Published in Mekong Review, may – july 2021
By Vikram Kapur
I wake up to a voice; a voice so low that I can’t tell whether it’s in my ears or in my head. Is it a remnant of a dream that I’ve forgotten? I can hear it even after I’m wide awake. Its hoarseness suggests it’s been calling for a while. I don’t recognise it. Yet it repeats my name in the intimate manner of a close friend.
I can hear other voices now. My wife Anita is calling out to our eleven-year-old daughter Reena. She is telling Reena to come, they’re getting late. Reena answers, ‘Coming, Mum.’ The digital clock on the bedside table informs me that it’s seven thirty. I’m usually up well before then to drop Reena at her school. Anita let me sleep in today, because I came home late last night after putting the final touches on the news magazine I edit. Continue
