Posted in Fiction, Tiny stories

Vulnerable

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

The vulnerability is eating at me.

I had spent years building this tree trunk around myself, until what was supposed to clothe me became a fortress. The trunk was thick and unbending. I was safe from prying eyes.

It was lonely but it seemed worthwhile.

I was free to wield my magic however I wanted. No one could criticise me. No one remembered it was me. I was safe. Comfortable.

The world outside went on without me until they had all but forgotten me. I would make Spring, I would call on Summer and Autumn, I would call on new leaves once Winter was over. Over and over and over…

There was nothing to look forward to.

When the storm this morning broke my tree, suddenly, the entire forest was looking at me with curiosity, wondering what to make of me–trees, birds, squirrels and predators alike.

Once again, I was bare…open to everyone’s scrutiny–raw and vulnerable.

I was finally free.

This is a photo-prompt story. Thank you Mohammad Gh for the amazing picture (available on Unsplash.com).

Posted in Blogging, Book Review, Random Thoughts

Dinner with Wizard Howl

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal
Daily writing prompt
If you could have dinner with any fictional character, who would it be?
View all responses

Wizard Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle (The book version)

It would be a dream to have dinner with Wizard Howl, more so because he is impossible to catch.

His Moving Castle ensures he is never in the same place. Also, nobody knows who he really is, switching between identities: Wizard Howl in Market Chipping, Wizard Pendragon in Kingsbury, Jenkins the Sorcerer in Porthaven and Howell Jenkins in Wales.

I love his character because it has so many layers. He is not your usual hero.

Everyone is scared stiff just by hearing his name. He is the most powerful wizard of his times with a fire demon to boot. He owns a scary moving castle and is known to “eat souls of pretty girls”. He is a manipulative arrogant showoff with tantrums that shake the city.

Mostly, he is a coward, hiding behind negative publicity and many identities.

But he is soft at heart, taking in strays like Calcifer, Michael and Sophie, despite the personal cost, buying them expensive clothes while only owning two dresses himself. He worries about Michael and Calcifer and tries to help Sophie even though she is being as charming as an old crone, taking out her frustration and anger on everyone around her. Even his sister is awful to him and yet he visits her to meet his nephew and niece and be close to the only family he has.

He is also trying to fall in love, knowing there is no hope since he is heartless.

He is a super wizard who plays football for college, drinks too much when scared and, yet, never moves the burden on the shoulders of those he loves. He carries it alone.

He is my type of hero!

Posted in Fiction, Tiny stories

In the Moment

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I’m still groggy from sleep. If it’s a complimentary drink from the hotel, what is it doing in my bed? With a flower and without a tray? Right next to my phone?

Is it room service? But how come they didn’t knock at the door? And why didn’t I hear the door open?

No, it can’t be room service…

From my vantage point on the bed, I can’t see the rest of the suite. But I can hear someone’s rummaging through the drawers next door. Should I scream? What if they are carrying weapons…

I look around for my purse. I always kept a pepper spray when I went out. But the purse I see is not mine. Whose purse is this and what do they want anyway. It’s not like I’m carrying a lot of cash. Or am I?

What did I carry here?

Where is ‘here’ anyway? What am I doing in a hotel room?

Shuffling of feet has me tensed all over. I want to slink back inside my fluffy blanket, but my hands feel like they are made of lead. And they have wrinkles…

When did I get wrinkles?

A familiar wrinkled face slides into the room with a smile that takes my breath away. Yet again. The cobwebs in my mind clear.

“Happy 50th Anniversary, Honey!”

Author’s note: This is a photo-prompt story. Thank you Susan Wilkinson for the inspiring photograph (available on Unsplash).

Posted in Random Thoughts

Taking a Bucket—If You Know What I Mean

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I recently read statistics 📈 about the percentage of people taking shower 🚿 daily in European countries. It made me reconsider my own life so far. I also read about the difference between taking a bath 🛁 and a shower 🚿 . Neither of them applies to me. 😥

Like most Indians, I take a bucket 🪣.

