Category: Fiction

Posted in Fiction, Published

Broken: Part 1

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. You can find the other parts here: Broken: Part 2 and Broken: Part 3.

I had never hunted in this area before, but I was dying to get a tiger’s head for my collection for years now and an eco‑tourism website had mentioned this place. It had boasted of a uniquely high tiger‑per‑kilometre ratio as compared to the rest of the world. Tigers are revered here, so, local poachers don’t touch them. There’s no law against hunting the endangered species in this country though. Just my luck! So, I got a quick tourist Visa, gathered my hunting gear and flew here.

*****

In a country where tigers are revered, I couldn’t directly ask people where I could find a tiger to kill. So, I went around the long route. After the first day of sight‑seeing with a local tourist guide, I tipped him heavily. Then, I said, “I just wish it was a little more exciting than that!” I talked about my hunting trips. He immediately promised to find someone to help me, which he did within the hour.

The ‘help’ was a small shrewd man who offered his services based on a hefty fee per day. We started small—hunting foxes, then, gazelle and wild boars. I tipped him generously each day, increasing the amount with the size of the game, nudging him to find something even more exciting. He gradually warmed up to me and suggested bigger cats—serval, cheetah, leopard…

I told him, “I’ve done them all in. The only big cats I’d be interested in now would be a lion or a tiger.” I knew well that there were no lions here. So, he would show me tigers.

He hesitated. A long pregnant pause had me wondering if I had gone a little too fast and whether I should have waited a few more days. But hunting tigers could take several attempts ranging between several days to weeks. I could not afford to tick off more days from my one‑month visa.

After what felt like an eternity, he admitted reluctantly, “There’s a place in the forest where tigers throng. That is the only place where you are sure to find them. Mind you, we never hunt them. There is a curse in that place. Anybody who goes hunting tigers in that place ends up as either dead or raving mad.”

Old wives’ tales, of course! “I’m not afraid.”

He looked at me with the resignation of a parent who knew his child was beyond hope. “Okay! But this time, I won’t stay with you for the hunt. I have a family to provide for, so, I can’t afford to be cursed.”

It took immense effort to stop me from rolling my eyes. “Sure, but you can show me where it is, right?”

He nodded quietly, “Yes, but it will cost a lot more—I’m risking a curse and a possible death. I’ll take the money in advance today, so that I can hand it over to my family in case I die.”

I knew he was exaggerating to hike up the amount. He wasn’t even going to be on the hunt. But I hadn’t travelled across the world to save pennies. If the website was to be believed, the number of tigers in the area guaranteed a trophy.

*****

The next morning, he came back with supplies for four-five days, a goat, two labourers and tools to create a hunting platform. The labourers looked apprehensively at my gun, muttering in native language. The ‘help’ translated, “They want you to promise that you wouldn’t fire it until we’ve safely returned from the place. Firing the gun draws the tigers in.”

I could not help rolling my eyes this time. “Come on, the sound of gunfire scares animals away…”

“In other places, gunfire might do that, but it is different here. The tigers kill anyone firing a gun in the area. You’ll see soon enough.”

*****

We travelled as far as we could in an old jeep. Then, we walked on a well‑beaten trail. Apparently, a lot of people walked through that part of the forest without any weapons. So much for risking life!

We left the trail and entered deeper into the forest. After an hour, we stopped near a tall and sturdy tree with high and strong branches that gave me enough cover without obscuring my view. The ‘help’ ensured it was impossible for a tiger to climb it. I knew the last precaution was unnecessary, but he insisted, “You will thank us later.”

While the labourers built the hunting platform and the ‘help’ arranged goat’s fodder, I smoked a cigarette relishing in the tiger calls. The website was right. Too many tigers live in this area. Not sure how though. Tigers are rather territorial. Usually, there is no more than one tiger in several kilometres. But in this place, it sounds as if there is a huge ‘pride’ living in close vicinity—only, tigers don’t live in prides. The biggest group could be a mother with one or two cubs. Then, how could it be that…

By noon, the platform was mounted, and the ‘help’ asked, “Are you sure you want to do it, Sir?”

Mentally, I laughed at the superstition. Overtly, I just nodded.

“Alright,” he pointed towards north. “There is the temple of Kyarr over there. The only survivors from a hunting trip in this area were found hiding there. They were completely mad, mind you, but alive. So, if the situation gets out of hand, try to make a dash for it. I’ll return in the four days and collect whatever is left of you.”

With those parting words, they left.

Author’s note: To be continued…

Photo by Mike Marrah on Unsplash

Posted in My life, Nature stories

Hook, Line, Sinker

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

After years of being a dog person, I finally fell in love with a cat who broke my heart. (Check out my post My Neighbour: The Queen to find out about this drama.) Deciding that I didn’t want to be treated as an automatic scratch-post, I decided to never get anywhere close to anything feline.

That is why when my brother in law brought in another kitten to foster, I kept my distance and didn’t go anywhere near her for one very long night. The fact that my fingers itched to touch her was warning enough. But the next day, I had to run interference since she wasn’t eating or drinking anything.

I am not a kitten expert but this one is Tiny with a capital T. She is a little bigger than the size of my palm. The guy who gave her to us took her from the litter when she was less than a month. She is a month old now. It felt like the time I held my daughter for the first time. She was so delicate I was afraid to hurt her. One look from her doll-face and I fell. Hard.

Ever since then, I had been trying to keep my distance, all the while telling my brother-in-law to send her back to her mother (can’t happen since they are in another state) and check what to feed her before feeding it to her. Apparently, the guy who had gave her to us was feeding her Buffalo’s milk with chocolate syrup so that she would eat something since she wasn’t. And she can’t digest it. Now, this fostering between her supplier and next forever home feels like a rescue mission. My brother-in-law has consulted people who know kitty stuff and I’m hoping he has finally got it right.

