Tag: Story

Posted in Random Thoughts

The Far Door: Part 2

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is second installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and other short stories. You can find the first part here: The Far Door: Part 1.

**Wednesday**

**Thursday**

**Friday**

For three days, I have avoided looking at the door. The absence of a metal latch and lock on the far door is putting me on the edge. The wooden latch just didn’t cut it. I keep reminding myself that the rooms are probably just full of old furniture. On weekdays, it is easier; I am out for work all day, returning only to eat and sleep. But on the Friday morning, I hear whispered voices on the other side of the door. Not sure what are they saying, but there are many.

Franc’s warning comes to my mind, “Just don’t open the latch to the door.” Does he know about the voices too?

I haven’t made up my mind about selling or sharing the key, but I have to make this place safe while I am here. So, I call a locksmith that evening to fit the new metal latch—a thick copper one to match the interiors, of course. He pulls out the wooden bolts holding the wooden latch and replaces the set with copper latch and bolts. He pushes and pulls at the door several times in the process, which should have opened the door and broken my promise to Franc. But the door doesn’t budge. It seems to be locked from the inside as well. How is that even possible if no one is on the other side?

Pushing aside the thought, I pay the locksmith. And then, I hang a huge copper lock from the new latch. Technically, I haven’t done anything wrong since I haven’t opened the door.

I can finally breathe easy. No one can force their way in now, or so I hope.

**Saturday**

I don my apron and wash the vegetables to prepare breakfast. I am about to sit down to cut them, but I can’t find my knife. The knife I had brought with me isn’t in the copper stand in the kitchen; neither is it in the sink nor dustbin. In fact, all the stainless‑steel cutlery I had brought with me is missing. I look at the far door accusingly; the metal latch and lock are still in place. I will have to go to market to buy a cutlery set today. How can an entire cutlery set go missing overnight? The thought is unsettling. It is even more difficult to sleep that night.

**Sunday**

Some of the silverware my grandmother bequeathed me is missing. I rummage the place—the drawers, wardrobes, the space under the sink…

Something on the floor glints back at me; a silver spoon…

…or what is left of it! Someone has bitten off half the head. I can see the toothmark on the bitten edge.

The far door is still locked.

I am hyperventilating now. I run down the stairs and out in the yard. It feels better to be out in the sunlight. A couple of old women stand there, smiling and talking. Deciding some small talk will sooth my nerves, I approach them. One of them looks up and her eyes turn hostile, daring me to speak. I want to turn back and leave but the other lady smiles, “Hi! You must be our new neighbour! How are you finding the place?”

I want to tell the truth, but politeness takes over, “It’s nice.”

“Have you met Franc yet? He said that he will speak to you about buying your portion.”

“Yes. I’m still considering the offer.”

The hostile lady hisses from between clenched teeth, “You would have taken the offer and run with it if you knew what’s good for you. That poor lad has enough on his plate already—His senile grandpa who sleepwalks and two little kids, while his wife dumped them all for another man. He just went to Gorgon for a month to bury his parents, and you locked him out of his house! Now his grandpa is stuck inside a room for the fear of making a spectacle of himself and his children can’t go to school because we are unable to look after his grandpa. Franc can’t cook for them since he has no kitchen, and he can’t return from office until late in the night because he can’t be seen f—,” She bites her lower lip as if she had gone a little too far.

I am too horrified to dwell over that, “Are you implying his family was living here when I moved in; that he was out just for a month? The agent never told me!”

Her voice softens a bit, “Well, you wouldn’t have bought the house then, would you? I bet, he must have given you a really low price too.”

The other lady pitches in, “Franc’s grandpa is a co‑owner along with Marc. It is Marc’s portion you have bought. They were childhood friends, and their families lived together. Since Marc and Lily had no children, he had intended to bequeath the rest of the house to Franc. But before he could create the will, he died in a car crash along with Franc’s parents. While Franc went to Gorgon to bury them all, Lily’s nephew who had received Marc’s estate asked an agent to sell everything. He never cared enough to come here and look at the place where his uncle and aunt spent their entire lives. And why would he? Lily’s family never accepted her marriage with Marc. They were ashamed of him being a g—” She too stops mid‑sentence, probably realising she is offering me Franc’s personal information.

“That’s horrible! I kicked his entire family out without even knowing it. Can you please ask Franc to come home and meet me this evening?”