The first time I remember seeing the Lux Beauty Soap ad with a person under the shower 🚿, applying bathing soap gracefully to her face (Yes, face—can’t even think about it now, can we?), there was only one thought in my mind, “Do they have one of those water contraptions in India? Or is she in a foreign country?” Also, the first time I saw a bathtub 🛁was also in a Beauty Soap ad and I wondered if they went overseas✈️ just for shooting inside a bathroom.

I didn’t see a bathtub 🛁 in India until I went for an overnight stay at Hotel Taj 🏨. I didn’t know how to fill it up and there was no bucket. I had to take a shower 🚿 and then wipe the whole place down because I didn’t know how to tuck in the shower curtains.

I also couldn’t skip the bath. You see, taking a “bath” in India isn’t optional. We Indians are supposed to wake up in a bathroom 🚪—or at least stumble into one as soon as we are awake—and wash ourselves from head to toe. Most months of the year, a lot of us do it twice a day, just so we wouldn’t smell like dead rats.

In the rainy season, we are tempted to do it thrice to stop feeling like we have just stepped out in the rain—a very salty rain, that is 🥵. But we don’t. Because it is pointless. By the time we dry ourselves enough to wear clothes, we are sweaty again 🥵. Also, because where would we dry all the clothes we are discarding every time? Trust me, wearing one of those again before washing is a crime against humanity 🗡️.

So, we can’t skip the “bath”. We also can’t skip family 👨‍👩‍👦‍👦👨‍👩‍👧‍👧👨‍👩‍👦‍👦👨‍👩‍👧‍👧👨‍👩‍👦‍👦👨‍👩‍👧‍👧👨‍👩‍👦‍👦.

Since most of us live in joint families with one bathroom 🚪per five to ten people, filling anything but a small bucket will empty the overhead tank and delay the other people getting ready for work–our spouse 😄, brother(s) 😄 😄, father 😄, grandfather 😄, uncle(s) 😄😄, and their female counterparts 😄😄😄😄😄😄😄. So, even though showers 🚿have entered Indian bathrooms in the past 10 or so years, old habits die hard and we end up filling a small bucket 🪣 and wash ourselves down quickly and ungracefully before someone puts their shoulder to the door 🚪 and breaks it down.

And we risk doing that every day of our life, twice a day mostly. Our life is quite adventurous that way 😎!

Well, having said all that, the point remains—if the statistician 📈 from before comes asking about shower-rate 🚿in India, we would score as low as once a year. We don’t “take a shower 🚿” every day.

We “take a bucket 🪣”!

Photo by George Lopez on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

Seen: Part 2 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

This is the second instalment of my new short story.

I am rather late due to road construction on the way. I called my date to inform him, but he never picked up. So, I left him a message, but he is yet to return the call. Is he stuck in the same traffic problem?

I slip out of the taxi and walk inside the restaurant. My date is my sister’s colleague and, according to her, just my type. I’m already scared because my type has been going wrong all these years.

I open the restaurant door and notice the rectangular frame behind the receptionist. Before I can avert my eyes to avoid what is surely a mirror, I see a black shirt and maroon tie, his face lonely and lost, like he has been waiting for quite some time. My heart squeezes and I wonder if the woman has stood him up. What woman would do that to someone as sweet as him? Even though I am relieved he isn’t being cozy with anyone, I want to smack the woman for hurting him.

Sigh! I don’t need that on my date.

I walk up to the receptionist, avoiding peeking at him and concentrating hard on the back of the receptionist’s desktop, and enquire for my date. He hasn’t arrived, nor left a message. Has he stood me up too?

Undecided, I ask for my table. The receptionist opens a door in the wall behind her and gestures at the table reserved for me.

But my eyes travel to a different table. Apparently, the “mirror” behind the reception is a see-through glass. I sit down at my assigned seat facing ‘him’. My eyes keep drifting at him.

It has been fifteen minutes since I came here. He is looking down at his wristwatch, getting impatient.

Another ten minutes pass by. He is calling someone on the phone but isn’t getting any response.

When will we ever really meet?

I realise I am focusing more on his date not showing up than mine. I twirl the spoon in my hand for something to do, assuming I will see him in the surface but all I see is my own face reflecting back!

Is it because he is right here? Or has fate decided to stop intervening? Is it the last time I see him? I wait as I chew on my thoughts.

