The little girl looked at the gingerbread house on the display through the glass walls with eyes brimming with longing. This year, she had neither a house nor bread.
Photo by Dilyara Garifullina on Unsplash
Tag: Pain
The Night Bus
I took the night bus
draped in my wedding sari,
still adorned with the jewels
my parents had scrounged for me
over the years,
breaking their tender hearts
for raising a daughter unworthy.
I sought you
and the answer to
why I wasn’t enough for you.
I hope, they wouldn’t
cremate my body
before I reach you.
Photo by @5tep5 on Unsplash
The Nutcracker
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
Scars on the Soul
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
Pencil Shavings
That day, when I sat next to you, you fidgeted in your seat, ashamed to share your space with a girl like me. You didn’t think I noticed when you rolled your eyes, looking exasperate, at the leggy birdbrain across the class.
One look at my braces and glasses, and you trashed me…like your pencil shavings.
At the End of the Rainbow
I run a rosary in my gnarled fingers at peace with my aloneness. Then I hear it–my bane, the jingle of bangles and anklets.
Vexed, I grit my teeth.
Why does she wear the abomination? Of course, I know the reason–the custom. She still has a husband.
I picture her in my mind–standing in the kitchen, face glowing after a night full of love, in a saree of red… green… yellow… It was me many years back. Now white and cream mark the end of my rainbow.
Bile rises in my throat.
She hums a song I have loved all my life–it speaks of hope and love that I once had.
I crush the rosary in a death grip.
She drops something trivial and I lose it. I shout abuses at her and curse my stars for wedding her to my son. I shout until I’m hoarse and can shout no more. I shout until she’s in tears and smiles no more.
Placated, again, I hold my rosary to look for that elusive peace. Sure there will be hell to pay later, literally. But life isn’t exactly heaven for the likes of me.
A Hushed Conversation
A hushed conversation
“Isn’t that the same tree stump we passed twice before?”
“Not sure. Can’t tell one from another in the mist.”
Silence
“Greta, should we call out father’s name?”
“Han! We have been over that before. He isn’t coming. You heard mother last night, didn’t you?”
“She was just complaining about the lack of food…”
“And too many mouths to feed!”
“Then, why didn’t they send us to the king? We could have worked as slaves or something.”
“Because then, they would have to give us food for the way and money for the ride. It beats the whole point.”
Silence
“I’m scared.”
“Me too.”
“And hungry.”
“I’m so hungry, I can smell gingerbread.”
“Me too.”
Silence
“Do you remember what old Rabbi told about the witch house made of gingerbread?”
“He’s senile.”
“I hope he’s right. I would rather be eaten than starved.”
Silence
Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
Bending Till I Fall
Along the highway,
the sprawling forest
clings to the shoulder
of the steep hill.
The tall Cedar
growing on the sides
bend all the way upwards
to hug and please,
hoping the hill wouldn’t
shrug them off
into the abyss…
so much like I do
everyday
for you.
The Witness
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.
Prayers Late at Night
We call him
Over and over again,
Sitting next to the phone,
Waiting
And praying,
And crying,
And praying again;
That he had reached home safe
And fallen deep asleep;
Or switched off his phone
After our fight last night;
Or run away
With the guy
His father is so against.
Anything’s better than
What the Police states…
They’ve found a body
In the bottom of the lake.
Short Stories 