To tell you the truth, I don’t like to remember that day, or the days that followed, but the memory of it is fresh. I can recall that hot afternoon vividly and in detail, when that man showed up at our doorstep. I suppose I could blame him or my parents for what happened later, even though you could say they had nothing to do with it…

The first time I read Kuzhali Manickavel’s stories I was left completely disorientated. I thought it must have been because I missed something, so I went back and reread them. But even the second and third time my head was still whirling. I felt on the one hand connected to the emotional centre of the story, but at the same time distinctly unmoored. The stories have a light, almost playful tone, but this is only an artful and skilful ploy to beguile us from the deeper issues at stake for the author…

Dr Patel knew that a man of his talent could not remain Deputy Head of the HR Department at Amber Investments for the rest of his life. He was destined for greater heights. As he manoeuvred his Toyota Corolla through Nairobi’s traffic on Waiyaki Way, en route to the office, the question of how to impress the Directors was uppermost in his mind. A few people had mentioned he was ready for promotion, though of course he’d dismissed the idea with a modest wave.

He rested his elbow on the open window and drummed lightly on the steering wheel, trying to ignore the music blaring from the packed matatu in the next lane, and the exhaust fumes of the diesel tanker in front. Before long, he wouldn’t have to drive, he’d be driven.

Ahead, the lights changed to green. He jammed his foot on the accelerator as he circled the roundabout and honked at a car trying to overtake from the left. The lights turned red, he braked and just missed a vendor who dashed across the road, carrying a board with fake designer glasses…