Tag: Story

Posted in Life and After, Random Thoughts

Something

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Scared by the darkness,

She looked back. Nothing.

Something told her, her shadow wasn’t following.

.

She couldn’t be sure–

It was too dark.

Surely she would know if her shadow was still her part…

.

She would feel it

Sticking to her shoe…

Certainly there would be something…a slight cue?

.

Unknown, unreasonable,

Fear crept in.

Panic filled up empty crevices within.

.

She rushed back

To the streak of light.

Her shadow was there the other night.

.

Travellers swear,

In car headlight,

A phantom dives under their speeding cars. Every night…

Author’s note: Some people working in graveyard shift in Gurgaon back in 2014 used to say that a phantom woman would dive under their car’s front wheels. Every night. Scary! 😨

Posted in Blogging

It isn’t what it looks like!

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Once again, I missed her.

My siren.

There she was singing to me about new stories,

Sitting right beside me,

While I plodded on with office work,

Waiting for it to be over,

So I could write down what she was telling me.

Now I sit with smartphone in hand,

Clueless of what

I was sure to have memorized.

My siren is long gone,

Disappointed at being ignored,

Suspecting of my love.

This is what happens when

You spend too much time with Work.

I hope she knows it isn’t what it looks like!

Posted in Life and After, Love

The Bouquet

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I was expecting her at our neighbour’s wedding, being her first cousin. But still, it is a punch in the gut. Closing my eyes, I breath deeply to avoid doing something foolish–like grabbing her hand and running away before anyone can react…

It is a stupid thought though. Her brothers are on high alert. I can see them giving me dirty looks, like daring me to take a single step towards her. I am not going to, of course. She is off-limits now that she is married. She is tied to that man for seven lives–that mountain of a man with a huge chest and a large moustache…

Didn’t she tell him she hates moustache?

I sneak another look at her. She doesn’t seem to have noticed me. She doesn’t look any worse for wear anyway, like she is doing fine without me. So, it seems only I was holding out the candle for her.

She looks lovely, like a proper indian married woman sporting a red salwar suit, large traditional red bindi on her forehead, red and white chuda adorning her arms and a red embroidered dupatta covering her head…

She used to hate red. She was against girls being typecasted into reds and pinks. She had once made me swear that I would never ask her to wear red or cover her head after our marriage…

Our marriage…well, it doesn’t seem to be on her mind anymore now. She seems serene, smiling politely as she nods at something her aunt is saying…

She used joke that married women act all grown up in public and don’t laugh because they are not free to laugh anymore; that I should never expect that of her…

She used to be a wildflower, not ready to fit in the social bouquet.

I don’t know what to expect of her anymore.

But somethings never change. Anyone knowing her would see that she is already bored of the conversation. She was never the one for small talk. But she is trying to be polite. But her gaze is already drifting away from her aunt, looking for an escape.

Suddenly, her gaze falls on me and her entire being lights up. She starts to take a step towards me…

But her husband asks her something. The realisation returns and the light dies out of her eyes. She smiles a fake smile at him reserved for people she can barely tolerate and returns to acting like a grown-up..

She is one off the bouquet now.

Muskurata toh ab bhi hai,

Bhale gairo ke sath hi,

Us guldaste me ab wo

Gulistan si khushbu nhi.

Posted in Random Thoughts

Problem solved

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I was bad at Maths. It didn’t excite me as English and Hindi stories would. My parents tried to coach me, sent me to tution class and even got a private tutor at an exorbitant cost. I barely made it through Highschool Maths exam.

So, when my daughter was born, I decided to instill a love for Maths in her so that she wouldn’t face problems like I did. She loves stories. So I started telling her stories that required her solving Math problems. Say, if she is studying Addition and Subtraction, I tell her stories that have such problems. Recently, I told her stories involving money, time and metric measurement. And she must answer the problems before we can move ahead.

For example:

“Once there was a banana seller who was walking through the forest, he sat down beneath a tree to rest for a bit. But there were monkeys in that tree who started stealing his bananas.

When he woke up, he saw 9 monkeys 🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒 (not 10 so that it is difficult to count), each with 3 bananas 🍌🍌🍌 in hand and one 🍌 in their mouth. How many bananas did he lose?

3+1=4*9=36 😤

Poor man was aghast. Each banana was worth 7 rupees 💰 each. He would lose so much money. How money would he lose?

36*7=252 😱

So he decided to do a trick. He started monkey dancing, 🕺so monkeys 🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒🐒would copy him.

