Posted in Fiction

Black

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

She was sitting next to where you lie, mother, all black, serious, and still.

I wanted to ask the traitor the same questions you would have–why she wasn’t around while you were still alive; when you needed to snuggle with her; when you cried for her all night?

But then, she had been out pursuing lord-knows-what.

Now, she finds the time to sit next to where you lie, mother, after you closed those beautiful eyes and left to pursue lord-knows-what; all teary-eyed and seeking forgiveness for neglecting you for all those lonely years; bringing fresh flowers; trying to take my place in your lap.

You could hardly blame me for scratching her face. I wish I had taken out her eyes…but they looked so much like your own.

Photo by Howell_eddie on Unsplash 

Posted in Fiction

Tease

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

The fly persisted to sit on my screen.

It made me angry.

It was free to fly away.

I wasn’t.

 

Jealous, I swatted.

It flew,

and returned to tease me—

 

I was tied

to my homestead and duties.

She wasn’t.

Posted in Fiction

The Nutcracker

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

v2osk-eIiz51cVAck-unsplash

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

Posted in Random Thoughts

150+ Followers, 250+ Stories

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I just wanted to celebrate a moment of small victories. Fish in the trees now has 150+ WordPress followers! 😁

Wooohoooooo!

I also crossed the mark of 250 stories a couple of weeks back. 😎 (My ‘poetry’ is simply ‘stories with rhytm’.)

To think that I had never written stories before, except for English language assignment, I would have considered this feat impossible 10 months back when I started this blog. 😊

It calls for a celebration. In the spirit of the worldwide lockdown, I am sharing food online (Vegetarian only). 😇

Take your pick.

🧀🍔🍟🍕🌮🌯🥙🥘🍲🥗🍿🍱

🍨🍩🎂🍰🍫🍬🍭🍧🍦🍮

Enjoy!

Posted in Fiction

The Dog and His Man

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

alex-motoc-YzOhaPkU-E8-unsplashI 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

 

Posted in Nature stories

The Mettle

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

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.

Posted in Fiction

The Precipice

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

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

Posted in Nature stories

Home

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

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’.