Because if he hasn’t, I might not be able to deal with the loss.

All the while I have been avoiding her, she has been claiming a part of my heart. I have been visiting her on the pretext on accompanying my daughter. Everyone here knows I am bluffing but they have enough sense not to call me out. When I go, I watch her quietly as she plays with her ball. I sometimes push the ball around to draw her out to give her a chance to attack it. That’s the extent of it. But my eyes never leave her.

I think she prefers me that way.

Because yesterday, when I was sitting on the bed watching her eat, she quietly came to me and climbed on my leg into my lap and sat there. Just sat there. And ignored my daughter who actually came to play. My daughter kept on patting her own lap, inviting her to play, twirling her fingers to catch her attention, while Coco sat chewing and licking my fingers in one hand while I stroked her with the other hand.

And I fell in love.

And she isn’t mine. She belongs to her forever family. She will only be here for this month, if that.

Well, what can I say? It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. Sigh!

Posted in Fiction

The Far Door: Part 4

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is fourth and final installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and other short stories. You can find the other parts here: The Far Door: Part 1, The Far Door: Part 2 and The Far Door: Part 3.

It is nearly midnight, and I am getting drowsy.

There is a light clicking noise, something I would have missed in my bedroom. I look at the front door, sure that Franc has opened the lock—nothing there! Shaking apprehensively, I turn to look at the far door. The huge copper lock has unlocked itself and is now hanging in the air, slowly descending to the floor without a sound. The metal latch slides open quietly.

Very slowly, thick, fat, gnarled, grey fingers appear on the side of the far door, slowly pushing it open.

My mouth opens in a silent scream—I am clearly not prepared for an attacker who isn’t a human. Should I just hide here and pretend I am not awake? Afterall, it hasn’t touched me yet. Or should I keep an eye and see what it does? Will I ever be able to forget seeing a monster? I am still dealing with so many demons from my own past…

A low squeak, a strangled cry of alarm, reaches me. A child? Is it torturing a child?

The thought of a child in trouble gives me strength I need to face whatever it is. Picking the metal rod and the pepper spray can, I run to the far door and pull it open all the way…

A strange sight greets me. In a darkened room lit by only a night lamp, an incredibly old man—grey skinned with long ears—is standing at the doorway dressed in pyjamas and what looks like a crumpled blazer. The glazed eyes tell that he is sleepwalking. A couple of kids are holding him back—a girl around six and a boy around eight—also grey with long ears, wearing similar crumpled blazers. The kids look stunned at my sudden appearance. The old man simply takes the metal rod from my hand and starts chewing. He doesn’t do it to look intimidating, more like he isn’t really all there.

The boy stutters, clearly at his wit’s end, “S‑Sorry, He’s sleep‑eating. Can’t remember he mustn’t eat metal!”

I blink at his response, not sure how to respond at the apology, “How did he open the lock and latch on the other side?”

The boy is terrified and looks ready to tell me anything, “Standard magic—he can manipulate the metal lock and latch. The wooden latch used to stop him from wandering off in his sleep. But Dad said it is not in its place anymore, so we have to hold him back physically until Dad returns home around midnight. But it is so late in the night, and we get drowsy…and Grampa always gives us a slip. Sorry for the bother!”

Nothing is making sense anyway, so I try to get to the most obvious question, “Why isn’t he eating his own metal? There are plenty of metal fittings here?” I gesture at the copper vase and copper‑framed mirror.

The little girl pipes in, “Copper tastes awful! I guess, that’s why they put it everywhere in the building so the residents wouldn’t eat the fittings.”

A French window opens on its own. Aren’t we on the third floor? Alarmed, I turn to find Franc standing on the attached balcony with his wings (?) open, taking in the scene apprehensively. He is grey-skinned with large ears too. With a huge sigh, he places his laptop bag and restaurant food from a twenty-four‑hour joint on the floor and touches his watch. In a blur, his wings wrap around him like a blazer and turn white. His ears are now normal and skin olive again.

Is it fear lingering in his eyes? He tries to cover it with an apologetic smile, “I see you have met my family. Welcome to the Gargoyle residency. Please don’t freak out. We are not monsters—we just co‑exist.”

His eyes are pleading me to understand. He looks unsure of what else to say, probably waiting for me to freak out anyway. I lean on the nearest couch to support my failing knees. I should be scared but, once I look at the laptop bag and restaurant food at his feet, weirdly, I am relieved instead. Curious—baffled… but not afraid.

In my sternest voice, I demand, “We need to talk.”

I glance at the children. They look scared, and I melt a little, “And I need something to get over this. Who’s up for a hot chocolate?”

The children cry happily in unison. Apprehension gone, Franc is now smiling in the earnest, “Allow me.” He moves towards my kitchen, followed by the kids who take their rightful places on the dining table.

Grandpa is still busy chewing the rod while I lead him to the sofa in the hall. I smile at the absurdity of the moment—the place finally feels home.

END

Author’s note: If you prefer to read the entire book rather than in piece-meals, you can simply download the free PDF version of the book from here: Books by Shaily

Original photo by Casey Lovegrove on Unsplash (with minor edits based on the story)

Posted in Fiction

The Far Door: Part 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is third installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and other short stories. You can find the other parts here: The Far Door: Part 1, The Far Door: Part 2 and The Far Door: Part 4.