Then, he picked up a banana 🍌 and threw it on the ground. All the monkeys threw bananas 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 🍌 in their hands on the ground. How many bananas are on the ground?

3*9=27+1=28 😄

He picked them up. But they were squished from falling on the ground, so they were useless to him 🥴. So how much money 💰 did he lose?

28*7? No ❓

36*7=252? No ❓

252 + 7 (his own banana)= 259! 🤓

So he picked up his remaining bananas and walked to the market. He had learnt his lesson and brought a wooden stick to ward off monkeys the next time.” 😂😂😂

By the time I am done, my daughter is happily exhausted and ready to sleep.

I always pick the chapter she is currently on and pull in as many calculations and logic as a story can hold without being overwhelming. It instills a deep love for calculations within her and inspite her creative streak, she excels in Maths, which is a logical subject.

For a change, even I am falling in love with Maths a little bit now.

Though I wonder how I am going to insert Sin-Cos into monkey, giraffe stories… 🤣🤣🤣

Posted in Random Thoughts

Choosing one good thing out of three

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

I was recently writing a science fiction short story. By recently, I mean that I have been writing it for an year and it is still not finished. The reason it is not finished is that I have three probable ends and I am not able to decide one.

The story has been created out of a dream. It was a surreal dream and I wanted to use it. But as I progressed, this one developed into something totally different and I am unable to decide where to take it in the end. Does the heroine get her hero? Was he really the hero? Did he really exist and on what level did he exist?

So many paths to take,

so many turns await…

I take a step to where my heart moves me…

but my heart moves at a fast pace…

How do you decide what life to live today?

Author’s note: I feel in my bones that whichever end I choose I will never be satisfied. I think I am in too deep. I am living this story in my mind!

Posted in Life and After, Love

The Rose Print

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: Thank you, Lauren for providing the first line of the story.

The letter contained the most unexpected news I could imagine. For the hundredth time, I reread those ragged, cursive words written in a weak hand on a paper with roses printed on it. The paper is of the finest quality, worthy of a person of means.

My dearest,

I wish we had more time together, but I cannot undo the turn my life has taken. On the verge of death, I see you, and you alone, as my closest relative. This estate now belongs to you.

Love,

D. F. Allistor

I hazard a look at the life-size portrait hanging behind my bed—the mischievous blue eyes seem to twinkle with mirth. I avert my eyes trying to ignore the portrait—the proverbial elephant in the room. D. F. Allistor died recently, leaving this estate to me. His attorney had mailed me the letter after his death along with the documentation of inheritance.

When I first received it, I had instantly sent a letter back letting him know that there was a mistake; that I was an orphan with no living relatives and didn’t know any dead ones; that I had never been to the estate before, and neither did I know the last owner nor did I ever hear of him; and hence, I could not be the person in this will.

But the attorney was sure, “I know it sounds improbable, even to me. But while I am unaware of the nature of your relationship with the late Donovon Frederick Allistor yet, the details provided to me by him match you exactly, down to the last letter of your name, address, parentage and work history.”

This reply had rattled me. I am not a public figure, and I have no social media account. Researching about me from across the country must have taken a lot of time and resources. Yet, this relative had never approached me while he was alive, not even when I was abused by foster parents and turned into a servant of their household. All those years, I had waited for some relative to come forward and claim me. Now that I was out of that situation, inheriting this obscene amount of money and the sprawling estate seems meaningless. Well, almost…

Two years back, I had left my foster home at the first opportunity and started working at the hospital in the Hospice ward. In return, I received weekly paychecks and had a small quarter to live in. It was a tough life. The people I took care of were waiting to die and death was a frequent visitor. It isn’t fair to have to work in a place that reeked of death just to be able to survive.

I tried to stay aloof most of the times—tears were a luxury for meant for people with means. But it was difficult when some of the patients cared so much for me. They often offered words of care and caution like family. Charles had even offered to adopt me—I had to remind him that I was too old to be adopted. And Martha had offered me a job at her home, but, of course, the job was only until Martha was alive, which wasn’t long. And that place was right next door to the Cancer ward, where I had met Eric…

He used to make me laugh—even declared his “undying love” and “married” me by twisting his ventilator tube and slipping it on my finger as a ring, joking that I would soon be a rich widow! He died last month with his bald head in my lap and wrinkled hands holding mine. I had stayed with him until an ambulance came and took him back to his city to be buried. That was the only day I had allowed myself to cry.

It isn’t fair at all!

