“So, did you find me yet?”
“Ouch! When was the last time you cleaned this place? It’s cluttered with regret and anger.”
“Don’t evade the question.”
“I’m trying but it’s too dark in here. Can’t see a thing.”
“I know. It’s long since I saw any light.”
“You’ve covered the windows with deception.”
“Yeah! Coming up clean is long overdue.”
“Help me help you. Shed some light.”
“It hurts my eyes
and ego.”
“Fine! I’ll still find you somehow.”
Hi friends,
I am going through a writer’s block regarding stories. Please send me the first line for a story, so I can build on it–any thing mundane or crazy would do.
I am picking this idea from Pete, who is by far, my favourite short story writer.
Thanks for the help in advance.
Qubool kar be hua nhi. Irshad kho gya zina me kahi.
Teri ashanai me hume fir bhi musalsal mukarrar ka hi irada h.
You said “I do” but you didn’t,
Inception of love eternal lost in the forbidden,
Love unrequited wishes still
For chances endless until you return.
Author’s note: An Urdu Sher (couplet) translated into an English Quatrain (verse with four lines)
Jinki yaad me shazar pe gulo ne ugna chood diya,
Unhi ne hikarat se sunsaan gulistaa chhod diya.
Trees
ceased flowering
mourning the one
who deserted ruined garden
in disgust.
Author’s note: An Urdu sher (couplet) translated into a Lantern (Japanese style of poetry with 1, 2, 3, 4, 1 words). Mine is “nearly a Lantern” because the last line has two words.
The moonless night hid me well, clocking my dark coat to the point of invisibility as I stood in the corner observing her. I was hungry and she was alone at the stand, waiting for the bus, looking around nervously—an easy prey. She wasn’t grand but she’d have to do.
I moved towards her stealthily. Just twenty feet…
Ten…
Five…
She shivered as she sensed me. Her face ashen and eyes wide with fear, she looked around trying to find the source of her discomfort.
It was now or never for me, so I stalked closer—close enough to rub my back with her leg—and gave a low growl. Finally, her eyes spotted me.
“Hey little kitty, are you lost? Are you hungry?” I purred in affirmation as she picked me up and grinned widely. “You don’t have a collar. Do you want to come home with me?”
Humans are so predictable!
–Dedicated to John Melone for his crazy cat poetry and to Prashanth’s Ikru and his northern lights
My feet were killing me. I had spend yesterday’s Sangeet (Music and Dance) ceremony limping around in two-inch heels. It was as if I was continuously walking downhill. The fear of slipping and falling on my face made me clench my toes and within a few minutes, my calves and feet began complaining. I was the only one at the party who wasn’t able to dance at all.
And today, in a couple of hours, I will be expected to walk to my future husband while wearing these three-inch stiletto monstrocities. My cousins specially ordered these online bacause they loved me and wanted to make my day special. I wish I could stop them but it seems like all my life choices had been taken out of my hands ever since I agreed to marry.
I looked away to think of something else and my eyes rested on my lap, on the appalling red lehenga dress I was wearing—my mother’s choice. The equally red dupatta sat at a distance leering at me waiting for its turn to wrap me in its folds, its golden lace trimming and countless stones winking in the light.
The air of the room reeked of hair spray as the beautician tried to stick my short, spiky hair to my scalp in an attempt to hide my obvious boyishness. The large fake hair bun she had attached to the nape of my neck with a hundred pins was weighing my head down. Soon, she’d cover it with what seemed like half-the-flower shop, and paint my face with primer, concealer, foundation, face powder, face glitter, eye-shadow, kajal, eyeliner, blush, lip-liner, lipstick, an assortment of bindi…
I had a sudden urge to throw on my favourite t-shirt, jeans and sneakers, and run away—if only my feet would stop hurting…
My phone vibrated.
“How are you holding up?”
“I’m running away.”
“Take me with you. They are making me wear a brocade sherwani. I’m melting in the stifling heat.”
“At least, you won’t wear heels.”
“Can you sneak out for a minute?”
“They won’t let me leave the room until they are done painting me.”
“Well, then, I’ll have to do this formally. See you in a minute.”
What was my future husband doing outside my home a couple of hours before our marriage? Why wasn’t he home preparing for the marriage procession? He was the only silver lining in all this craziness—the only guy who didn’t flinch at my obvious boyishness and career choice as a travel guide. What did he want to talk to me about now? Did he change his mind?
A knock on the door brought me out of the reverie. One of my cousins let my groom in, giggling uncontrollably. My parents were tailing him, clearly worried by his sudden appearance two hours before the time and without his family too.
He gave me a smile of comaderie, “So, I was looking at your video from yesterday’s function. I kept waiting for you to dance because your had once said that you loved to, but you just sat there, trying to smile and failing. Then, I realised you will be required to wear something even fancier today…”
I couldn’t understand where he was going with this speech. It didn’t seem like a matter urgent enough for the unexpected visit. However, he came closer and sat down on one knee next to my chair, a shopping bag open next to him. “I decided to be your knight in the shining armour, so you could dance with me today.” He took off the fancy heels from my aching feet, and slid on a pair of sneakers.
Finally freed, I fell in love.
So many dreams shatter every year,
Lives lost and tears shed,
Coz we can’t step outside the role
Thrusted upon us the moment we were born
Against our wishes.
——–
We are molded to accept it
As our nature and our destiny.
——-
There is no question of not falling in line.
I am the woman: The fairer gender? Homemaker? Caregiver?
You are the man: The stronger gender? Bread winner? Protector?
You can’t cry.
I can’t stop.
——-
There is no question of not falling in line.
So many dreams shatter every year…
My shoe was stuck. Hurriedly, I tried to pull it off but my feet won’t come out. The train was due to arrive any minute.
I was sweating by the bucketload but it wasn’t helping. My feet seemed to be glued to the sole of the shoe. It was always like that. Every day the same time, I’d be late and try to hurry across the railway line, and then, one of my shoes’d get stuck. The train would, then, arrive…
…and run me over.
Here we go again!
Well, there’s always another time…
Ab aaye ho? Mujhe dhoondhte jana.
Ek arse se kisi ki yado me gum hu.
___________
English translation:
So, you’ve finally returned? Find me before you leave again.
For ages, I’ve been lost in someone’s memories.
___________
Author’s note: Sher are couplets in Urdu that tell a complete story.
I know it is tempting, brother,
but don’t chew the shoe that feeds you.
Short Stories 