**Sunday evening**

I can barely wait for Franc, sitting as close to the main door as possible in case I have to run out again…

In case the monster returns…

When the bell rings, I run to the door and wrench it open. Franc is certainly surprised but doesn’t comment, for which I am grateful. He is a bit wary when I offer condolences and request him to step inside. Looking like a model in his navy blazer and jeans, he sits stiffly on the medieval sofa looking confused at the change of my tone as I pour tea.

So, I tell him about the misunderstanding and my reasons for the hasty purchase—about my abusive marriage and my ex-husband’s multiple attempts to break in—he finally relaxes and nods. “It’s alright. I, too, wanted to apologise for my behaviour the other day. I realised a little too late that the property agent might not have given you the whole story.”

“I’ll be happy to sell the house back to you if you are willing. I spoke with the agent, and he was apologetic. I just need a week until he finds me a new accommodation. Meanwhile, you can bring your family in today. I’ll give you the key.”

“Thanks! My grandpa is not in his right mind, and I don’t want to burden you with him. We will wait until you leave,” he gives me a smile. God, what a smile!

“Really, it’s fine. My grandma was pretty old too and not really all there. We managed fine with her.”

“Still, I insist. While we wait for you to move, I’ll get the paperwork ready.”

His denial unsettles me. I was hoping he would jump on the offer, and his family will come in right away so that I will not be scared at nights. I have been going on without sleep for a little too long. A few more days and I will become cross‑eyed.

Franc interjects my thoughts, “You opened the wooden latch against my warning?!”

I sighed, “I didn’t open it, just changed it to metal for better security. I could hear voices on the other side of the door, and the wooden latch didn’t look strong enough to keep anyone out. Can you please check if there’s anyone in there? My cutlery is missing, and someone has been chewing away my silverware.”

He looks at me like I am certifiably mad, “Just change it back to that damned wooden latch, will you?” And he stomps out.

I should follow his directives, considering it is the door to his portion, and I am selling the rest of the house to him anyway. But I am too mad at him to care. If a metal latch can’t keep out whoever is in there, what can a measly wooden latch do?

**Monday**

**Tuesday**

**Wednesday**

**Thursday**

The previous few days are spent pretending that the far door doesn’t exist while still trying to hear any noises coming from that side, as, slowly but steadily, my steel utensils keep going amiss. Today, some of my jewellery is missing—my white‑gold earrings are nowhere to be found while the sapphires that were encrusted in them are sitting on the top of my dresser.

Something doesn’t add up. Anyone pilfering my jewellery will not leave sapphires behind where I can easily find them. And if something is really ‘eating’ my things, why not eat sapphires as well?

A thought strikes me. Is Franc trying to scare me off the property? All this mess started after I declined his offer. Even though he is behaving casually now that I have agreed to sell to him, he would want to ensure that I don’t change my mind. And of course, he has a key to the house already–he lived here all his life until last month!

Well, it is finally time to face my demons.

*****

Whoever is trespassing my property is, clearly, doing it late in the night. Tonight, armed with a pepper spray and a metal rod, I am hiding behind a sofa where I am able to look at both the far door and the main door without being seen. I am scared witless, and my palms are sweating like crazy. While I am 99 percent sure it is Franc and that I have nothing to fear, it is the remaining one percent that is making my entire body shake.

It is nearly midnight, and I am getting drowsy. There is a light clicking noise, something I would have missed in my bedroom. I look at the front door, sure that Franc has opened the lock—nothing there! Shaking apprehensively, I turn to look at the far door. The huge copper lock has unlocked itself and is now hanging in the air, slowly descending to the floor without a sound. The metal latch slides open quietly.

Very slowly, thick, fat, gnarled, grey fingers appear on the side of the far door, slowly pushing it open.

Author’s note: To be continued…

Let me know if you wish to read the next part, or you can simply download the free PDF version of the book from here: Books by Shaily

Original photo by Casey Lovegrove on Unsplash (with minor edits based on the story)

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

7D

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This story is part of my upcoming book: 7D: Tales from the Future. You can download my other books for free from here: Books by Shaily

The sun is warm on my skin and the air smells of pine and heather. Yume’s dark eyes gaze into mine mesmerizing me as he guides me by the elbow and urges me to touch the blue bird sitting next to the gurgling spring. Her glowing blue feathers call to me. There is a song in the wind with no words—only the music of the bubbling spring, singing birds and chirping grasshoppers. The dream like scene holds me still.

Yume is still touching my elbow; still looking at me with those dark eyes. I shiver as butterflies take flight in my belly. Half afraid that the blue bird would fly away shattering the magic of the moment, I touch her wings. She quivers but does not leave me. Her feathers under my fingers are buttery soft. Her two yellow friends sit alongside her unaffected by my intrusion. One of them is drinking water from the spring; the other one is singing in a voice that would remain with me forever.

With his perfect pointed nose, Yume resembles the birds: calm and serene. For a moment, I wonder if his team has used him as the model for these birds. The dark expressive eyes are certainly his. I am better off not knowing though if I want to keep reliving this otherworldly experience. I know it is just an illusion—a seven dimensional (7D) piece of visual art that allows me to see in three dimensions as well as hear, smell, taste and touch—but still…

It is a product of responsive technology powered by Artificial Intelligence, which means that when I interact with any element, it responds intelligently. My act of breathing is met with the smell of pine forest; the blue bird quivers upon my touch; and the water splashes against my hand, tongue and throat—wet without actual water—as I drink from the spring.

The best part is that there is no need for special glasses or equipment to run it—just a touch-powered, self-fitting ring with a button that Seiko is wearing on his little finger. Once you wear it and switch the button on, it activates adding certain elements to your surroundings, creating the illusion. This piece is an immersive one that has turned my entire room into my personal heaven.

