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Discover weekly, the best short stories

Looking for a steady supply of desi short stories? Every week thousands of writers submit stories to our writing contest.

430+ Desi Short Stories to read

Submitted by writers on Reedsy Prompts to our weekly writing contest. Discover the magic of Desi stories in this directory of short stories, curated by our panel of judges.

Desi Short Stories – Page 2 of 29

My Father Shares Fruit

Submitted to Contest #290

My father shares fruits with the family. Every morning, he leaves me some on our kitchen counter. Sometimes it’s one slice from the fruit he was eating that day, or an entire bowl full of something from the fridge. It depended on where I was in my life.  One time, he left half an orange for me. I always had a strange relationship with him. As I collect my memories of him, I have conflicting viewpoints on whether or not he was a good man. If I look towards my mother, I see him yelling, screaming, and berating her. I used to shake in fear...

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What I Would Give

Submitted to Contest #288

I’m about to enter Café Ira when the sign on the door makes me stop.Come in for an unforgettable time!My nostrils flare. It’s mocking me. I’m sure of it.Shaking the distraction out of me, I adjust my face to what it was before: cheerful and surprised. Emotions that I consider acceptable and appropriate for this meeting. I swirl the floral motifs of my dupatta in my fist and push the door open. The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans coats my senses. I pretend to search for him on my right, even though I am acutely aware that he is to my le...

8 likes 6 comments 6
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Diwali, 2022

Submitted to Contest #288

When you’re young and world is still full of wonder and things to explore and places to be, and the prospect of a job has no relation to the drudgery of a nine to five…you expect your life will turn out remarkably well. Life, untouched by life. Preserved in resin. A marvel. One day, you’re playing with a teddy bear and having a tea party with all your dolls, and the next thing you know, you’re thirty-two. Divorced. Cities away from your parents’ home, looking at a skyline with no hope on the horizon, thirty thousand feet in the air. Wonderi...

11 likes 3 comments 3
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Angel's Trumpet

Submitted to Contest #287

She looked just like her.She had almond eyes, midnight-dark, each reflective shine a star in her iris. She had dimples, damp with the remnants of her resolve. Those same double-toned lips bit themselves in fear, stifling a sob. The girl looked about the same age as when he last saw her. But her hands . . . they weren’t right. They weren’t laden with the burn scars that resulted from their childhood antics in her father’s workshop. They were clean sheets, like freshly pressed papyrus.So it wasn’t her.Thank god.Thank god she wasn’t the one on ...

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The Photograph

Submitted to Contest #286

Chottu was the latest servant employed by Ranjit’s father. With a sick wife, he needed someone to do the cooking and the chores in the house. So he phoned his mother, who lived far away in the village of Darbhanga, to send someone to the city. He went to school in the village, but hated the discipline and rules there. He wanted to be free, to be able to do what he wanted, and not be in a jail guarded by the many tyrant teachers. Squashing the minimal opposition offered by his rather submissive mother, he left school after the 7th grade. One...

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The Light of the Past

Submitted to Contest #285

I remember the evenings when the world felt much slower. When I would sit on the balcony with my grandmother, Ba, and listen to the stories of a town that no longer existed. I can still hear her voice, strong yet tender, as she painted pictures of a time when our town was small, with narrow streets and only a handful of houses. This was before the modernity of electricity, before the public garden, the cricket ground, the government hospital, and the small shops selling everything from clothes to sweets. All of that, she would tell me, was b...

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The Call of the Past

Submitted to Contest #285

It was a balmy March evening in Udaipur. The sun had set behind the Aravalli Hills, leaving a faint amber glow in the sky. In the corner of the drawing room of the Rathore haveli, an old rotary phone sat on a side table. Once the lifeline of the household, the phone was now a relic, rarely used since the rise of mobile phones. Madhavi Rathore sat by the window, a cup of chai growing cold in her hands.Her day at the hospital had been long, and the weight of unsaid words and unresolved memories hung heavy in her chest. As a doctor in the local...