Another ten minutes…

Time is running out. I watch him rise out of his seat, having decided to give up. I hate the defeated look on his face. I twirl the spoon in my hand to avoid looking at him. It reflects me back.

Will I ever see him again? Am I okay not seeing him ever again, considering, until lately, I always thought of him as a pest? The thought churns my stomach.

He straightens his shoulders and raises his head. Our eyes meet. I can’t help asking, “Hi, were you waiting for someone?”

I just added insult to his injury. Who wants to talk about something like this. So, this is the moment when he should huff out of the room. But he nods solemnly, “Seems like something important came up so she couldn’t make it.”

I like it that he is not acting mad or trying to put her down. Always the gentleman.

He doesn’t need this. Doesn’t deserve this.

My mouth opens without my meaning to speak, “Will you have dinner with me instead?” My voice comes out all wrong, and I realise how forward I’m being through this proposition. What would he think of me?

His eyes are wide with surprise and confusion. I clear my throat and try to look casual, “I know it’s a lot to ask. But my date is late enough to assume he stood me up and I don’t want to eat alone.”

He raises an eyebrow, second guessing if I am crazy and, if not, why I want to invite a complete stranger to dinner. The silence lasts a few seconds while he considers the offer—long enough to give me a flash back of all the years I have waited for him. My heart is running a mile a minute. For the first time in my life, I have taken the lead. If he declines, I will never be able to live it down. Should I retract the offer? Say I was just kidding?

Looking at my hands, I wrestle internally with all the excuses I can come up with to leave the place. But before I can bolt out of the door, he simply shrugs his shoulders with a smile and sits down in front of me, “Well, if you are sure! I need to eat something too, I guess. By the way, I’m—”

And so it begins.

END

Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

Seen: Part 1 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

This is the first instalment of my new short story.

As I apply make-up for my date in front of my mirror, I shrink when I see ‘him’. He is fixing his tie—maroon—on a black shirt. My heart sinks at what it could mean. Did a woman give him this tie? Is he trying to impress someone?

I don’t want to distrust him by questioning something as simple as his dressing style. It could just be a formal occasion at home; perhaps, a cousin’s engagement or marriage. Is he the best man? Will he flirt with the bride’s maid?

Well, it could be just a business meeting, but it is weekend and he is whistling.

The thought of him with another woman pinches my heart. I thought I had learnt to live my life knowing he would continue to live his life without me. Lately, we had been getting along well—me avoiding looking at him like a star-struck teenager and him staring at…

…nothing…

…since, he can’t see me on this side of the mirror.

I first saw him on my seventeenth birthday, when I wished on the birthday candles to see my true love—I know! Miserable! But I had just caught my boyfriend cheating on me and it seemed an appropriate wish at that time….until I went to wash my hands in the sink. There he was in the mirror eating popcorn while watching television! I let the matter drop for the moment, assuming I was hallucinating.

But soon I realised that my stars weren’t dropping it. After that, I could see him in every reflective surface—mirrors, puddles on the road, window panes, steel dinner plates and cutlery—whenever he was in front of a reflective surface too. That includes car’s rearview mirrors, which made me incapable of driving. Putting on make-up depended on whether he was in front of a reflective surface or not. I changed my schedule to match his. I wake up before him so that I don’t forget my own face and I avoid looking around between 7 and 7:30 while he uses bathroom.

Earlier, seeing him did not enthrall me—in fact, it irritated me no end. Who wants to see a scrawny teenager taking a shower, kissing a girl in college parking lot or smoking his first cigarette with friends? When he acquired a smart phone, all reflective surfaces would reflect him intent on phone gaming for hours and I have come to know the inside of his ear so well I could be his ENT specialist. And now that he works in front of a computer all day, I see him all day working.

So, obviously, I actively tune him out, almost like having switched on reality TV on mute but choosing not to see it for long stretches of time. There are times when I can’t help it though, like when he started growing up into a better person, helping old people on the road and pulling out chairs for ladies.

One thing I have never seen him doing, though, is cheat on a girlfriend. A few months back, I witnessed his meltdown in the shower. I think his steady girlfriend dumped him because I stopped seeing her with him after that. And then he zombie-zoned for months until a couple of weeks back when he was finally able to smile at something. This is his first “tie-day” ever since.

