Tuesday, 24 July 2018

Alone in the crowd.


My soles hit the hard road
a path of thought
travels to my grey cells
to reside in crevice.

A speck among the
millions, breathing.
Have I caged myself
in the invisible prison?

Ten fingers point accusingly
follow to set standards.
I jettison the cargo of norms
to emancipate myself.

Green eyes glare
spewing lave on me.
The volcano in me trapped
erupts, cooling my senses.

Tentacles of hatred
enclose me, suffocating.
I break free, seek refuge
on isle of loneliness.

Should I be a microcosm
of human society, melting away?
Or languish in the walled city
with a flag of my own identity?




                                                   

Friday, 9 March 2018

The Villa









                                                        Photo Prompt by Sandra Crook.


The Villa that had weathered a century of rain and sunshine, stood upright 

sheltering anyone who set their eyes on its facade.


Her mother held her little finger and the other hand held the featherweight 

duffel bag but the emotional baggage weighed down her young shoulders.

“Has papa bought this big house for us, mother?” questioned little Mary with 

pride in her heart.

“Your papa has gone away to greener pastures”, grinding her teeth with 

bitterness.

“I start work as a laundry maid and you keep out of trouble”. 


Mary leaned forward and looked up to see the wet cheeks.


                   Friday Fictioneers. Thank you Rochelle

                                                          

word count  : 100

Saturday, 3 March 2018

Walk the path.


         Sunday Photo Fiction






  25 Mike Vore February 25th 2018
                                                   Thanks Mike Vor the photo prompt


Is the way going away or approaching towards me?

Is this the beginning of an end or an end of the beginning?

Does this road lead to the Heaven or a journey to Hell? Who will guide my shadow?

This walkway doesn't seem to be paved with petals , do scorpions lurk in the crevices?

The wooden planks must the ghosts of the tree bark. Will they haunt my mind?

Do the twists of the pathway portend a catastrophe? I know not.

The bard stood transfixed and ruminated. The wind whispered nothing . The sun-rays added more cacophony to his muddled grey cells.

A multicolored ball bounced breaking the silence.  Thou are blocking the path. Make way , said the cherubic cheeks and ran with gay abandon.

Didn't the questions arise in his little mind?, racked the poetic mind or has he his answers?

Nay,  Let me not cogitate. He strode the path to reach the other end.


                                                        Sunday Photo Fiction


                                                      

Windmills of God.


                Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers


                 

                                             Thanks Fandango for the picture prompt.



Nikhil was never enthralled by the sport of boxing. Barbaric, he termed it. However, he is 

rudely tossed in the ring without the protective gloves and his opponent is a formidable 

one.

The numerous blows that he has received has made him gather himself up albeit a 

weaker shadow. Separation from spouse perturbed him. Another blow was the demise of 

his first-born. He is relieved that his parents are not around to watch his plight. The desk 

job that kept his body and soul together is gone.

Nikhil’s tousled was the result of neglect rather than the wind churning from the 

Windmills of God.

The unfavorable roll of the dice is deciding his destiny. The vagrant turn of the wheel of 

fortune is shrinking his confidence. He has to pick up the un-tessellated pieces to 

complete a picture.

His gaze shifts to the giant windmill. I will not be a victim, he declares.



                      Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.Thank you Priceless Joy



                                         

word count: 152

Friday, 2 March 2018

Ravenous




It slithered around the rough bark climbing up. Twenty pair of black claws impeded its 

progress. However, the scaly creature defied the cacophony of cawing and clawing to 

reach the eggs cocooned in the nest on the highest branch. It was a war, a war of one 

species versus the other. Nikhil held the pink slip between his fingers and un-spooled in 

his mind, the war fought in the boardroom with his own species. The Law of the Jungle 

was very much evident in the urban concrete. He had to fight his own battles. The ravens 

were still cawing.


                                      CARROT RANCH FLASH FICTION.

Friday, 16 February 2018

The homecoming

         

FFfAW Challenge-February 13, 2018

             


       

                                                   Thanks Lavanya for the wonderful photo prompt .


Eager feet moved with religious devotion and their eyes were filled with faith.

Only my soles weighed down with boulders of anxiety. My vision was filled 

with oceans of doubt.

The cymbals filled the air and devotees danced to the tunes.

Every muscle in my body was taut with tension.

The Universe seemed to be euphoric while I was impecunious.

Nudging through the crowd, I stood close to the idol with my palms spread.

A golden marigold reposed in my palm soothing my troubled mind. I

suddenly felt affluent with His blessings. 

My feet felt light as I bid adieu to Bappa.

It was my homecoming and Bappa‘s immersion.




                                                  

                              Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.Thank you Priceless Joy.


word count : 109

Note : Bappa means Indian  Elephant God of Intelligence. He is also know as Vignaharta means the remover of all obstacles.

Wednesday, 18 October 2017

Journey

                              Sunday Photo Fiction – October 15th 2017



214 10 October 15th 2017

                                 PHOTO COURTESY : A Mixed Bag.