Yume smiles at me knowingly. I will owe him forever for this moment.

Seiko touches one of the two rings on his finger. The scene pixilates and melts in the air bringing my office into view, and I sigh as I return to reality. Seiko is amused, “Engages all senses, doesn’t it?”

I nod wordlessly. Before I had experienced it, I was a little unsure of the sellability of the technology—it will be extremely expensive in the initial years due to the research and development cost, close to a vacation on a space station. So, I had wondered if people would be interested in buying it when they can have the same experience by traveling.
But now, I am converted. I would never have been able to touch a live bird in a natural setting.

And then, there is Yume still touching my elbow, which makes it difficult to think clearly. He has a way of making my legs jelly. Honestly, I would never approve of such a crazy fascination. I have never been so taken by any other man. Once a talk show host had asked me what it would take to tame the tigress and I had told her the vision of my perfect man: the perfect gentleman, strong with ideas, gentle in conduct, intelligent, capable of witty conversations, and not overbearing or jealous. I had also told her that I was sure he did not exist.

But then, Seiko and Yume had approached me at a Visual Arts conference last month. With his quick wit, amazing knowledge and impeccable manners, I was instantly drawn to Yume. Add to that the way he looks at me—like I am the only woman in the world—appreciates me for all the right things and the way his hand lingers in mine a second longer than necessary for a handshake, he had me purring like a kitten ever since.

But we are never alone. Seiko is always there. Both of them are always talking about this breakthrough in 7D technology—how their company has been looking for an investor to commercialise it. I have invested enough times in visual technologies to know that this one will be an instant success.

Right now, they are both looking at me expectantly for an answer. They know they have won already. Seiko queries, “So, will you invest in our organisation to commercialise the 7D techonology?”

“I’m afraid not,” I say, much to my regret.

Seiko looks crest fallen, but Yume is not even ruffled, “No? Not even after what you have experienced? It can allow the best kind of travel—no car, no gas, no walking, no insects and no sleeping outdoors in rain. Just switch on a button and you are there, living the moment like a real thing! It can also provide lonely people with a personal companion who would talk to them, empathise with them and convert into whatever they want them to be—parent, best friend, lover… I know you believe in it too.”

I know I must take a stand, even if I don’t like it. “Yes, and that is because the technology is far too believable. Once you are in, there is no way to tell that it is an illusion and not reality.”

“And that is a problem?” he asks with my favourite lopsided smile.

I suck in some air and try to remember why I was opposing him, “Yes. It is like drugs—something that takes people away from real life. Once they buy it, they will become useless, unable to leave all the dreams that have come true. It can be easily used to gaslight people—make them believe in the things and people that don’t exist and the events that never happened. They will never be able to tell the difference since it engages all the senses. It is like selling Schizophrenia.”

His face was close, eyes smouldering, “You can trust us. We will never allow misuse of the technology.”

I feel my resolve weakening but I must try, “I trust you and Seiko. But once other people realise what is possible, they are sure to find a way to do it—by buying your people, by spying on your secrets or by simply experimenting. And once the competition begins customising the visuals, not all of them would care whether it is ethical or not. We will not be able to control who sells it and how it is used. It happens all the time with technology. You bring in a new thing and people begin misusing it. But the kind of impact 7D technology can cause on people’s psyche would be too great a risk. I can’t have that on my conscience. If your organisation could reduce even just one dimension to ensure it was not so lifelike…” Even as I say it, I know how much I will regret suggesting it.

Yume’s face falls. He leans forward in his seat. His eyes are pained now, his face still closer, “I thought I could trust you to take the leap of faith. You want it too—I can see it in your eyes. Our team has worked for years perfecting the technology. It is the sole reason I exist. Take it away from me and I will perish. And I thought you liked having me around?”

His eyes are holding mine captive and I can feel his breath on my face—he smells like mint—heady, sharp and sweet. I can hardly remember there is one more person in the room. Like a mouse trapped in snake’s gaze, I can’t speak, so I just nod my head.
He takes my hand to his lips and plants a lingering kiss that holds promises for future. He never kissed me before. Still holding my gaze, he smiles, “See, I knew you would stand by my side. Will you sign the documentation now? We can then celebrate this evening, just you and me?”

Just him and me…

I have dreamt of it so many times…

Hypnotised, I nod again. Seiko mails me a contract right away.

All the details of the contract are fleshed out in perfection. I am agreeing to invest an unbelievable amount of money in his organisation. The organisation will request patenting of the technology and buy the state of the art equipment and software licenses to create the 7D illusions at a commercial level. My payback will begin once they start selling—half the profits. I am not sure if I am really reading the contract as Yume’s fingers draw lazy circles inside the palm of my left hand.

My breathing hitches as I sign the contract digitally with my other hand.

Seiko rises and shakes my hand. He takes off the second ring from his finger and puts it on the desk, “Consider it a gift.” The gesture is so sudden and unbelievable, I take a few seconds to respond and the touch powered illusion that is Yume starts flickering.

I quickly wear the ring. Yume is mine forever.

Consequences be damned!

Posted in Nature stories, Random Thoughts

My Neighbour: The Queen

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

She is a dog person. I can tell just by looking in her eyes. It’s in the way she is looking at me in expectation, as if I am going to dance out of my bed to lick her. Ugh! I have better things to do than pleasing random people dropping in to visit me.

Okay, I know she is not a random person, probably a neighbour of my temporary-slaves–a really close neighbour, considering she is here everyday, sometimes cooking in the kitchen, always eating and drinking god-knows-what.