*****

I can barely wait for Franc, sitting as close to the main door as possible in case I have to run out again…

In case the monster returns…

Author’s note: To be continued…

Let me know if you wish to read the next part, or you can simply download the free PDF version of the book from here: Books by Shaily

Posted in Random Thoughts

The Far Door: Part 1

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is first installment of a short story from my latest book: The Bracelet and the other short stories. Let me know if you wish to read the next part.

I have been itching to get away from the independent house I received in divorce settlement from my abusive ex‑husband. To someone else, a house just outside the city with a porch and surrounded by fruit trees would be a dream come true. For me, it is a constant reminder of the scars on my body and soul. A fresh start is all that I am looking for.

When the property agent sent me pictures online, I instantly fell in love with this one‑bedroom half-a flat in the middle of a busy city. As I walk into the building with my luggage, I feel like a princess. The grand, five‑story building is designed like a medieval palace with ornate galleries, cream walls and copper fittings. My flat is on the third storey—way up from the ground, ensuring my ex‑husband can’t get in through the windows. He hasn’t tried anything since I got the restraining orders, but I can never be too sure.

The huge door of the flat opens into a grand main hall with French windows and a sunlit balcony. A wide gallery on the side leads to the bedroom and an attached bathroom on one side and, on the other side, an open kitchen my mother would envy. The fully furnished flat comes with antique wooden furniture and copper utensils, cooker and gas stove that complete the medieval look. It even has copper plates and cutlery. Overall, it reminds me of ancient castles, fairy tales and princesses. All it lacks is a knight in shining armour.

There is another huge door on the far side. It is barred with a wooden latch. According to the agent, there are three more bedrooms and a couple of bathrooms behind that door, but they are not a part of the deal. Giddy with happiness at how cheap the charming flat comes, I don’t give it the thought I should have.

**Tuesday**

It is two days since I moved in, and I am already regretting my decision. I have just returned from office and found an olive‑skinned hulk in a black blazer waiting at the door. He introduces himself stiffly, “Hi! I’m Franc, the owner of the other half of the flat. I’d like to buy your portion.” Without waiting for a response, he opens his bag and pulls out several bundles of banknotes.

The amount is huge, enough for me to buy a bigger and even better place but the attitude puts me off. I am done being bullied, “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

His following smile is steely and forced, “Ah! In that case, you need to give me a spare key to your main door. I hope you know that it is the only way to reach my portion and I have the right of way.”

I curse myself for not seeing it coming, “But I can’t hand over my house key to a stranger!”

“You should have thought that before you bought the property.”

“Look! Let’s be reasonable. I am a single woman. I can’t let you have free access to my house.”

“You have two weeks. Either sell your portion to me or give me the other key. And while you are here, you must never open the latch leading to my property.”

“Of course, I won’t trespass your property. I am not a thief.”

He drops a bit of attitude at those words, “I didn’t mean it that way. I just…Just don’t open the latch of that door.” With those words, he leaves me. His words and the pleading tone make me curious. He clearly doesn’t think I am a thief, but what does he think would happen if I open the far door? Would I dust off some of the antique cobwebs? Or would some of the mice escape?

Well, there certainly are mice in his portion—tonight, I can hear faint noises coming from the other side of the door. Well, as long as they stay in his portion, they are not my concern. Surely, it can’t be anything else; the rooms have no other door leading outside, and it is the third floor so no one can enter from the windows.

But still, I feel unsettled and unsafe. The smallest sound gives me goosebumps. I am unable to sleep until the wee hours in the morning.

Author’s note: To be continued…

Posted in Life and After, Love

7D

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This story is part of my upcoming book: 7D: Tales from the Future. You can download my other books for free from here: Books by Shaily

The sun is warm on my skin and the air smells of pine and heather. Yume’s dark eyes gaze into mine mesmerizing me as he guides me by the elbow and urges me to touch the blue bird sitting next to the gurgling spring. Her glowing blue feathers call to me. There is a song in the wind with no words—only the music of the bubbling spring, singing birds and chirping grasshoppers. The dream like scene holds me still.

Yume is still touching my elbow; still looking at me with those dark eyes. I shiver as butterflies take flight in my belly. Half afraid that the blue bird would fly away shattering the magic of the moment, I touch her wings. She quivers but does not leave me. Her feathers under my fingers are buttery soft. Her two yellow friends sit alongside her unaffected by my intrusion. One of them is drinking water from the spring; the other one is singing in a voice that would remain with me forever.

