Biography of Aruni Kashyap
Aruni Kashyap (Assamese: আৰুণি কাশ্যপ) is an Indian English writer and translator.
He grew up in Guwahati and studied at St. Stephen's College, Delhi.
He works as the Assistant Editor of Yaatra : The Journal of Assamese Literature and Culture. An excerpt from his forthcoming novel set against the secret-killings of Assam was published in Tehelka Magazines annual fiction issue 2010. Along with fiction, he writes extensively on socio-political issues and his opinion based articles have appeared in The Guardian, UK, Open Democracy and Tehelka.
He is the winner of the Charles Wallace India Trust Scholarship for Creative Writing in 2009.
He is regarded as a strongly emerging young literary voice from the north-eastern part of India. His work published online and in print has been able to draw interest and critical acclaim.
Aruni Kashyap's Works:
His first novel, The House With a Thousand Novels, will be published by Penguin Books India. His translation of Indira Goswami’s latest novel, The Bronze Sword of Thengphakhri Revenue Collector, is forthcoming from Zubaan Books.
His poems have appeared in Indian Literature (Sahitya Akademi), Postcolonial Text, The Daily Star (Bangladesh) and Muse India. He has also written essays, articles and short stories for Tehelka, The Assam Tribune, Sadin, Satsori, Dainik Janasadharan, etc.
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Aruni Kashyap Poems
The House With A Thousand Novels
This is a house, L-shaped, seven-hands high; soil-veranda— with twenty-one novels in it.
Where The Sun Rises
If you come back, There will be no sun, like the day when we met for the last time in your room.
I have known this river like tea leaves. I have bathed, ran on its wet sands. Grappled in its shallow banks for fishes and caught tadpoles.
There was no sun. So goats didn't bleat and rush under trees, sheds; the stray dogs that roamed around quarrelling over pieces of meat in garbage dumps hotfooted to
Actually, stamping our feet should have only awakened her, but surprisingly, her motionless, senseless body made us run around look for water, seniors and women
Trees moved along, clouds too with the moon, the about-to-drown orange-sun in sooty hours, slow; they boiled down to a single feeling:
We huddle around Ma as our gabled tin-roofs vibrate during round-moon nights, when bee-hives drip like wasted howling desires of an elephant tethered to the banyan tree trunk.
Where The Sun Rises
If you come back,
There will be no sun,
like the day when we met for the last time in your room.
And there were no rains, but only thunder and stars.
ARSD hostel, wasn’t it? There was no sun,
but we spoke about tomorrow’s sun
that will gaze at its face in the mirror called the