Honestly, I don’t know much about these temporary-slaves except that my permanent-slaves trusted them to do my bidding and escorted me to their place so that they themselves could go where they had to.

So far, these people have been satisfactory–they keep my food plate full and the water tastes correct. They offer me random treats that I reject outright, so they don’t expect any special treatment. They stroke me and when they try to pick me up and I give them the evil-eye, they drop me right there on their bed. I like their bed, it is large and the blankets spread on top of it are specially soft.

They have a human kitten who is satisfactory too. She comes in early mornings, late afternoons and evenings and keeps stroking me and offering toys, which I reject, of course. She talks to me about random things–school, friends, teachers–and I ignore her. I close my eyes to remind her it is nap time though I don’t think she takes the hint…until she calls her.

That is another reason I don’t like her. I don’t like random people calling off my slaves, especially when they are stroking my favourite spots. I think her name is Momma. That’s what that kitten calls her. Momma has also been trying to get my attention but I would rather avoid her. That is why I always leave my throne next to kitchen window when she walks in. I would rather hazard sleeping inside my slaves’ room. She may be a worthy subject but that doesn’t change anything. She is a dog-person–it is written all over her face, in her disappointment for not getting a special treatment for just showing up. And that is reason enough to dump her.

I think dogs overdo it. Everytime someone comes in, they have to react–they bark,they bite or they wag their tails and lick. Every single time; like they had been waiting for the opportunity; like they didn’t have anything better to do; like they don’t need time to wash and groom, or sulk and brood…

They give too much importance to their human slaves. It’s shameful. If my mother was here, she would call it attention-seeking behaviour. We cats are above this silly stuff. We eat, we drink, we wash and we sleep. That is enough to get us though the days. We don’t need to run a mile to be pampered. We chose to be pampered. And we chose the pamperor. No Mom, Dick or Harry is going to touch my fur unless I allow it.

Momma is calling my name. I am ignoring her. She is holding out kitty-treats, smiling. I give her an evil-eye and the smile falters. Well, it doesn’t feel as good as I thought–she isn’t evil and she isn’t exactly setting her dog on me. But she is in my territory and that makes her my subject. I have to teach her respect. Disappointed, she drops the treat in my bowl. Good!

Gingerly, she holds out a hand for me to sniff. Hmmm, she is seeking permission to touch. I am tempted to lick the taste of treats off her hand but I don’t. I just sniff and ignore her. She quietly moves her hand on my head and strokes. I should have growled to set her in her place but I allow it for now–it is rather nice the way she is scratching behind my ears…

Ohhh!

Yes!

Yes, Yes, Yes!

Right there, keep doing it!

Ohh my goodness! How did she know?

Ooooh! Oh God, I love her…

But I can’t tell her that, I have to teach her her place…

But this feels so good…

Here, scratch here under my neck…

My goodness, she is a scratch goddess…

Here, a little more on the tummy…

You got it right baby! Keep doing it…

Ohhhh!

Oh no, she is getting distracted by her kitten! Go away you pesky little thing…

Come back, Momma. Do your thing!

Duh! Lost the rhythm! That’s what happens when you socialise while on job. Go away and don’t come back, you…you…disappointing human!

Huh! Call my name all you want. Like I care!

Photo credit: Antonio

Author’s note: I have always been a dog person. When a relative dropped off their cat at our home for a week, I wondered if I’ll like it. But she is furry, quiet and dignified with just the right kind of sass. I love her and she ignores me. I call her name and she moves into my brother-in-law’s room to shake me off. I follow and she gives me ‘the eye’. I offer her treats and she gives me a look of disgust. It’s only when I stroke her that she acknowledges my existence. As soon as the rub ends, I become invisible to her again. Sigh!

Posted in Fiction

Glide

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I don’t like this whole gliding thing.

It makes me nauseous–

not that I can get sick, mind.

But that’s beside the point.

I have been at it for so many days–

I would rather put my foot down

once and for all–

not that I can do that too.

It is the cost of freedom I pay.

My eyes roam to the horizon,

dizzy already–not that I can fall.

I wonder if I can start wandering now.

No one told me the rules.

My feet itch to move…

well, not literally,

but you know what I mean.

No one told me no.

Used to being told what to do,

the freedom to decide scares me.

My heart soars and dips at the thought

of leaving it all behind.

I think I’ll take baby steps…

Ugh! Not literally, I mean.

I turn to look back at me one last time.

Chest heaving on the bed

with the effort of keeping it all together.

Yes, I think I’d rather leave.

Posted in Fiction

The Loop

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Did she use this particular song before? It sounds vaguely familiar…

It is so confusing when you have to shoot the video at the perfect angle and in perfect light and add a song to every reel you upload. And make sure you don’t repeat yourself. What if this song was already in one of her reels? She has been posting for good three years now, so it is difficult to remember.

It is midnight. She should probably stop this and go to sleep. But she can’t–she doesn’t have anything to post tomorrow on Insta, and if she doesn’t, her followers will be disappointed.

Or will they be? She hasn’t been getting as much response on her site as she used to–less likes, even lesser comments. Why, when she added her reels of their trip to Goa, her particular video of her close up shot in micro-mini did not get much response–just 23 likes and a couple of comments with oohs and aahs! Nothing on her beauty or amazing body…

Is she getting fat? She must be with all the calories she been intaking…

She looks accusingly at her kale–it hasn’t made much difference in the past couple of months. Her weight has stayed at 47 kg since forever. She looks accusingly at her husband who declined to bring her a weight-reduction formula, calling her crazy for wanting to reduce weight further.