With his perfect pointed nose, Yume resembles the birds: calm and serene. For a moment, I wonder if his team has used him as the model for these birds. The dark expressive eyes are certainly his. I am better off not knowing though if I want to keep reliving this otherworldly experience. I know it is just an illusion—a seven dimensional (7D) piece of visual art that allows me to see in three dimensions as well as hear, smell, taste and touch—but still…

It is a product of responsive technology powered by Artificial Intelligence, which means that when I interact with any element, it responds intelligently. My act of breathing is met with the smell of pine forest; the blue bird quivers upon my touch; and the water splashes against my hand, tongue and throat—wet without actual water—as I drink from the spring.

The best part is that there is no need for special glasses or equipment to run it—just a touch-powered, self-fitting ring with a button that Seiko is wearing on his little finger. Once you wear it and switch the button on, it activates adding certain elements to your surroundings, creating the illusion. This piece is an immersive one that has turned my entire room into my personal heaven.

Yume smiles at me knowingly. I will owe him forever for this moment.

Seiko touches one of the two rings on his finger. The scene pixilates and melts in the air bringing my office into view, and I sigh as I return to reality. Seiko is amused, “Engages all senses, doesn’t it?”

I nod wordlessly. Before I had experienced it, I was a little unsure of the sellability of the technology—it will be extremely expensive in the initial years due to the research and development cost, close to a vacation on a space station. So, I had wondered if people would be interested in buying it when they can have the same experience by traveling.
But now, I am converted. I would never have been able to touch a live bird in a natural setting.

And then, there is Yume still touching my elbow, which makes it difficult to think clearly. He has a way of making my legs jelly. Honestly, I would never approve of such a crazy fascination. I have never been so taken by any other man. Once a talk show host had asked me what it would take to tame the tigress and I had told her the vision of my perfect man: the perfect gentleman, strong with ideas, gentle in conduct, intelligent, capable of witty conversations, and not overbearing or jealous. I had also told her that I was sure he did not exist.

But then, Seiko and Yume had approached me at a Visual Arts conference last month. With his quick wit, amazing knowledge and impeccable manners, I was instantly drawn to Yume. Add to that the way he looks at me—like I am the only woman in the world—appreciates me for all the right things and the way his hand lingers in mine a second longer than necessary for a handshake, he had me purring like a kitten ever since.

But we are never alone. Seiko is always there. Both of them are always talking about this breakthrough in 7D technology—how their company has been looking for an investor to commercialise it. I have invested enough times in visual technologies to know that this one will be an instant success.

Right now, they are both looking at me expectantly for an answer. They know they have won already. Seiko queries, “So, will you invest in our organisation to commercialise the 7D techonology?”

“I’m afraid not,” I say, much to my regret.

Seiko looks crest fallen, but Yume is not even ruffled, “No? Not even after what you have experienced? It can allow the best kind of travel—no car, no gas, no walking, no insects and no sleeping outdoors in rain. Just switch on a button and you are there, living the moment like a real thing! It can also provide lonely people with a personal companion who would talk to them, empathise with them and convert into whatever they want them to be—parent, best friend, lover… I know you believe in it too.”

I know I must take a stand, even if I don’t like it. “Yes, and that is because the technology is far too believable. Once you are in, there is no way to tell that it is an illusion and not reality.”

“And that is a problem?” he asks with my favourite lopsided smile.

I suck in some air and try to remember why I was opposing him, “Yes. It is like drugs—something that takes people away from real life. Once they buy it, they will become useless, unable to leave all the dreams that have come true. It can be easily used to gaslight people—make them believe in the things and people that don’t exist and the events that never happened. They will never be able to tell the difference since it engages all the senses. It is like selling Schizophrenia.”

His face was close, eyes smouldering, “You can trust us. We will never allow misuse of the technology.”

I feel my resolve weakening but I must try, “I trust you and Seiko. But once other people realise what is possible, they are sure to find a way to do it—by buying your people, by spying on your secrets or by simply experimenting. And once the competition begins customising the visuals, not all of them would care whether it is ethical or not. We will not be able to control who sells it and how it is used. It happens all the time with technology. You bring in a new thing and people begin misusing it. But the kind of impact 7D technology can cause on people’s psyche would be too great a risk. I can’t have that on my conscience. If your organisation could reduce even just one dimension to ensure it was not so lifelike…” Even as I say it, I know how much I will regret suggesting it.

