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Siddhartha Choudhary

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Dust dusk and sesame seeds
by Siddhartha Choudhary   

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Category: 

Literary Fiction

Publisher:  Frog Books Type: 
Pages: 

132

ISBN-13:  9789380154398
Fiction

Basera is a small village situated on the foothills of the Sahyadri ranges, and like any other village in India is awaiting transformation. Here you find interesting characters.


Babua is puzzled by the constant reverie he is into. He learns life’s lessons by arriving at his own conclusions. Kancha, his school friend, disapproves of the life in the village and finds happiness in a newfound path.


Saloni is determined to set the pace of Basera’s development. With this hope she tells a miraculous story to the children. A story that is designed to change lives forever.


Siddhartha Choudhary paints a pretty picture of life in Indian villages and addresses different social issues, namely how the evil of illiteracy haunts the rural society.

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Excerpt

They proceeded inside the village. Babua’s feet now were moving swiftly at the sharp turns of the village lanes. Chandani unable to cope up with Babua was left a bit behind.

Babua stopped and looked behind.

‘Chandani you go to your home. It’s late and soon going to be dark. Your mother will be worried. I will meet you tomorrow in school.’

‘Ok,’ said Chandani, ‘bye.’

‘Bye’, responded Babua.

He looked up and saw a fleet of birds flying back to their nest. His nimble feet was moving fast on the half cobbled lanes. He had walked on these lanes from the age of three. He had played on them since then. He had ran on them. He had ever since watched people in the village walk on them. He had seen a newlywed young girl being beaten on the side of this lane by her husband. He had seen goats being slaughtered in the name of religion on the other. There is another one on which religious processions is carried out. There is a specific one through which the dead are taken to be buried or burnt. Some lanes have Hindu homes and some have Muslim homes. All these lanes glow brightly during festivals. All the people celebrate all the festivals here. All the people go through all these lanes at some point of time or the other.

He soon saw a tiny flash of light hanging at a distance. It was coming from a bulb that was hanging outside his hut. It reminded him that it was dusk. It reminded him that he was hungry. It assured him that his grandmother was alive.

Barging through the wooden door of the hut, Babua quickly poured some water on his feet and hands. ‘Maa, where is amma?’ He asked. His mother was washing dishes in the kitchen.

Looking at Babua, Yashodhara got angry. ‘Is this the time to come home Babua?’ She enquired in a harsh tone. ‘You know that your grandmother is not keeping well.’

Babua dropped his head and then ran into the corner room where his grandmother usually rested. There she lay on the wooden cot. Her old body was rather pale. The veins in her arms were showing clearly as chains of sand dunes on an arid desert. Babua sat beside her and took her wrist in his soft hands.

‘What happened amma?’ Babua enquired in his soft tone of voice.




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