What does he know about social trends? You have to be fit to draw the eyes. And he has a paunch under his night shirt, which is rising and falling as he snores softly.

Loser!

She looks back at her phone. She was tired. It is so much work when you have to hold the camera and make it look like it isn’t you who is making the video; like it is your husband or admirer who can’t stop filming you…

It would be so much easier if her husband agreed to make the videos for her.

Honestly, she doesn’t demand much–just a good location, some good clothes and twenty something pictures to make a reel or, may be, a few short videos. But he is more interested in taking in the sights and enjoying with their child rather than holding the camera for her.

Ugh! She wants to throw the phone at him right now, but, if it cracks, her three-hour work will be wasted. She has filmed herself at the local pool, hair spread out in water perfectly. It took several shots and a couple of hours to get the right shot since her hair was floating in weird directions.

She will post it before risking losing it.

So, what song was it again? Yeah, it sounds vaguely familiar…

Posted in Fiction

The Face in the Mirror

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I touch the bedroom mirror groggily, more out of habit than hope. Suddenly, the mirror lights up green with magic, and I can see him. Across the open door of his bathroom, I see him sitting on a couch, reading a book. Which one is it this time—The Edge of Physics? Cosmos? I sigh! But then, I return to my senses and start shouting at him to get his attention. Nothing! Quickly, I turn to my right and grab the placard with my phone number that has been sitting on my bedside table for two months now and turn back to face the mirror again.

All I see is myself reflecting back in the mirror. The connection is already broken. Again…

All I want, all I hope for, all I desire in life has shrunk down into that mirror and that man who doesn’t know I exist.

I really shouldn’t have cooked that dumb cake! Why would anyone want to see their soulmate if they would still have to wait for them anyway? It is so painful to see the man destined to marry me one day go on with his life like I don’t exist.

Cooking a dumb cake on Halloween night is an ancient practice. It was also my last attempt to find my soulmate. With all the potential suitors hiding in the plain sight, it is too difficult to find a male witch now a days. It’s not that we are hiding because people might burn us at stake. It’s just that magic and witches are obsolete. Nobody needs our magical services when weather apps predict weather, daily horoscope apps tell the future, social media finds people, banks hold all the existing treasures, old recordings help commemorate dead people and fertility clinics are go‑to places for begetting children.

Technology has thrown us out of our conventional jobs. Hence, we have reinvented ourselves. Witches now use their superior intellect to secure higher education and obscene amount of salary. But we have to hide the reason for our abnormal level of talent, lest people accuse us of cheating, like sportspersons on drugs.

But because of all the hiding, our chances of meeting another witch are rather dim. Every single male witch I know is already either engaged or married to a prettier witch, while I, being a plain and nerdy scientist, am still single at the age of thirty-five. My family had set me up on dates with several men they know through family connections, but all of them seemed more interested in women with long legs and miniskirts than a woman with brains and an opinion. After I had run through what felt like all the eligible bachelors known to them, my family members stopped badgering me about my non‑existent love life.

But it is becoming difficult to attend family dinners—my brother and cousins bring their spouses and children. You’d think it would be crowded, but my heart never felt so empty before. All I need, if nothing else, is a hope that there is someone for me in the future.

Knowing this, my bestie and flatmate, Bree, keeps throwing around names of eligible bachelors,

“Why don’t you come with me to the party? There is this guy called Hans you would love to meet. He is an engineer.”

“Did you see the hot guy on the fifth floor? He’s a chef!”

“You know, Henry, our new neighbour? He was asking about you—saw you in one of my Facetime pics… Should I tell him you live right next door?”

My first response to all her suggestions is, “Is he a witch?”

I don’t mind marrying a regular guy, but honestly, will a regular guy want to marry a witch? And they will find out soon enough—we may have shunned magic, but magic hasn’t shunned us. We have magic of nature, and it runs in our veins with our blood, making them green. Closer to our heart, we are too green to ignore. We hide it with turtlenecks and dresses with sleeves. The only person outside my family who knows my secret is Bree because I wear tank tops at night.

I’m not ashamed of my colouring. But if a guy sees it, he will take flight. My bestie feels people don’t care anymore but I don’t want the issue to come up later, once I am in too deep.

So, rather than taking a 10 percent chance with a non‑magical person, I resorted to a dumb cake, which was a sure shot in finding a future husband. It is a family tradition that my great‑grandmother had used to meet my great‑grandfather for the first time, just like her mother and grandmother before her.

If a non‑magical woman makes a dumb cake, she dreams about her spouse, but she can’t speak to him. To make the Halloween magic strong enough to make contact at that moment, you require a certain amount of magic yourself—something that witches possess and practice. It felt like a really dumb idea at first but, with nothing to lose, I decided to take the drastic measure.

Well, it wasn’t really drastic, just desperate…

What’s the worst that could happen? Nothing. With no practice in magic whatsoever, there were pretty high chances of me seeing nothing. So, I reminded myself not to put any hopes on a cake even though I was giving it a shot.

On All Hallows eve, when Bree went to the Halloween party in the society’s club house, I cooked the dumb cake. She wanted me to come to meet Henry, but I lied about a headache. She left looking suspicious as if I was hiding a boyfriend in my closet. I wish!

The basic instruction of making a dumb cake is that I must work in complete silence standing on something no one ever stood on before. Well, I am no baking pro, so I asked Alexa for step‑by‑step instructions. As it droned in the background, I worked in complete silence while standing on something no one had ever stood on—my brand new, super‑pricey sofa. As I wobbled in the softness, I was scared I would burn holes in the material. I ground the flour, prepared the batter, shaped the cake, pricked my initials on the top and put it inside my microwave oven. Ideally, it should have been a fireplace instead. But, like witches, fireplaces are obsolete too.