Yume’s face falls. He leans forward in his seat. His eyes are pained now, his face still closer, “I thought I could trust you to take the leap of faith. You want it too—I can see it in your eyes. Our team has worked for years perfecting the technology. It is the sole reason I exist. Take it away from me and I will perish. And I thought you liked having me around?”

His eyes are holding mine captive and I can feel his breath on my face—he smells like mint—heady, sharp and sweet. I can hardly remember there is one more person in the room. Like a mouse trapped in snake’s gaze, I can’t speak, so I just nod my head.
He takes my hand to his lips and plants a lingering kiss that holds promises for future. He never kissed me before. Still holding my gaze, he smiles, “See, I knew you would stand by my side. Will you sign the documentation now? We can then celebrate this evening, just you and me?”

Just him and me…

I have dreamt of it so many times…

Hypnotised, I nod again. Seiko mails me a contract right away.

All the details of the contract are fleshed out in perfection. I am agreeing to invest an unbelievable amount of money in his organisation. The organisation will request patenting of the technology and buy the state of the art equipment and software licenses to create the 7D illusions at a commercial level. My payback will begin once they start selling—half the profits. I am not sure if I am really reading the contract as Yume’s fingers draw lazy circles inside the palm of my left hand.

My breathing hitches as I sign the contract digitally with my other hand.

Seiko rises and shakes my hand. He takes off the second ring from his finger and puts it on the desk, “Consider it a gift.” The gesture is so sudden and unbelievable, I take a few seconds to respond and the touch powered illusion that is Yume starts flickering.

I quickly wear the ring. Yume is mine forever.

Consequences be damned!

Posted in Reblog

Reblog: Sajadah di Pundak Lelaki Senja

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Note from Shaily: Here is a piece in Indonesian by a co-blogger, Sunarno. Even though I don’t know that language, I am a fan because the Google translation of his pieces take me to a world made purely of feelings.

Here is the link to the original post: Link

And here is the Google Translation of his piece (I can’t vouch for accuracy of translation but assure you reading it will be worth it.).

Prayer mat on the shoulders of the Dusk Man

The market has shed its frenzy. The old man walked slowly, prayer mat hanging over his shoulders like an unhurried promise. The call to prayer has not yet sounded, but the time has shifted from bargaining to contemplation. The lowing of cattle was the only sound that lingered, filling the space left by conversation and ambition.

The ground was still wet with footprints and dirt that hadn’t been swept away, like a wound that had been left to dry on its own. No one is in a hurry to clean up, because here, chaos is part of everyday life, and everyday life is part of unfinished prayers.

And the man stopped for a moment at the edge of the prayer room, looking at the sky which was slowly turning orange. The prayer mat on his shoulders is not just a piece of cloth, but a path home that he carries wherever he goes. Behind the wrinkles on his face, there is a history of the market, a history of rice fields, a history of loss that he never talks about. Twilight embraced him silently, as if to say: prayer doesn’t need to be rushed, because every remaining second is an opportunity to return.

Posted in Life and After

Glide

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I don’t like this whole gliding thing.

It makes me nauseous–

not that I can get sick, mind.

But that’s beside the point.

I have been at it for so many days–

I would rather put my foot down

once and for all–

not that I can do that too.

It is the cost of freedom I pay.

My eyes roam to the horizon,

dizzy already–not that I can fall.

I wonder if I can start wandering now.

No one told me the rules.

My feet itch to move…

well, not literally,

but you know what I mean.

No one told me no.

Used to being told what to do,

the freedom to decide scares me.

My heart soars and dips at the thought

of leaving it all behind.

I think I’ll take baby steps…

Ugh! Not literally, I mean.

I turn to look back at me one last time.

Chest heaving on the bed

with the effort of keeping it all together.

Yes, I think I’d rather leave.

Posted in Life and After

The Loop

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Did she use this particular song before? It sounds vaguely familiar…

It is so confusing when you have to shoot the video at the perfect angle and in perfect light and add a song to every reel you upload. And make sure you don’t repeat yourself. What if this song was already in one of her reels? She has been posting for good three years now, so it is difficult to remember.

It is midnight. She should probably stop this and go to sleep. But she can’t–she doesn’t have anything to post tomorrow on Insta, and if she doesn’t, her followers will be disappointed.

Or will they be? She hasn’t been getting as much response on her site as she used to–less likes, even lesser comments. Why, when she added her reels of their trip to Goa, her particular video of her close up shot in micro-mini did not get much response–just 23 likes and a couple of comments with oohs and aahs! Nothing on her beauty or amazing body…

Is she getting fat? She must be with all the calories she been intaking…

She looks accusingly at her kale–it hasn’t made much difference in the past couple of months. Her weight has stayed at 47 kg since forever. She looks accusingly at her husband who declined to bring her a weight-reduction formula, calling her crazy for wanting to reduce weight further.