All this while, there was a someone with means who knew about me and could have supported me! But he had waited until his death.

Initially, I was angry, confused and unsure of the stroke of unusually good luck. But there was no point declining the opportunity this estate presented. It came with a lot of money and no debt. It could set me up for life and help me start over, attend college and, maybe, become someone I could be proud of. The place came with a housekeeper and a gardener who were paid through a trust fund—I didn’t have to be alone here. So, I left the job at the hospital and moved here.

*****

I love the place. It is beautiful and not very old. My resentment towards late D.F. Allistor is gradually dissipating. But even after being in the house for two days, I’m still unsure of my relationship with him. I always keep wondering if someone will come and make a claim for the estate, calling me a fraud and usurper.

I can’t put it off anymore. So, I broach the topic with the housekeeper about the previous owner without making it look like I didn’t know him. She seems very fond of him, “Oh! He was a fine man, ma’am. A little mischievous but he had a good heart. Always helped me when I was in trouble with my husband. Even in his death, he left a trust fund, so I don’t have to go back to him. Taken too early, I say! Twenty-four is not the age to die!” Tears are gathering in the corners of her eyes.

24? “When did he commission this portrait?”

“Just two years back when a local artist was unable to pay her mortgage. He gave her enough money without making it sound like charity.”

How can I hold a grudge against such a person? Earlier, I had assumed he was older. But taken at 24? For the first time, I look properly at the portrait with the twinkling eyes, looking for a similarity in his face and mine—some family connection I never knew of. The face feels faintly familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Thinking of something to say, I pick the most obvious topic, “How did he die?”

She looked at me with doubt in her eyes, “Cancer. You know all about it, of course. By the time doctors diagnosed it, he only had a few months left. He got chemotherapy and radiation done in a facility close by. The poor boy lost all his hair, eyebrows and lashes, and he was so frail in those last days—it was impossible to recognise him! And later, he went to that big hospital in your city all alone, for his parents were both dead and gone. He wouldn’t let me come because my youngest is still only 3. When he met you, he was finally so happy. He told me all about it over the phone…”

Her voice trailed away, as she read the doubt on my face, “You did know him, didn’t you?”

I could picture him in the hospital, mischievous blue eyes framed by a frail, bald face and a charming smile, slipping the twisted ventilator tube like a ring on my finger, his bald head in my lap and wrinkled hands holding mine…

Frederick…Eric…

*****

For the millionth time, I reread those ragged, cursive words written in a weak hand on a paper with roses printed on it. I look at the life-size portrait hanging behind my bed.

The mischievous blue eyes seem to twinkle with love…

Posted in Life and After

The Secret

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

My wife’s voice wafted out from the kitchen window. She sounds pretty pleased at the wonderful smell of fresh ‘parsley’. I smile too, knowing what would come next. Tasting! My wife always tastes her seasonings before putting the dish in the oven.

She is a wonderful cook who has too many secret family recipes and a whole lot of pride. Mother hates her—their quarrels are epic, and I am always stuck in the middle. After six years of being stuck between them, I have had enough. So, a couple of weeks back, when my wife decided to hold the Christmas dinner at our home rather than Mother’s to further infuriate the old woman, I knew there was no better opportunity to end this scene forever. With eleven people coming over for the dinner and serving as witnesses, no one can hold me liable when she drops dead in the kitchen right after tasting her stuffed duck with ‘parsley’ seasoning.

Very few people can recognise the purple-spotted-hemlock that I have smuggled in the kitchen and replaced fresh parsley–it looks exactly like parsley except for the purple spots on its stem, and tastes and smells wonderful too. Also, no one is able to survive after eating it. It hits within seconds of touching the tongue, sending victim’s muscles into hyperactivity until they are twisted in unnatural angels and all their bones break one by one, ending with a twist of neck at a degree that breaks the spinal cord.

This innocent-looking and wonderful-smelling herb has been the cause of many ghost stories in the past. I wore gloves while I collected and placed it in the kitchen. I wasn’t worried about anyone else in the family touching or tasting it. My wife gets angry and mouthy if anyone touches anything in her kitchen. After so many years of dealing with the wretch, no one will be stupid enough to touch anything. And once she dies, I will quietly remove any unattended pieces of hemlock using the plastic wrap in my pocket,

Well, my wife is already done smelling. It is about time to taste the seasoning. So, I wait for the conundrum to begin…

My wife shrieks. With tremendous effort, I hide my smile. There are, of course, other voices shouting as well—Mother never leaves her alone in the kitchen, lest she makes a mess of the dinner in front of the whole family. She can’t touch anything but she sure can point. The shrieks now sound more ghastly and other-worldly. A shiver runs up my spine—I wasn’t counting on being spooked for the rest of my life.

