Resultados narrador por "Anita Nair" en Todas las categorias

"Someone - may be Arun - had drawn a pink heart on a yellow post-it and stuck in on her dashboard. Ila smiled at the pink heart and crumpled in into a ball. If only, she thought ruefully. She had his love and loyalty; as for his body, it was in offer for the pretty young boys he picked up...

It stood in a damp patch of soil, squat. forlorn, mostly weary. The small branches had been snapped off and now tiny mounds of gnarled bark waved their stumpy fists in the air in mute rage. Beneath the ground was a jagged edge where the axe had spliced through, shredding the pith into a million...

How easy it is to dismiss me as a creature of no consequence. Yes, my dear friend, even you do it. The truth is, most people think they know everything there is to know about moths. It's all been recorded, transcribed and even published. Listen to "Behe-moth" written and narrated by...

The night is dark velvet, oozing blackness in giant drops. A darkness that shadows everything that dares disturb its fabric. A steady hum rises through the air. A glint of silver; a flash of life. Who dares to be out on such a night when only demons stir? Listen to "A Prayer for Sax"...

"The Thanksgiving turkey lay on its back in the manner of all roast turkeys. A sumo wrestler pushed to the ground, rotund legs with enormous thighs staring helplessly at the heavens. The breasts, plump and proud with many days of force-feeding, glistened. The neck that cackled, gobbled and...

"Grammar books are deceptive. Just open your mind and walk through the pages of one. You will be surprised at what you stumble across." Listen to "The heart of a gerund" written and narrated by Anita Nair, only on Storytel...

"The cat uncurled, It stretched and flexed. Then it blinked. Fish bones of sleep still clung to the cat. A queer kind of fatigue that rattled within his bones and hugged with the insistence of cankers. For a moment, the cat stared unseeingly. Then he allowed routine to take over"...

"Once in a while the cloud parts, and there comes a moon with the texture of Carrara. This marble orb has powers known to wizards and witches. The power to enchant and bewitch. To transform mortals into heavenly beings and their everyday act to sensuous excesses." Listen to "To...

"For many days now, i have been coming to this place. it is on the Street of Darkness" Listen to "The madness of heracles" written and narrated by Anita Nair, only on Storytel...

It hangs there in the cupboard. Breathing in through its many pores the combined fragrance of mothballs and air-fresheners, and the mustiness of damp. A muddy grey, it falls from the outstretched arms of the hanger, the skin of a beast from which the soul has fled. Limp, lifeless and deceptively...

"The Witch stood at the intersection of 145th and Amsterdam Avenue and took a deep breath. The chill of the kerb perforated the ancient leather of her shoes, invaded her woollen socks and seeped into her bones" Listen to "the Witch Wife's Tale" written and narrated by Anita...

"As time goes by - Indian woman, 34, well-educated, successful, professional, 5'" slim, fit, spontaneous, vivacious, gourmet cook, extra-terrestrial believer looking to share friendship with 36-45 emotionally and intellectually successful loving woman. Laughing, fine dining - belief in...

"Six o'clock. There is about this time a certain weariness. An intensity of grey that makes a man feel life is passing him by and that there is no way he can control what is happening to him. He is helpless, for how can he prevent the thickening of his arteries or the clouding of his eyes?...

No one ever called me by my name again. Not Anjali, my given name or Kalyani, Madhavan's family had decided was to be my married name. All of them just called me Bonda....' Set in Chennai, Why I Killed My Husband is about a woman whose quiet dreams are destroyed day after day by what her...

"There is a world that huddles beneath the feet of every New Yorker. A subterranean realm of acrid grey, steamy lie and greasy fumes. In this devil basement, dank steel caterpillars, christened with molten metal alphabets on their deadpan foreheads, prowl hither and thither." Listen...

"There he sits. Tie-and-dye-robed, apple seeds coiled around his neck, beaming an aura of flower power. There he sits, deep in thought amidst his pot, roots, tubes, herbs, and the black cat with the raspberry tongue." Listen to "Come to bed, my Pretty" written and narrated...