What does he know about social trends? You have to be fit to draw the eyes. And he has a paunch under his night shirt, which is rising and falling as he snores softly.

Loser!

She looks back at her phone. She was tired. It is so much work when you have to hold the camera and make it look like it isn’t you who is making the video; like it is your husband or admirer who can’t stop filming you…

It would be so much easier if her husband agreed to make the videos for her.

Honestly, she doesn’t demand much–just a good location, some good clothes and twenty something pictures to make a reel or, may be, a few short videos. But he is more interested in taking in the sights and enjoying with their child rather than holding the camera for her.

Ugh! She wants to throw the phone at him right now, but, if it cracks, her three-hour work will be wasted. She has filmed herself at the local pool, hair spread out in water perfectly. It took several shots and a couple of hours to get the right shot since her hair was floating in weird directions.

She will post it before risking losing it.

So, what song was it again? Yeah, it sounds vaguely familiar…

Posted in Life and After, Nature

Breaking the Ice

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

For months, she hadn’t been stirred.

Suddenly, the ice broke with the unexpected weight and she screamed for help. Melting with the sun as spring approached was something a part of frozen river would accepted as fate. She would have lived a complete life by then. But breaking down early because someone mercilessly stepped on her weakness…that hurt.

So, she screamed for help. But all of them were on their own now as more cracks kept appearing–the stag that had stepped on her continued jumping neatly on the now-broken ice and crossed the river.

The river was now a jumble of fast moving pieces of ice running forward to meet the sea.

Most of them were simply resigned. She struggled against the flow, trying to return to her calm and composed existence, but there was nothing to hold on to.

Her fight was desperate and fruitless. Her screams were drowned in the gurgle of the river just like the few woohoos from others…

Woohoos?!

She turned around and saw another part of the river, clearly enjoying the ride. He had always been far away, closer to the bank. But now he was pushing her, shining with a twinkle. His playful smile dared her to try beating him at the game.

She pushed back and he laughed, pushing her again, tickling where they touched. Soon, they were both laughing as they pushed and touched and tickled and woohoo-ed down the river.

Not sure how far they reached before they melted but they certainly never stopped to notice.

Posted in Love

Matters of Heart: Act 8

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

P was the most popular girl in the class. Boys were often falling over themselves to impress her while she basked in the light of their attention. Face shining, open laughter, plucked eyebrows at 15, I was awestruck by how she carried herself confidently among our classmates. When she sat on the desk to talk to me between classes, she looked like the queen of hearts, while I was a Knave, complete with a light dusting of a mustache.

Not that minded it. (I mean, I didn’t mind her being the queen. I did mind the mustache and removed it later that year.)

Inspite of being popular, she was pretty nice and happy to help. Her grades weren’t impressive, but she managed to scrape through High School somehow. In fact, she got her Bachelor of Arts degree too later.

She was one of my closest friends at that time and my mother often worried that her influence might derail me.

I wouldn’t say so. I had quite a few other things derailing me those days. Maths had never been my best friend. But ever since Algebra was introduced, I was struggling. Once I joined this school mid-semester, Trigonometry joined the ranks, and I gave up completely. History I could trudge through but, with an ever-absent teacher, Civics, Geography and Economics were quickly turning into mystery. Biology I understood but Physics and Chemistry were beyond comprehension. So, I solely concentrated on languages that did not give me hives. It meant that while I would pass English, Hindi and Sanskrit with merit and an A in Drawing, I would probably fail in all the other subjects, ending any future ambitions that I might have.

But, as I said, it wasn’t P’s fault. She had similar worries herself about studies, but she wasn’t a worrywart like me.

In fact, nothing seemed to worry her at all…except once, when she told me that one of our male classmates now had a caller ID on their home phone. I wondered why it should worry her. Later, she told me that his mother has explicitly told her not to try calling him again. I wondered why his mother would say that.

But as I said, generally, nothing really seemed to worry her.

Honestly, I liked her for what she was. While she wasn’t particularly attentive in studies, she was a well of information on some topics that seemed to miss my attention.