But it was better than being stuck forever with Mrs. I-know-everything-and-you-are-a-fool.

I make a show of getting up hurriedly and falling while trying to reach her. Meanwhile, I can hear pans falling. By the time I get up, quite a few people have reached and surrounded the kitchen. There is a lot of screaming, and someone is calling the ambulance. It is too late—by the time a doctor arrives, it will all be over.

I push people aside to reach the centre of circle hurriedly to avoid suspicion.

My wife is sitting on the side, crying in the earnest, “I told her…I told her I put in dried parsley in the seasoning because the fresh one was hemlock, but the old fool threw a piece in her mouth just to prove me wrong.”

The body on the ground has stopped moving—her neck turned around towards me like a scene from a horror movie and eyes open in a silenced scream that will give me nightmares for the rest of my life.

Author’s note: I wrote this story in a hurry because I wanted to tell you about hemlock. There is no cure for hemlock poisoning and the horrendous death it brings. It looks and smells like parsley. Recognising and never touching it are the only ways to survive.

The purple-spotted stem of hemlock is the only way to recognise it, though sometimes, it is not even spotted—that evil thing!

Posted in Life and After, Love

Yesterday

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

She stands in middle of the raucous party.

–

Do I dare?

No, I don’t.

Of course, I choose to live in the past.

It is the safest place to be.

There are no risks, no uncertainties–

just plain solid facts.

There are are a few regrets

but I can always shrug them off as past.

–

Do I dare?

No, I can’t.

Future is steeped in risk.

Can’t get there

without weathering some storms

or facing my demons!

Can’t strive, plan, fail…face fresh hurt–

Too full of blows from the past.

At least they didn’t manage to kill me…yet.

Can’t move on.

–

Do I dare?

No, I won’t.

I sneak a peek at her across the hall

while trying to ignore her.

She smiles in my direction.

I frown at the pain in my chest

in the hole filled with resignation.

Ah! I forgot to breath!

–

Do I dare?

Don’t I stand on the mountain of hurt

collected in years past?

Will I be able to get past?

She is looking here expectantly–

a smile playing on her mischievous lips.

–

Do I dare?

May be…

I smile back and step forward…

The past still hurts.

Well, one baby step at a time.

Posted in Life and After, Nature

Roots

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Once again, it is time to pull our roots and move on. A sense of déjà vu grips me as I plan where to go and how to go unnoticed. It is even more difficult now than the last time. As per the Vampires, we will need to take the back roads to avoid being seen or captured on the numerous cameras that dot the main roads. If it was just me, I wouldn’t have bothered. Once you have lived for a thousand years, you lose the wish to struggle for life. But there are young ones to consider. They were not around the last time, and I wouldn’t wish them to have the same memories we elders do—nightmares, I would call them.

It is difficult to believe that it has been four hundred years already. We were living in that quiet forest for thousands of years. The peace had made us complacent, and we hadn’t bothered to keep up with the world. Otherwise, we would have noticed when the river nymphs shunned the dirty waters and when the dead fishes started washing ashore. We were lulled into a false sense of safety, only to be rudely awakened by the sounds of horse carts.

There had been no warning, nor a declaration of war—they just fell on us with saws and axes. It was a massacre. They had picked the strongest and tallest of us first as we stayed limp in our places, still waking from our deep slumber. We were all stuck–our root had grown too deep, and our stems and branches were unmoving by the long disuse. It took us hours to get feeling in our roots, shake the soil around our feet and get away in the dead of night. We neither had the numbers nor the strength to retaliate.

The humans must have wondered where all the trees had all gone while they slept.   

So many of us had died that night. Many others were gravely injured not capable of moving. We had to leave them behind to be chopped to pieces the next day. That day is still branded on our hearts for eternity. It took us decades to settle down in this new place; to start a life without fear; to stop waking up waving our branches like lunatics, fighting unseen enemies.

No, I wouldn’t impose those memories on our saplings. I wouldn’t be caught napping again.

As per what the birds have told, the humans plan to cut down and flatten this space where we live–they plan to build living spaces for their never-ending progeny. Well, they can take the land, but they wouldn’t touch us again. We can fight back—we have been practicing on windy days, moving our branches around and pulling out our roots to kick. But it is pointless. Humans will keep coming back with reinforcements. It makes more sense to move away. We will leave tonight.

