Category: Information
Updated information on availability of titles, etc.
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After a brief Amazonian adventure (blame the Great Indian Festival, not us!), Mostly Mundane is NOW AVAILABLE! Grab your copy before it disappears again! (Just kidding…we hope!)
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The scene opens in Saugata’s cramped study, the air thick with the scent of panic and stale coffee. Saugata, a nervous wreck, is pacing back and forth, his phone clutched in a death grip. Shantilal, the picture of nonchalance, is sprawled on the lone armchair, his feet propped on a teetering pile of manuscript pages.…
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[SCENE START] INT. A BOOKSTORE – DAY Saugata is frantically pacing while Shantilal, looking dishevelled as ever, leans nonchalantly on a bookshelf. SAUGATA: (Waving his arms) The 15th?! But that’s barely enough time to alert my legions of adoring fans! Shantilal! This is madness! Utter, complete, absolute madness! SHANTILAL: (Raises an eyebrow) Oh, do calm…
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The audit gods continued their mischievous streak with Shantilal. Ink was barely dry on his Muchipara report when a new assignment landed on his desk. This time, fate deposited him in the sleepy town of Dinnaguri in North Bengal, a place famed for its royal palace, its lush green stretches, and a lingering suspicion that…
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Is your daily grind feeling like a rerun of yesterday’s to-do list? Does the thought of folding laundry make you yearn for a meteor shower? Fear not, weary traveller of the ordinary! Mostly Mundane is here (well, not yet) to inject a shot of laughter into your life that’s stronger than your morning coffee. This…
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“I would like you to work on the cover of my new book. It’s a humorous account of the life of one Shantilal Biswas, who frequents those facets of life where neither shanti (peace) nor biswas (trust) resides. Shanti and Anjali live in a Mumbai suburb with their 12-year old son Monty (the Mischievous). Would…
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Shantilal Biswas, a man with the grace of a bull let loose in a porcelain shop, found himself facing a predicament that could rival a Big Bazaar billing counter queue on a Wednesday. An invitation – actually, more of a summons disguised as an invitation – had landed on his desk, demanding his presence in…
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“Tatha always complains that my cases revolve around individuals of overseas origins. It’s high time I break the myth,” Sutanu said, taking a sip of black coffee from his black mug. Our meets had become an early casualty of the series of lockdowns. After shifting the goalpost twice, we were facing each other the first…
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Malgudi, bathed in the laziness of a humid afternoon, thrummed with the cicadas’ incessant song. Venkatrao, draped in a threadbare dhoti that clung damply to his limbs, sat with his forehead creased against the rough grain of a wooden bench. In his right hand, he gingerly fingered a crumpled rupee note, its crispness an affront…
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It all began, as these pickles invariably do, with a spot of bother with Aunt Agatha. You see, the annual Ganymede Club bake-off loomed upon the horizon, casting a shadow of trepidation upon the normally sun-dappled brow of my esteemed chum, Bingo Little. This year, Aunt Agatha, a woman with a pastry pan for a…
Saugata Chakraborty 