She wasn’t ready to part with the nutcracker yet. Everything else was sold—the house, furniture, expensive clothes, and shoes—the reminders of their years together.
But the nutcracker they had bought on their last Christmas together before he went to the war…and came back in a box… ‘He’ would stay and bear witness that she remarried but never moved on.
Photo by v2osk on Unsplash
I take him for a walk first thing in the morning. He needs one.
He may complain about the early hours, the rainy weather and the muddy footprints on the floor but he loves them too. I’ve seen how he inhales the freshness in the air, not yet tainted by the traffic of the rush hour. I know he loves the dragonflies at the river, so I pull him there too. I splash around while he grumbles, until the old man gets his toes wet and relaxes visibly.
He sometimes protests that he is getting too old for this, but well, so am I. It is not easy to chase a deer anymore, but I do that anyway. How else will he get his exercise?
He may give me only one sausage a day and be a scrooge-ish when it comes to my biscuits. But I love him anyway, so I look out for him.
Authors note: This story is dedicated to Pete, my favorite serial-fiction writer, and Ollie, his companion and guardian angel. To know more about them or read some great crime-fiction, visit his site: beetleypete.com
Photo by Alex Motoc on Unsplash
I walk around the city
without purpose
drowning in gloom.
Long unemployment
Often does that to you.
Yellow flashes
in the corner of my vision
in a crack of the pavement
pulling me forward,
a marionette on strings.
A cluster of flowers,
smaller than my nail,
stand tall, smiling,
in a place
where stomping feet
can wipe them out
instantly.
They care not,
smiling
in the face of adversity,
unlike me.
Waves race to mark the passage of time.
Crashing against the rocks, daring me.
I wait for nothing.
Looking back, I see nothing.
Looking ahead, I see the Sun close to close.
So am I.
Author’s note: For those of you wondering, I am not suicidal. But one month of being locked up with a bunch of crazies (my family) pushes you down the precipice.
Photo by Maksym Ivashchenko on Unsplash
The story is now part of a short-story collection available in black-white and coloured prints and as an ebook. I will share the links soon.
My tired mind hopes for a stroll,
but the stench of traffic assaults me
and slams back the door.
Sigh! How I miss home.
The place where I grew,
jasmine wafted through the windows,
harsingar filled the roads.
Frogs lured me out,
crickets sang all night, and
fireflies gilded the path with gold.
The moon shone brighter,
stars seemed more and merrier.
Woodfire and
roast potatoes called to me,
pulling me where men told stories
of ghosts on peepal tree,
and herds of deer.
I wonder where the deer are now,
for the pastures are long gone.
I feel sad for the Peepal tree ghosts
who lost their favorite haunts.
No Harsingar or Jasmine
no fireflies, owls, crickets and frogs,
dwell the unyielding cement roads.
No one gathers around woodfire
to share stories or lore.
How I miss the home
of my childhood,
for this is home no more.
This piece is inspired by Mohan, my friend and colleague, who told me about the real Bangalore, a place he lost over the past two decades of ‘development’. Â
Authors note: I am trying a different genre now inspired by the Ellen’s Wonderfuss Faeries. You can visit her blog for a good laugh combined with Scottish mythology. I am fairly new at the genre though. Also, I am painting after 15 years. So, bear with me.
Meet Bagula Saheb, our resident delivery guy, He brought my daughter home three years back. For many years, he had been handling local deliveries on his own (Cranes usually manage the intercity stuff.)
But lately, he had been looking a little grumpy. I guess the constant work-related travel and the increasing pressure on his time was getting at him. I tried to talk to him but he just won’t stop, always crying “Busyyyyy! Busyyyyy!” Lately, the lockdown has locked the humans in their homes, and birds and animals have a free reign outdoors, more work seemed to be coming his way. So, I wasn’t surprised when I saw him approaching the higher-ups for help.
The result was heartening. He was instantly provided with a female colleague. Together, they were promised a brood of tiny apprentices to train in the coming months. Once ready, these apprentices will take most of the workload off his shoulders.
He seemed to be over the moon by the arrangement. I could hear him cackling with delight all night, earning him some very sleepy, grumpy and puffy-eyed neighbors. But well, who cares! Woohoo!
The story is now part of a short-story collection available in black-white and coloured prints and as an ebook. I will share the links soon.
I’m not afraid of him anymore. Sure, he hit me plenty earlier but I was a puny little thing then. His belt marks and cigarette burns have long faded away from my body.
My father doesn’t dare come too close now that I’m a bigger bully than him…
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
The sky was dark
and the air charged
with the electric between us.
He leaned in until
his face touched mine.
I closed my eyes waiting.
His open lips shattered
my tough facade,
reaching my molten heart.
The universe witnessed
our union as
the Sky and Earth combined
under the blessed showers.
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 