Yes, we will need to push the young saplings to move—they are too intelligent for their own good and too sassy to deal with. They are moaning about the new place and adjustments, quoting a thousand reasons for why they shouldn’t leave, threatening us with tears. Well, they can cry and complain all they want once they are safe and alive.

The Vampires have offered to show us the way. These good people have always been our allies. They have been quiet neighbours who have slept hanging from our branches peacefully every day, leaving at night to eat and returning at dawn. Since they know their way around the city from their nightly hunts, it is easier for them to guide us than birds. The birds and squirrels will come with us, of course. They cannot let us leave with their nests and eggs and they cannot carry them elsewhere.

As the Vampires described them, the thought of the dark, smelly alleys infested by ghouls left me shivering. The narrow spaces with tall buildings on both sides will be a tight fit for most of us. Some of us may have scratches all over, others will have to leave branches behind. At least, we will live—if we make it to the end undetected, of course.

Because ghouls wouldn’t let us pass easily. We have denied them living space for far too long. But we could not associate with someone who moans all night, throwing things around and being a pest—there wouldn’t have been any sleep at all. So, of course, they will see this moment as a chance to vindicate themselves. They would probably fill our way and throw things around to create noise. Thankfully, the Vampires have promised to stand on our side adding to our numbers if the ghouls pose a problem. Together, we might win without fighting, which is imperative to our survival.

Because fighting will ensue noise and if the humans wake up and look out of the window, they will find an entire redwood forest standing on their backroad. There will be hell to pay! 

So, we must go quietly. There is a “nature reserve” that the Vampires have told us about. They say that humans do not touch the trees over there—something about the law protecting the “nature”. It will be sad to lose the company of the Vampires eventually, though. They will have to return to the city and find new accommodations. The poor beings cannot survive too far from their habitat—as their sole source of food, an abundance of human populace is a must for their survival.

Also, they don’t fare too well around Fairies that apparently infest this nature reserve. I can already feel the little pests crawling up on my body, making home on my toadstools and throwing raucous parties all night. There will be no sleep.

Sigh! It will be a new territory and we will have to forge new alliances. Well, we will cross that bridge once we’re there. For now, we can just hope to survive.

Posted in Nature

My Neighbour: The Adventurer

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

To call me an adventurer would be an overkill. I am just your regular guy who loves lying in the sun on a free day. But these busy bodies I have as neighbours…

Well, let’s just say they just don’t appreciate the art of doing nothing.

Here I was, minding my own business, lying on this metal contraption my neighbours had brought in recently. The white tyre cover is irresistible and I was lying down on the surface warmed by the sun earlier that day. The neighbour, of course, was infinitely jealous by my comfort and switched on the front light.

Not easily rattled, I paid him no mind. But then, there were the moths on the front light!

I mean, who in the world could resist these delicacies? So, I moved up and made a snatch for one of them but before I could catch it, the moron started the dratted machine.

And I was flying!

I was racing through the roads at a reckless speed that reminded me of the time when that Eagle picked me and cousin Gill from the white wall. Gill didn’t make it. I had to leave my tail behind.

The thought made me sick…

All the while, I was clutching the damned light with all I had, praying to the God of all Lizards to make this stupid contraption stop. These kind of things should come with a disclaimer–a large yellow banner saying, “Stay Away! It Moves!”

Why couldn’t this guy tell me that it moves? Or at least he could have asked me to move before he started it. I always knew that humans were not friendly to our lizard-kind but discourteous too?

Humph! Well, finally it stopped and stayed put for a while.

It wasn’t a bad place. Seemed like a feast was going on around several lights–loads of insects and lizard brethren about the place. Very nice people. Adjusting too. Shared the spoils with me and everything. I even met a girl I really liked–lush curves and a tail with a really unique pattern. I think she got it done at a shop. It suits her.

I wanted to stay but I couldn’t for long, though. The guy was already moving towards the bike. This new girl told me the name of the metal contraption. She thought I was really brave to ride that metal monster! I wish I could stay!

But I hadn’t told mom I was travelling and she would be worried out of her mind, especially after cousin Gill. So, when the guy started leaving on the metal contraption, I hitched a ride again, willingly this time.

As the wind swept over my face when I wasn’t in shock, the whole thing felt mighty fun. May be, the whole “art of doing nothing” was overrated. May be, I will hitch a ride again tomorrow and come back for that girl…

Mom wouldn’t be pleased though.

But who cares?!