P had introduced me to blank calls. A couple of years into our friendship, she made a blank call to my brother (on whom she had a mighty crush) right in front of me. I was completely in awe now. Honestly, I would never blank-call my brother–he had learnt Marshall Arts and could break a brick with a single flick of hand. I had held that brick he broke, so I knew not to annoy him while living in the same house. So, I warned P, considering she visited my house pretty often. But she assured me that she has been making those blank calls for an year now, and my brother had always been polite.

As I said, nothing seemed to faze her.

From her, I found out about an infamous park where willing boys and girls went to make-out, as she rebuked one of our other friends for going there with her boyfriend and kissing him on first date. “What else would you expect if you go meeting someone in such a place? First, you should have gone for a lunch at—” Apparently, the park was also notorious for Police raids because of obscenity in public areas. Though I never visited it due to want of company, it was a good-to-know information as places to avoid in future.

A well of information, as I said earlier.

P also had a better aerial connectivity than me and seemed to know when boys were interested in her. She once told me how some boys seemed to follow her everywhere she went. I wondered if she was delusional until I saw it with my own eyes.

This particular incident stands out to me. One day, the two of us had gone to watch a movie. The plan was that two more female classmates would join us there directly and we would all leave together for home in evening. But they ditched us, and we arrived alone. It wasn’t much of a worry because it was a day show. Also, in small-town India, the cinema hall (and everything else) was within city limits on rather crowded streets.

We left the hall around six in the evening. It was still light outside. We took a rickshaw home. Soon, she told me, “Don’t look back but a bike is following us.”

Being the worrywart, I wanted to look back but I couldn’t now since I have been expressly forbidden. It could be someone I know but I was scared that it wasn’t. Suddenly, I saw a PCO (A public phone booth that survived solely by feeding on the fears of anxious females and new lovers; declared extinct due to the invasive species of mobile phones).

“Let’s call my brother.”

Checking her hair in her hand-held mirror, “Naah! Don’t worry. They are harmless.”

“How do you know?”

“The guy who is driving has been following me around quite frequently. Always on his bike. Never does anything!”

I didn’t understand. If a stranger had been following me on bike quite frequently, I would have called the Police. P was merely amused.

“But what if he means to hurt you?”

“You don’t know their kind. He is just trying to get my attention.”

Now I was curious, “But if he is behind you, how will he get your attention unless he calls your name, which he isn’t doing? Does he even know your name anyway? Shouldn’t he probably try coming in front and talking?”

P rolled her eyes. As if answering my question, the bike revved and shot from our left and overtook us like a bullet in the narrow street. And then, suddenly, it became very slow, almost idling. The riders let our rickshaw overtake them at a snail’s pace.

“See, attention-seeking behaviour…”

I was unused to such stupidity, never having encountered such a species before (or maybe I just missed it due to aerial issues). I wondered if they knew normal speech like us lesser humans. “Are you sure they won’t crash in our rickshaw at some point? This is quite a narrow road. If their bike so much as touches our rickshaw on that speed, it will overturn.”

“You are hilarious, you know!”

The bike revved again and overtook us. Some people on the road in the direct hitting range jumped to the sides to take cover. It happened two more times and I wondered why no one was calling the Police.

We almost reached the corner where we would take the turn. It looked pretty wide from where we were, but I had been on the road on bicycle before and knew what lay ahead. The engine revved again. “They aren’t planning to overtake us here?”

“Of course, that’s their grand finale before they make their exit.”

“Are they foreigners? Don’t they know what’s around the corner?”

“Are you worried about them now?”

I took a second to decide, “Yes. But I will not carry them to hospital. I have homework.”

We had almost reached the corner now.

The engine revved again, and it was too late to stop them anyway. The bike overtook us at the highest speed it could muster. It took a wider cut to avoid our rickshaw, which was now turning the corner too.

I could see the bike drivers’ eyes go wide as it entered the huge nullah (a large open drain) with a resounding splash!

For a second, I was worried they had died. But then, two black, lumpy, smelly ghosts were rising out of the nullah, staggering with the weight of muck and impact on their bones, helping each other stand.

I could hear peals of laughter and realised they were coming from the both of us. Both P and I laughed all the way home.

Henceforth, this particular pair never followed P again and this event marked the end of this tale of unrequited love, cut short severely due to the local Municiple Committee’s failure of cover the nullah. Since the drain remained open for several coming years, I wonder how many other boys without the skill of human speech lost potential opportunities at love.

I also wonder whether these boys forever resorted to the language of engine revving or if they ever learnt human speech, like, “Hi, my name is XYZ. Would you like to come on a date with me?”

