Rashmi Patel

Read the full story at The Forge Literary Magazine. I had never eaten lobster or octopus before, nor had I ever been to a retreat. Yet, there I was, on the last day of a four-day women’s retreat in Costa Rica, barefoot on polished teak, staring at a plate arranged like an exhibit, a curled tentacle draped over a claw as if posing for a portrait. I wondered if anyone else at the table could tell that I didn’t belong here, not really, but I picked up my fork anyway. My daughter

It is easy to lie once you have studied the truth at close quarters, internalized its contours, its viscera, its very soul. I learnt all...

I am in the bathroom after a whole day of marathon meetings. What a day! Six back-to-back meetings without a single break. I close my...