This incident is what did it, I’m sure. All of a sudden, I could finally see him as a person, and not just a splotch in the background. Ever since then, I have steadily degenerated into a girl crushing on a reality TV star, all without any hope of ever meeting him.

Honestly, I never waited for him. I’ve had my own set of dates and a couple of boyfriends. Now, after an year of my last painful break-up, I’m back in the dating circle. This is my fifth attempt at dating since nobody seems to click. That’s why, I don’t want to see ‘him’ kiss another girl tonight and end up comparing my date with him. So far, it has always ended up in immediate disappointment.

To be continued

Photo by Zane Lee on Unsplash

Posted in Poetry

Cluttered

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Vaguely aware of the piles of thought

Inside my autumnal head;

Smelling reminiscence rot;

Feeling a little mislead.

I am somewhat cold

On the usually warm bench;

Almost missing your arms,

Making my heart wrench.

Spring cleaning was ere long due.

Clearly, while leaving leaves behind, you

Blew them really far apart,

Scattering my heart

To the wind.

Now I’m forever cluttered,

Trapped in autumn.

Photo by Autumn Mott Rodeheaver on Unsplash

Posted in Random Thoughts

Google Play Books

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal
Daily writing prompt
What app eats up most of your screen time — and do you even feel bad about it?
View all responses

Being a Bookaholic, Google Play Books is my fix and my bane. I keep removing it from my phone when I realise I had been going too long without sleep to fit in all the books, and then reinstalling it with the promise to myself that I would read only one in a month–a promise I keep for a few months before falling back into old habits.

While reading a book never hurt anyone, my eyes complain of the long hours spent in reading,

Both my book-hater husband and my book-lover daughter hate it because it takes me away from them–my imaginary friends become their personal enemies. So, my love for Google Play Books is a balancing act I have not mastered yet.

It is my guilty pleasure, and I often feel bad about it but not enough to give it up. I just need the balance…Someday! Sigh!

What about you?

Posted in Blogging, Writing Tips

My struggle with writing Fantasy

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I like to call myself a story writer.

My style of writing stories is more intent on an individual’s perspective on the situation than the events themselves. Most of the times, the narrator is one of the main characters. I write about the narrator’s emotions and relationships as events unfold. Sometimes, there is no plot, just feelings…more like Poetry…

…which becomes my bane when writing Fantasy!

Fantasy requires building a different kind of world around us where I need to explain what things look like. But being inside a character’s head who is already part of the world, they can certainly not be surprised with the flying jellies and candy bars hanging from trees (Okay, that one could make a good story…). So, why would they even think or talk about it? It is like make an Indian talk about their visit to the streets of their town–it is their daily life; they ignore it.

Also, since my writing focuses on relationships, it is difficult to make a character think of both their world and their relationships at the same time.

Therein lies my biggest challenge.

In one of my recent Fantasy stories (The Ceremony), I was creating a society where the Queen held all the power over the King. She goes out fighting while he raised their only daughter to be the next Queen. The scene is about the day their daughter chooses her Consort that will allow the Princess to become the next Queen, pushing her father out of royal circle.

Expectations about relationships change in light of the society and, speaking from inside the characters head, I had to make it sound like facts of life and acceptable. All the facts that fit for a mother in a patriarchal society were fitting in here for the King.

I kept changing perspectives from third-person narrator to the King to the Princess to the Consort-wannbe because no one can know the whole story or what is going inside another person’s head. And the entire narrative changed with it based on his relationships with the world around him.

It was an experience learning how the same situation can feel so different to different people. And the story wasn’t long enough to justify multiple perspectives. So, I had to stop at one point and take a stand about who our narrator is. Considering it’s a Fantasy, I had to “stay in the character” and keep adding Fantasy references that would feel natural, though I did not go to Victorian language for creating dialogues (I was tempted to but it is beyond my skillset).

It was a struggle that kept me occupied for months.

What is your struggle when you write your pieces?

Posted in Fiction

The Ceremony: Part 2 of 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the second instalment of my latest short story.