But what would I, who never had a boyfriend, know about the matters of heart?

🤣🤣🤣

Posted in Love

Matters of Heart: Act 7

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

As discussed in the previous Matters of Heart post, my close friend X was having difficulty in decoding the language of Indian love. Of course, you need to learn Morse code to understand the language that relies completely on reading body language and crooked pick-up lines. (“What a wonderful weather for a long drive!” means “Will you join me for a long drive and go to places unknown so your family can’t catch us snuggling?”)

So, even after I happily supplied the explanation (a rare accomplishment), she remained incredulous. She was sure that if Y has wanted to take her out on a date, he would have said so. He didn’t need to resort to this round-about way of showing interest in me first.

I could only sigh!

One day, she came to college in a really foul mood. Apparently, Y had told Z (another male friend) that she was engaged. He had been very detailed about the ceremony and Z was sold on the idea. Z had then told his aunt who knew X and she called on her family phone to congratulate her.

Since family phone offers no privacy, she was having a difficult time in keeping it from her parents. If they found about this prank, they will obviously ask the most obvious question: Who are Y and Z and how come she is friends with them and their relatives without telling her parents?

You see, in small-town India of early 2000, no girl spoke to a boy without parental supervision. X had just struck a friendship during extra-classes in a co-ed institute and kept it under wraps to avoid any parental obstruction. It was a regular practice in those days. No girl in her right senses would talk to her parents of all the boys she was acquainted with.

Boys, however, could boast about all the girls they had befriended (or claimed to befriend). No pointed questions were asked from the male counterparts. Girls, however, were usually grounded.

Now that the conversation had happened on the family phone (no mobile phone in those days), she had to lay it very thick to avoid detection. Pointed questions were asked. Her standard answer–“a friend (obviously female) called”–was not sufficient. She had to go through the details of the call ensuring that all her facial reactions on the call matched the explanation without revealing the truth. Not satisfied because the conversation was whispered but finding no reason for open hostility, the parents had dropped the matter. Obviously, the next few days would involve close scrutiny.

While it was uncomfortable, X was mainly upset because of the loss of trust. She was clueless why Y would lie about her. She wanted to confront him. But she had to play the good girl and go home on time after college to avoid any further issues.

I offered an insight yet again based on my previous assessment–“Y was deleting competition. Once Z heard of the engagement, (having no way to contact X to confirm the news because he would obviously not call X on home phone), he would have bowed out. But, Y had not counted on relatives being involved.”

X was not satisfied with my assessment because it now implicated two male friends–Y and Z– and suggested that they “liked” her.

But she had run out of all possible excuses for Y’s odd behaviour. Unfortunately for Y, no matter what his reasons were, X now wanted revenge. She was angry enough to take my advice and I let my inner vamp take over.

A couple of weeks later, X came to college wearing a heavy gold ring on her ring finger that belonged to her mother. Two of us went to meet Y after college hours. She was still unsure how it would act as revenge (engagements were usually happy events) but I insisted her to try. There were no relatives involved at Y’s front so there was nothing to lose.

Once there, she declared she was engaged–that her parents had found her the most amazing husband and marriage is due in three months. (To learn how the process of finding a husband for a daughter works, please look at I do: The Indian Way series.)

To make the charade more believable, we carried a box of chocolates as a “gift from her fiance’ ” and offered him a piece as celebratory sweets. We discussed a whole lot of believable lies coming from my experience from my cousin’s recent engagement–the families being in touch discussing the matter for a long time, the sudden visit of boy’s family, quick arrangements and engagement on spot.

We also gave him the details of the amazing ‘boy’–looks based on my brother and education, job, family and other details of my cousin…

For a Home run, I thanked him for the joke from earlier, and assured him that his words had acted as a prayer and have landed X with a such a wonderful future.

As expected, Y congratulated X and we took his leave to “further spread the news”. I am usually not a sadist. But as I sat in the auto for home, I laughed all the way eating the “celebratory chocolates”.

Later that day Z, who was already in on the plan, informed X that the news had hit home and Y had called him to tell him about the “real” engagement; that he had consoled him with the standard “it was bound to happen someday” statement; and that Y had assured him that “he was usually quite happy these days” with a tone akin of a funeral.

Z didn’t tell him the truth for a month. Considering they were best friends and spoke every day, I would say, it was needlessly cruel…

But what would I, who never had boyfriend, know about the matters of heart?