Her eyes scanned the monstrous dimensions with awe and a sense of longing. Even on the 

glossy paper it seemed behemoth to the innocent blue pupils. The hull of the cruise, the 

small windows and the life-boat hanging in the picture beckoned her.


Ananya had already made up her mind firmly to set sail on the serene waters.

She toiled hard giving the Sun an inferior complex and her stamina lay on the pillow only 

after wishing the Moon. Her bank account had enough to board the cruise liner,’Virat’ 

with a smile on her face and a spring in her step.

Her heart swam with the white froth of the azure oceanic waters while she learnt the 

geography and historical importance of every port and country that ‘Virat’ travelled. The 

eclectic mix of people ,varied cultures and their cuisines intrigued her and got imprinted 

in each crevice of her brain.

She believed in giving back more than she has taken from the society. The orphanage 

benefited from the largesse she earned.

She earned the title of “Most Efficient Stewardess” on the cruise. Ahoy Life!!! 


                               Sunday Photo Fiction

                                                  

word count : 182

Tuesday, 17 October 2017

Arrow

FFfAW Challenge-Week of October 17, 2017





                       



                 This week's photo prompt is provided by Grant-Sud. Thank you Grant-Sud!



The parents of the missing girl were waiting anxiously to hear any piece of news of their 

child. There was no ransom demand and hence kidnapping was ruled out.

Detective Karamchand ambled into the room of Ananya with his assistant Kitty in tow. His 

eyes scanned the entire space in white. A section of pink wall arrested his hawk-like 

eyes. 

A map detailing the entire layout of the sprawling mansion was pasted.

“Ananya seems to be a happy girl. Look at the smiley drawn”, chirped Kitty.

Karamchand glared at the naivety of his assistant and started to stomp his foot at the 

base of the pink wall.

“It is an arrow-mark, Kitty, Look at the direction”, calmly said Karamchand.

A secret chamber revealed an envelope with “Catch me if you can” scribbled, teased his 

grey cells. This is going to be a long treasure-hunt, concluded Karamchand.


                     Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.Thanks Priceless Joy.  

               

                                             

word count :146

who did it?


#MicroMondays – Edition 1


Nupur and Ramesh walked free out of the gallows. 

Who killed Aarushi? Will her spirit absolve the stain of looming shadows?

I am curious too.

          MicroMondays-Edition 1. Thanks Varad R and NamySaysSo.

                                           First Haiku-2


Notes :  Read about Aarushi Case.

Tuesday, 10 October 2017

journey

136th Challenge
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers





                       This week's photo prompt is provided by BarbCT/Gallimaufry. Thank you BarbCT!



The white cotton candy clouds seem to sail with the wind against the backdrop of the 

azure skies. I bend on the railings running along the boundary of the behemoth water-

body ruminating on the present crisis of my financial health. The prospects on the 

horizon seem bleak and the sun seems to set in my mind. “Why does this happen to me?”, 

I whine.

A cargo container ship passes by, leaving a trail of siren.

“Does the ship protest of the heavy freight-age on its back and in the belly?”

“It carries and trudges to the port and off-loads its contents and not the burdens. 

Another batch of cargo consignment is loaded and the ship moves on post refueling. This 

is its journey and it doesn’t aim for a destination.”

I straighten my back, feeling a bit lighter. I jettison my grumblings and chart a new 

course of path with the aid of my internal compass. The innumerable ports beckon me. 

Ahoy.






                              Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thank you Priceless Joy.

                                            

Monday, 9 October 2017

Fangs.


Twittering Tale #53 – 10 October 2017







treehouse-255518_1280

Photo by Antranias on Pixabay.com


Her pen spews venom on paper in the sunlit forest log cabin . 

She dons her nocturnal skin and slithers for prey in the concrete jungle. 


                 Twittering Tale # 53 - 10th october 2017.Thank you Kat Myrman.

                                      1476833681824

140 characters.

Sunday, 8 October 2017

Egyptian Spirit


Sunday Photo Fiction – October 8th 2017



Egypt

                                                       Thanks Kathryn Forbes 2009 for the picture prompt


The azure skies and the historical redolence of the capital city welcomed the Indian 

student contingent with a ‘Marhaban’ while Cairo was reciprocated with a warm 

‘Namaste’.


I had brushed my history and geography of the ancient civilization. The behemoth statue 

of Ramesses II in Cairo evoked awe and admiration. The guide assigned to us patiently 

narrated the history of the Great Pharaoh. As a bunch of excited students, we clicked 

selfies and photographs against the backdrop of the statue, eager to update the event on 

social media.


Did the ancient Egyptians breathe the same air as I have inhaled today? Definitely the 

atmosphere was cleaner when the Pharaohs ruled the land, I concluded. Are the celestial 

beings a mute witness to the change in civilizations? If they could speak, I would lend 

them a patient ear. Could the grandeur of their empire be compared with Vijayanagar 

Dynasty? A thousand questions sprouted in my mind as I heard my name being called for a 

group photo. I quicken the pace of my sprint to join my friends.