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The Geriatric Counsel

Submitted to Contest #285

The summer wind was cool. Mrs. Ray's arthritis was acting up. The first 30 minutes after getting up in the morning was brutal. Thereafter, walking along with everyone else made things a little better for her knees.She would cloister with the other older people in the monastery just after waking up, groaning as she went. Saayaa would be a patient listener to her problems, problems of the same nature everyday. Mrs. Ray had become a widow recently. Mr. Ray had been a part of the Geriatric Counsel of the town. Nothing in the village happened wit...

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Playing With Destiny

Submitted to Contest #282

Content warning: Injury, trauma, mental health strugglesStaring at my freshly bandaged fingers, I wished for only one thing. To go back in time and prevent the accident. Okay, maybe I wished for more too. To not sacrifice a bit of my flesh to a crazy metal as if it had a prophecy to fulfil. To not witness blood gushing like it had a mind of its own. To not holler, scream, and wail as if a whole finger had been amputated. To not think about everything I couldn’t do on my own, starting the next day. To not hear the echoes of my screams ricoche...

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Until Satyid Voices Wake Us

Submitted to Contest #279

If my mother reaches Loki’s Star, I wonder. I wonder if she’ll remember us. Remember the day she left me on Earth, on the beach in Varkala. It was the last day of the final year of evacuation. Most of the men in our home village, my father included, had long since departed. That left my mother, Rakta, alone to care for me and my sister. After the final EVAC order was announced by remainders of Maharashtrian government — the last carrier launch, before the last evening in memory—she packed up her subzhi and cold rotis from last night’s meal ...

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The Man Eater

Submitted to Contest #279

Uttarakhand, Northern IndiaSummer1925 The most frightening discovery of the morning was not in fact the spattered blood of the missing boy, but a trail of tracks suggesting it was the Man Eater’s doing. I held Vinu’s trembling shoulders in a firm embrace, his eyes darting back and forth between the blood and the tracks, and all around us the throng of pilgrims shared his slack-jawed, fearful expression.  Nearby, Naresh and the sadhu (I never learned his name, since he referred to himself as only sadhu, though he was far from the only ho...

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Childhood long lost

Submitted to Contest #277

“Maasi, you don’t have to look after me anymore,” Jagrut said.Hena caressed his arm over the blazer and said, “Those whom I have helped grow up mean a lot to me, child. Stay well at London and sometimes come visit me at Shimla.”Jagrut laughed and said, “That is why I came to you, maasi, to get your blessing!”“Bless you child,” she said, “Grow up and be the son your parents would be proud of.”Jagrut took Hena maasi's leave and a few minutes later, Hena heard a car drive away.Hena covered herself up in winter clothes. A sweater over her saree,...

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A wicked cup of coffee

Submitted to Contest #277

Raman’s Narration It was one of the big American brands that had set up shop at a prominent spot of the circular market that was the famous Connaught Place of Delhi. CP was a remnant of India’s colonial past, created originally by the British for their entertainment and fashion needs.After independence, it retained some of its elite atmosphere. How could it not?, punctuated as it was by elegant victorian arches and facades housing designer boutiques and fine dining. Still, it had become less exclusive, a little more crowded and dirty, with r...

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Belle Nessa - A Gothic Story

Submitted to Contest #275

How much did other journalists have to beg the editor to write a story? "I will come back with THE story, a wonderful one, an honest, personal account from the reserved Belle Nessa, perhaps her last with her illness.” The breeze from outside clamoured up and she opened her eyes. ”I close the windows, foggy now” the Uber driver stiffly explained. The air stifled and clasped at her throat and she felt dizzy.“The air conditioner please!” The driver sighed loudly, but he turned the air conditioner on low. The mist enveloped the car graduall...

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Rohan's Birthday Wish

Submitted to Contest #274

It was eight o’ clock. Papa was going to knock at the door any moment now. Rohan felt his heartbeat rising, and his feet start to twitch. But they were not supposed to, so he dug into them with his nails. Ma didn’t like it when she caught him fidgeting. And she was already pissed. Sammy was fidgeting in his crib. Ma had just put him to sleep and was putting on make up. Not that she needed to. She was already so beautiful. But Papa didn’t think so. That’s why he didn’t give her any time anymore. They had spent the whole afternoon fighting. He...

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RBE | Illustrated Short Stories | 2024-06

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