My eyes follow her as she moves towards the shadows behind the throne, glancing at the throne nervously. The Royal Couple is not there. Honestly, I haven’t seen them since she danced with her father. It isn’t normal for the Royal Couple to leave the room during an event.

Is she looking for them?

Are they alright?

The warrior in me spurs in action. I follow her quietly in a room behind the throne.

She turns around and challenges me, her sword at the ready, “Why are you following me?”

“I wish to help if there is an emergency. The Royal Couple is not on the dance floor. I haven’t seen them for quite some time.”

“They are fine. You can leave.”

Her attitude puts me off. She is hiding something. “What are you hiding? Where is the Royal Couple?”

My question throws her off as she fumbles, “I’m not hiding anything. They are fine. They just—”

Her words are cut off with a feminine shriek. The voice is coming not from the hall but from the wall behind her. It urges her into action.

She speaks quickly as she quietly moves the fake wall behind her, “This is a secret tunnel which leads to a hidden inner chamber. I thought my parent went there because they didn’t want to be overheard. Now I’m not so sure.”

Swords out, we enter the tunnel and the door closes behind us, leaving us in complete darkness. The woman shrieks again—The Queen? I take off after the Princess as fast as I can without announcing our presence.

Suddenly the shrieks change to giggles, “Please don’t. Don’t. Stop it. I can’t take it anymore.”

There is a slow rumble of laughter as the Consort’s voice follows, “But you said nothing I do could make you laugh again. You lose! So, now you have to forgive me.”

The Princess is looking utterly mortified at her parent’s childishness.

“Okay!” Queen sighs, “But I still think it was wicked of you to trip the boy. Nala’s breaches were ruined.”

The Princess stiffens.

The Consort countered, “I had to! Ester wasn’t giving her a chance. He wasn’t dancing and, when I saw him slinking out, I had to act on my feet. I wanted him to see she wasn’t some pampered Princess he believes her to be.”

Are they…are they talking about me?

The queen interjected, concern lacing her voice, “Did he say that about her?”

“No. But I could see it in his face when she stepped into the room. Well, you can’t fault him for that, considering how shy she is and tries to look strong to hide her nervousness in public events? One would think she is snubbing people. So, I had to prove him wrong. I saw his face as he waited for her to blast the boy and how his jaw dropped when she went all soft on him.”

Nala shoots me a look, quickly averting her eyes like I had burned her. It is my turn to be mortified. She has understood who they are talking about.

The Queen sounds wary, “But, how can you be sure Ester is the right man for her?”

“Well, he is a decent man—doesn’t want to marry for wealth and position. As his father puts it, ‘Only love has the power to tuck away his sword…’ Only after seeing her soft side did he join the ceremonial dance, which means he likes her for the right reasons.”

“So, will you tell her to choose him?”

“No. I would prefer her to find him, like I found you all those years ago. The moment you touched my hand, I knew…”

Nala sucks a breath beside me.

The shuffling sounds make me realise where this conversation is going and I tug at her sleeve. We run out of the tunnel quietly. As we brush our clothes to straighten them in an attempt to avoid each other’s eyes, she whispers sadly, “I am not a snob, you know.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

She nods stiffly, moves quickly ahead of me and joins the festivities again as far away from me as possible. The Queen and her Consort follow us soon after, looking as if they had been here all along. No one could guess they were hiding away like teenagers just a moment back.

During the dance, I catch the Princess looking at me several times, averting her gaze quickly as if caught. Her face is impassive—the mask is on. I would give anything to make her smile at me again. As our turn to dance together is coming and my stomach is churning with anxiety, I realise I want her to choose me.

She looks a bit pink in the face herself as she faces me. We dance with swords striking with wordless grace in rhythm with the music, The quiet steel in her eyes is stabbing me over and over. We haven’t known each-other, but I feel like a traitor for judging her. I have to do something to make her forgive me. Anything to bring that smile back.

As she passes close to me, I do the most inappropriate thing a warrior can do—I tickle her with my free hand.

Her eyes open wide and I give her a devilish smile, like issuing a challenge.

I see Nala trickling through the Princess as the steel in her eyes melts into a mischievous smile.

Challenge accepted.

End