perspective, my friend. Different strokes for different folks.”
Nishta Kochar
“I will certainly not entertain your underwear flying across my front lawn like summer bees and most certainly not in my face.”
Nishta Kochar
Chato visualised strangling her thin neck with the same underwear; tying it around her collar like a luscious red bow on a birthday present. Pesto gasped for air, her reptile-like tongue sticking out, her face turning to a beautiful shade of onion pink as she choked on Chato’s kachcha. What a lovely contrast of that delicate pink against that gaudy red and green underwear. Poetry in motion, Chato thought, smiling. What an exquisite and intense way to die.
Nishta Kochar
“I can pay you to kill that lady if you want?” offered one of the Ginger Garlic duo brothers. Chato frowned with confusion, “Excuse me?” he reacted. “With all due respect, sir, I am not a contract killer. I am a serial killer. There’s a difference!”
Nishta Kochar
You want to know what a woman is thinking, ask a woman. Simple!”
Nishta Kochar
Sometimes he found notes snuck underneath his door with the warning “Get rid of the dog! Tick-Tock!”
Nishta Kochar
“Don’t be ridiculous, Ms. Pesto! You know that’s not true. You are old enough to be my grandmother.”
Nishta Kochar
Her lips, always dry and chapped, were thin like wafers and roasted dark brown from smoking. She was addicted to bidi. Her right arm was festooned with tattoos, now disappearing with time, sweat and age. Her wrists were always covered in heavy silver bangles – gone black with oxidation. She always wore black. Her fingers were slender and delicate, just bones wrapped in paper-thin skin. And what magic they weaved when they got down to making pickles!
Nishta Kochar
The night lantern next to Begum’s khaat was buzzing with mosquitoes and insects like a cheap night disco bar where they came in for their daily dose of dance and music.
Nishta Kochar
Moon-rock dust is the next big thing in fashion. But until then, it’s Hubba Hubba time!
Nishta Kochar
XOXO met the deadline and left late for her dome. She was tired and just wanted to take a music bath and rest. Not many bellows had passed when her metal wire turned red.
Nishta Kochar
How could someone as good-looking as him not fall for someone as stunning and sexy as me?
Nishta Kochar
“I wish to drown in my pain, alone, just like a moth dancing to its death in the flame!”
Nishta Kochar
Another ten minutes lapsed in complete silence. Hritvik finally looked at Shakti and asked, smiling, “So what do you want? A boy or a girl?”
Nishta Kochar
Dressed in a bright green saree, draped with the finesse of an air-hostess of shady airline service, stood Kavita. With lips covered in cheap red lipstick, she smiled like an underpaid air-hostess too. Her hair was decorated with flowers and she aggressively chewed on a betel leaf. One could see her teeth stained in the red catechu juice.
Nishta Kochar
‘If someone’s poor (or less fortunate), then it’s their fault.’
Nishta Kochar
Mrs. Shah was a media favorite and the paparazzi loved her but only because she could be entertainingly obnoxious with her potty mouth and caustic mannerisms.
Nishta Kochar
Mrs. Shah’s thick fingers was dripping, smiling, dancing and flirting with the cameras. As the lights kissed her, she winked back, seducing her suitors.
Nishta Kochar
It must have been a quarter past three when the clouds roared and Shivika noticed thick raindrops falling on the window-pane. Splat! they went as they hit the glass. Soon the air was filled with a plump screen of rain that came racing down from the heavens.
Nishta Kochar