🤣🤣🤣

Picture by Kelly Sikkema

Posted in Love

Matters of Heart: Act 6

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: My Matters of Heart series is about Indian dating culture and my failsafe ways of dealing with it. This is the sixth part. To look for the rest, just search for Matters of Heart in the Search box.

India may be the land of many languages but regarding the matters of heart, it is pretty much the same–vague! At least, small town India in my teens was like that. You needed to learn Morse code to be able to receive a signal.

That could be because if a guy didn’t hit the mark with 100% accuracy at the correct time and in the correct place and correct company, he might spend the rest of the month in a hospital ward with both hands and legs, and skull in bandages–if he was lucky!

If he was unlucky, he might land up in jail for eve-teasing, harrassment and obscene behaviour in public, or even end up starting a full-scales riot spread across several Indian states–especially if it was a Hindu-Muslim union he was looking for.

As I had mentioned in one of my earlier posts, until the age of 20, I never got a proposal. But honestly, I probably never recognised an attempt to propose. Many of such incidents were due to the vague language signals, which relied solely on reading body language and breaking code words (such as, “I am going for a movie alone.” means “Do you want to come for a movie with me?”).

Considering that I am rather thick in that department, it took me several years of quiet contemplation to understand the full meaning of a lot of these conversations.

Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one. My friends were equally befuddled. Most being bookish-nerdy-artist variety girls, they all had similar unyielding conversations. Surprisingly enough, I was sometimes able to break the code for them (but never for myself). Unfortunately, my decoding style used to put their hackles up and they would start avoiding the guy making the moves.

So I had a close friend (let’s call her X). Once one of her close friends (let’s call him Y to rhyme with a “guy”) told her that he “liked” me. Now, in those days, “liking” in India was the code word for “kind of crazy about and wish to take on a date”. Note that I had met him only once for 15 minutes in an office setting. When X expressed her surprise, he added, “Yeah, there should be somebody to drive around on my new bike!” And then, when she offered to pass the message to me, he said, “No! No! Promise me you won’t tell her I said that.”

So obviously, X told me. It is the girl’s code to share everything that is expressly forbidden.

Technically, this was the first non-proposal I had received, or I should say the first time a guy had clearly shown any interest in me. It didn’t get me interested. It got me curious. I had to dissect this conversation to see where it came from and where it was going.

Because the three statements together did not make sense: while it is natural to “like” someone and want company on a new bike, you need to tell the concerned person to get that company. Why expressly forbid?

Also if I was a guy, I would never want someone like me just to drive around on a new bike. Men LOVE bikes. They are their equivalent of a lover. (I have a colleague who has the name of his bike tattooed on his arm.) So, if they want a girl for a new bike, that girl will have to be a new-bike equivalent: shiny and polished-to-hilt girl with red glossy lips, eyelashes that are thick enough to be braided, plucked eyebrows, manicured fingers and pedicured feet, and fitted in a dress that shows it all.

A girl who new knew make-up and is a walking ad for “Just Books” wouldn’t fit into the image of the “bike” girl. Besides, I owned a new scooter and would never ask a lift from anyone anyway. So, the statements were not making sense.

Naturally, I wanted to ask Y directly to save me the decoding effort. But X told me that it would look like a breach of confidence to him. And I would move mountains for X. So, I had to solve this mystery on my own, trying to join the dots but always coming back in circles.

What did Y mean by…

Could he seriously consider sharing his new bike with me? I mean, I could take it for a drive…not with him in the back though…

What if he didn’t mean it and was just saying for the sake of conversation…a very dangerous conversation with a potential of public beating?

And why would he bluff to X?

Then inspiration hit–Dil Toh Pagal Hai (One of Shahrukh Khan’s movie–the god of Romance in India)!

Y was testing waters. He was checking X’s reaction to see if she would be jealous, like Anjali in Dil Toh Pagal Hai when she saw her best friend show interest in another girl?

If he was actually meaning to ask her out, he would draw her attention to his intention of getting a girl (and to the fact he had acquired a new bike). Since she was a close friend, it would switch on her jealous-friend track and (considering she wore her heart on her sleeve) it would show on her face.

But the plan backfired because X was truly disinterested. She offered to pass on the message, leaving him scared that I might walk in with my brother and he would have to be admitted in a hospital for broken bones (if he was lucky!).

I offered this explanation to X, telling her that she had a secret admirer who was wondering if he should ask her out. But she was as thick as me, “Naah, if that’s the case, he could have simply asked me.”

Yeah, right!