As I stood with a smile for the camera I felt hot under scrutiny.
                        
The spirit chuckled, unknown and unseen to the world.





  (A replica of the Ramesses II statue stands on Salah Salem street in HeliopolisCairo)


                                                      Sunday Photo Fiction.

                                                

(Google pic)

Click HERE to read all the wonderful SPF stories

Word count : 200

Read more about Vijayanagara Empire.

Saturday, 7 October 2017

cookies




Weekend Writing Prompt #23 – Taste


Word Prompt

 Taste

Photo Prompt

Challenge
Prose Challenge – Write a story in 35 words, inspired by the theme of taste, without actually including the word “taste” in it.
Grandpa gingerly picked one of the baked goodies and sucked it.
He winced.
His toothless smile discerned the goof-up of his grand-daughter’s maiden attempt at baking.

The jars of Salt and sugar had been interchanged. 



          Weekend-writing-prompt-23-taste. Thank you Sammicox.


Sad release.

                 Three Line Tales, Week 88



three line tales week 88: dip pen and ink because it's Inktober, innit

                                               photo by Kira auf der Heide via Unsplash


The waves in the ocean of her mind had gradually formed into a raging tempest lashing fiercely onto the shore of her face which reflected in the crystal clear myriad emotions as the colours splashed on canvas.

The wooden pen-holder moved to expose its lifeless contents as she picked it up to pour her inner turmoil on the blank sheets to release the farrago of discontent, doubts and sorrow.

The golden nib stubbornly refused to co-operate with the stimulus given by the brain to transfer the anguish from her senses to her diary which kept invading her whole being and subsequently her hands took refuge in the noose.





                3Line Tales. Thanks Sonya.

Thursday, 5 October 2017

Fluid thoughts





The water meanders through the mountains, valleys and plains.

"Stop if you can", challenges Mother Nature.

The behemoth dam arrests the forward fluidity.

The water gurgles and spreads backwards, smilingly but not losing its fluidity.

"Is your brain membrane permeable for exchange of ideas, opinions and thoughts?” questions God.

“I am your creation, Almighty, and am open to all discussions and signals from you", humbly bows Man.

                                    Six Sentence Stories. Thank you Zoe.

                                              unnamed-11-e1462409384457

Wednesday, 4 October 2017

StarDust








                                                                         PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

The ferry lazily drifts on the silent waters patronizing the people with deep pockets and 

a penchant for the uncommon.

“Shouldn’t Nikhil’s feet be firmly on the ground while he reaches for the moon?” concern 

dripped from Priyanka’s throat.

“Many moons ago, you aimed for the stars, isn’t it? Let him find his way”, reasoned 

Aniket, puffing smoke from his Havana cigar.


She turns her head to avert her husband’s gaze, trying to stop the fusillade of moisture 

from her eyes. 

“The leap to stardom is full of compromises, deceit and of course hard work”. She stifles 

her sobs.


                                Friday Fictioneers. Thanks Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

                                             

Tuesday, 3 October 2017

The Mask

                                                                 clown-365375_1280

                                                                            Photo by GLady on Pixabay.com

As he scrubbed his face clean, he felt unsure. The face in the mirror and the mask had merged into one and he never knew when.


                                               Twittering Tales # 52. Thank you Kat Myrman

130 characters.

Shielded

135th Challenge
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
                                                 


This week's photo prompt is provided by Elaine Farrington Johnson. Thank yoiu Elaine!
The recent carnage had left many wounded in mind and body. Some breathed their last 

even before they could remember their loved ones. The silent march of protest against 

the violence unleashed, started from a nondescript lane. All silent hands held candles 

that crackled with the wind. Their feet moved slowly with the weight of their grief of 

having lost their kith and kin.  A pall of gloom descended as the celestial beings numbed 

their shine in the darkness. Only a little innocent hand carried a placard which had the 

magic four letters hurriedly scribbled on it with hearts drawn around. The little orange 

hood manged to hide a part of his face and perhaps veiled his loss. The little boy was 

unhurt in the bloodbath as his mother pushed the child on the ground and lay over him 

shielding him, while she became the target of the insane bullets.

                         Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.Thank you Priceless Joy.
                                               

 Word Count : 150

Thursday, 21 September 2017

The harvest





He had drawn a blue print plan to put his free time to better use long before retirement. 

Working in a corporate office he had lost touch with Nature. The farmland in his village 

was sold off to the highest bidder after his father’s demise. How fervently Sridhar wished 

he hadn’t.


After a session of yoga, he sat at the table with renewed vigour chomping on the freshest 

tomato-cucumber salad. The aubergine vegetable tasted the best he ever had. From his 

potted plants in the verandah straight into his kitchen.

The seminar on urban farming has found many takers.


           Image result for eggplants, tomatoes cucumbers growing in potsImage result for eggplants, tomatoes cucumbers growing in pots       

(Google pics)

Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction.  Thank you Charli Mills.