Once the cake was ready, I pulled it out of the oven, trying to balance myself on the sofa. As I continued wobbling, it occurred to me that I could have simply bought a new rug to stand on instead. Stupid me! Then, I took a single bite from the cake, tried to chew it (a painful process) and walked backwards to my room, slid the rest of the cake under my bedding and tried to sleep on the now lumpy bed.

After this whole exercise, a regular girl would dream of her future spouse. She wouldn’t be able to communicate with him though. So, she would still have to wait until this certain person would meet her. Being a witch, my situation could be better. In theory, when I would rise from my bed at midnight, touch the mirror closest to me and chant the magic words, I should seen my future spouse who, of course, would be a male witch. Because who else would want to marry a witch? Then, I would leave a message with him. In theory, at least…

In practice, most witches waking at midnight are so confused that they can barely concentrate on the mirror, let alone remember the magic words to create the highly advanced magic for leaving a message for an unknown entity whose whereabouts are also unknown. With no practice in magic, I knew I was doomed from the moment I started.

So, I woke up at midnight (Phone Alarm), and walked to my bedside mirror, touched it and incantated the magic words (Google Notes). For a minute, nothing happened. So, I tried again, and yet again, willing to reach someone, anyone…

I never realised until that moment how much I wanted this whole thing to work; to have a chance at love just once in my life.

Suddenly, the screen lit up with a green light and there he was, standing in front of the mirror, looking dishevelled, like he had just returned from a party. His eyes were wide in surprise, and I think mine must be too. I fidgeted in my old tank top and shorts, knowing they weren’t really appropriate for the first meeting. I should probably have worn something fancier. Also, I should say something so he would know why we were here but before I could recover, the connection broke and the mirror started reflecting me again.

He was gone, taking with him my only chance at love. He probably mistook me for a trick of light, an alcohol‑induced hallucination or a ghost. But I knew I had seen a ghost—one that would haunt me for the rest of my life. After seeing him, knowing he was meant to be mine someday, I would never be able to love another. Because love it was—at first sight.

He wasn’t exactly handsome, but he had an intelligent and likable face—someone you could strike a conversation with on the subway and exchange numbers with, just to stay in contact. He was a little chubby and he wasn’t hiding six‑pack abs under his shirt for sure, but the crow’s feet around his brown eyes showed his love for laughter. There were marks on his nose where his glasses must have rested on his face, and his cheeks and chin had a one‑day stubble. He was real. And now that I had seen him, I could not un‑see him.

Anxious, I touched the mirror, and it lit up again. But he wasn’t there anymore. I wasn’t sure if my voice will go through, but I gave it a try anyway. “Hello! Anyone there? Hellooooo!” But nothing stirred on his side. I tried several times, but with each subsequent try, I felt increasingly more stupid—because every time I said those words, Alexa asked me what I needed, while rephrasing the question in a different way every time.

When I started feeling like an utter moron, I looked in the room, trying to get a clue regarding his whereabouts. He could be anywhere in the world. I realised I was looking inside his bathroom. The door to the next room was open and its lightest yellow wall was eerily like mine. From what I could see through the opening, the wall on the other side was adorned with a huge wooden shelf decorated with cute little things and sections of it were overflowing with books. Beneath it, a couple of comfortable couches sat behind a small coffee table. The room was meant for quite comfort in books and company.

I looked for something that would clue me in regarding his country. The decoration was regular stuff providing no clue. The lighting seemed low and artificial. And he had looked sleepy, so it was probably night where he was too. So, around the same longitude. Good! That left around one billion people to search from!

Running out of ideas, I wrote my phone number on a huge placard in an overly large handwriting and placed it in front of the screen, hoping he would read it when he returns to the mirror. At that moment, the light in the mirror dimmed and started reflecting me again.

After that, I tried many times, but the screen didn’t light up. I had a restless night, leading to a restless day.

The next few days, Bree kept talking about the Halloween party I had missed, bringing up different guys over and over, “You missed a blast, you know. And there was this very handsome guy who was dressed as a vampire. His canine teeth were so real! By the way, are vampires real?”

“You should have seen Henry’s face when he realised you weren’t coming. He didn’t even dance or drink. In fact, he left before the midnight blast. I really wanted to tell him that he could find you next door!”

“The party anchor was pretty brainy, and he seemed interested in beauty with brains too. Do you want me to set up a ‘chance meeting’ with him?”

But I was only half listening, my mind still on the face in the mirror.

For the coming weeks, I kept touching the mirror every now and then but only succeeded a few times. Once, he was touching the mirror too, looking lost, and twice, he was just fixing his tie. Once, he had looked into the screen with an intensity that gave me hope that he was looking at me. And during these few seconds of contact, I was surprised and unprepared, and before I could gather my wits and try sharing my contact number, the connection broke.

And then, a couple of times, I saw him sitting on his couch reading something. He read The Universe in a Nutshell with a smile that wanted me to tell him that it was my favourite book too. Looking closely, his shelf also had The Theory of Everything and loads of other books about science and stars…

They say you can judge a man by the book he reads. A man who seeks quiet comfort in stars and science on a Saturday is a match made in heaven for me. I can see us sharing books one day or sitting on those couches discussing them or even just sitting together over coffee…

The thought of the future comforts me. I just stand there looking at him, willing him to see me, waiting for him to acknowledge that I exist. But I can never make a contact.

When I finally spoke to my mother about it, needing advice for the first time ever since I moved out, I was sure she would be thrilled that I finally found the man I would love for the rest of my life. But all she said was, “Dumb cake? Well, you probably saw a neighbour.”

“What?”

“When the magic isn’t strong enough and you are desperate to see someone, you end up seeing a neighbour. I once saw Mrs. Briggs flossing her teeth; and on another occasion, Father Mathews washing his hands; and once I even saw somebody’s cat swatting at her reflection in the mirror.”

I hung up feeling crushed. Why would my mother not believe me. I had finally fallen in love, and all my mother had to say is that it is not my soulmate but a clueless neighbour! While I was never a people watcher anyway, I am actively avoiding looking around at my neighbours now, afraid I would see him and know that my mother was right.

Once, Bree cornered me, “Henry was asking about you again. At least let me give him your number…”

She has been talking about this guy non-stop for the past few days. I nearly blurt out to go date him herself. But deep down inside, I know I am being unkind and unreasonable because I am itching to go back to the mirror. “I’m not interested.”

“Look, he doesn’t care if you are a witch.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I told him because I know it is the only thing holding you back. He said he didn’t care as long as you would have him.” Well, at least she is looking properly ashamed.

“He will care once he sees me in a V-neck dress. It is not easy to accept the alienness of our colouring.”

“Is that the only reason here? You have been acting a little odd lately—too lost and too quiet. Is there something you are not telling me?”

Not sure how much I can tell her, I decide on a half‑truth, “I’m seeing someone, but it is too early to talk about it.” It is technically true, but my conscience pricks me. It is as much a lie as anything else. But it makes her happy.

“Is he someone from work? When can I meet him? At least show me a picture.”

“As I said, it is too early to talk about it. But once I am ready, I promise you’ll be the first one to know.”

In the coming month, I wouldn’t go out except for work. And when I do go out, I am not paying attention. I just itch to go back to my mirror. Mom and Dad even tried a locator spell, but the locater kept coming back to our building confirming my mother’s theory. Or maybe, their magic is not strong enough too. At least that is what I am rooting for…

Noticing my absent‑mindedness, my manager has reminded me a couple of times that I have to up my game at work. But I am too obsessed to concede defeat. My life had come to a standstill the day I fell in love with that man who still doesn’t know I exist.

It is weekend and I am home yet again, touching the mirror at regular intervals. Bree is out, trying to give me space, thinking I have a boyfriend I am chatting with. Suddenly, she sends me a text, “I just had a really weird chat. Help me make sense.” There is a screenshot of the conversation.

Henry: Hey! We need to speak.

Bestie: For the nth time, she is seeing someone!

Henry: I know. Can you just tell her that, sometimes, I see her in the mirror too?

Mom was right! I had seen my next‑door neighbour! It was all just an accident! He is not my true love or spouse, just a clueless neighbour.

We were not fated to be together…

All my hopes and dreams had been for nothing…

My mind is reeling. I had been holding on that last straw so tightly that now I am drowning with it. Someone is squeezing my chest! It is difficult to breathe…

I need air…

I walk dazedly out of the door and down the building corridor. Tears are blinding me. I can’t see the next door open and slam into someone’s chest.

“Hey, are you alright?” A familiar face gazes at me with concern; his expressions quickly turning into recognition and then delight. “It’s you! Bree just told me where to find you!”

I am both too glad and too sad to find him. While my skin still tingles where I slammed into him, I know it is just stupid, misdirected magic. “Henry…Uh…You are Henry, right? I need to apologize. I had cooked a Halloween cake, you know, to see my future spouse in the mirror…and something went wrong. We are not fated together,” I finish lamely.

There is a stunned silence at his end while he processes what he heard. When I am sure he would turn around and walk away from my life, he just smiles, “And how would you know that until you give us a chance?”

His eyes are understanding, but they also hold something close to adoration. I’m speechless. “At least, let me take you out on a couple of dates before you reject me?” He smiles and his eyes crinkle the way I love.

He still wants to go out with me, and I have to turn him down, “I’m a witch.”

“I know. Saw your green skin in the mirror the first time. It looks cool on you. Can you turn me into a frog?”

“What? No!” I choke out, horrified that he would think so.

“Good. In that case, are you free for dinner tonight?” He gives me a sunny smile and hope returns to the world.

Author’s note: This story comes from my new short stories collection, The Bracelet and other short stories (available for free on the Free Books page: https://fishinthetrees.home.blog/free-books/)

Picture credits: Photo by Julia on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Nature stories

Breaking the Ice

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

For months, she hadn’t been stirred.

Suddenly, the ice broke with the unexpected weight and she screamed for help. Melting with the sun as spring approached was something a part of frozen river would accepted as fate. She would have lived a complete life by then. But breaking down early because someone mercilessly stepped on her weakness…that hurt.

So, she screamed for help. But all of them were on their own now as more cracks kept appearing–the stag that had stepped on her continued jumping neatly on the now-broken ice and crossed the river.

The river was now a jumble of fast moving pieces of ice running forward to meet the sea.

Most of them were simply resigned. She struggled against the flow, trying to return to her calm and composed existence, but there was nothing to hold on to.

Her fight was desperate and fruitless. Her screams were drowned in the gurgle of the river just like the few woohoos from others…

Woohoos?!

She turned around and saw another part of the river, clearly enjoying the ride. He had always been far away, closer to the bank. But now he was pushing her, shining with a twinkle. His playful smile dared her to try beating him at the game.

She pushed back and he laughed, pushing her again, tickling where they touched. Soon, they were both laughing as they pushed and touched and tickled and woohoo-ed down the river.

Not sure how far they reached before they melted but they certainly never stopped to notice.