Wednesday, 31 December 2014

bride who wore black.

Blushing crimson hues on her cheeks , she wore white and a shy smile and looked pristine. He was suave and dapper in his charcoal black suit and sported a French beard. The old ladies exclaimed in hushed tones that it was a match made in Heaven. The bride 's mother  had an unseen halo wrapped around her. The father of the bride  took firm steps with puffed chest. 

The cavalcade  proceeded from the Church to Hotel Savoy where an elaborate feast was laid out for the wedding guests and the  couple after they were pronounced man and wife.

A green-eyed monster spread its tentacles  and nipped their budding expectations to prick a thorn  in their balloon of radiating mirth and joy.  Or was it that fate had other plans?

The blood stained the stubble of the bridegroom while the bride screamed with shock at the unexpected turn of events.

The bride waited with bated breath along with the kin and guests for the doctor's verdict. The tick tock of the clock on the wall pierced the silence of the hospital.

The doctor felt the pulse and solemnly looked at the bride whose pristine white gown was unblemished and not a scratch visible on her body.

"It's time to wear black", said the doctor to the bride.

 The widow's face turned white.

Written for :  Yeah Write Fiction

word count : 220

Monday, 29 December 2014

Teething problems

Teeth are a man's (and woman's) best friend.

The 32 strong soldiers chew and break the food to taste and satiate our hunger pangs prompting us to say, "food for soul". Not a big deal. But ask a toothless person as what pleasure it is to crunch a piece of walnut. 

But when one of the soldier reports sick, the body machinery breaks down and goes for a toss. Clove oil is grandma's home remedy for toothache.

I envy the toddlers who pose for cameras with their toothless smiles.

A dentist's chair is not a snug place to be in. I imagine myself waiting for electrocution. My whole body becomes taut and tense. My mind is a battlefield where the soldiers are attacking each other with spears and swords. Each stare or glare of the dentist into the dungeon of my jaw, pricks and pains me to hell and I would prefer death to extraction or root canal.

I worship my thirty and two pearlies and regular ritual of brushing and flossing is sacrosanct. Yet I am punished for no fault of mine. Sweets and desserts, an irresistible part of my culinary delight have been curtailed due to fear of damage to the inmates of my mouth. A sweet tooth is replaced with a weak tooth.

When the glossy newsprints advertisements and the television commercials flaunt the toothpastes promising to heal sensitive tooth, my heart nay my teeth jump with joy. But the umpteen rub of the aqua blue peppermint paste leaves my sensitive teeth even worse. And I have an inclination to sue the toothpaste companies. 

The toothbrush companies too are not far behind to extract their pound of flesh of my vulnerable mind. The bristles of the tooth brush placed at various angles promise of reaching the most difficult area of the tooth to leave it sparkling clean and fresh  but does not promise a miss to the dentist's clinic. 

A visit to the dental boutique drills a big hole in my pocket and my purse is lighter. The filling of a tooth curtails my visit to my favourite coffee-shop. The budget of a dental crown does not cast a regal look on me. A root canal uproots the tree of my savings.

I enter into the dentist's den as a lamb pushed to the altar of sacrifice.

                               For Yeah Write # 194

Word count : 390

Ripe time

Myra fed every morsel and kept Little Tiara warm, telling tales of the vastness and

vagaries of the skies.

The time is ripe to realise your dreams, said Myra and watched her fledgling’s

maiden flight into the clouds, perched on her nest.

For : Yeah Write Microstories

Word count : 42

Saturday, 27 December 2014

Satyameva Jayate

Kitna chain hota hai na sachchai mein

It was an era of single screen cinema halls called talkies. Going to a movie entailed a lot of planning and plotting to cajole our parents into getting an answer in affirmative.

A movie called 'Quarbani' was released to packed cinema halls. It was also a golden period for black-marketeers. Seeing the chaos at the entrance of the cinema hall shrank our hopes of seeing the movie on big screen. We approached a black-marketeer Uncle , as we called him , to 'buy' tickets at a premium. He gave us 2 tickets but we were three of us. But he expressed his helplessness as those were the last of the tickets he had and the movie was scheduled to start after five minutes. It was a 'do or die' situation . We begged him to get another ticket as me , my best friend Anju and my brother could watch the movie. Seeing our desperation , the person agreed to let my brother into the cinema hall without a ticket as he had good contacts with the usher-er, but for a fee. My mind was full of guilt and the conscience raised its head to prick me but the desire to watch a 'hit' 'movie and boast it to my classmates the next day suppressed and blunted my conscience. My brother sat in the aisle to view the movie.

We came out of the cinema hall with mixed feelings, Elated at being able to watch THE movie and the burden of wrong-doing . We three of us made a pact not to let the secret out of the bag.

The next day my mother asked me to arrange my book-shelf into order. I set about keeping the books and chanced to see the torn and faded cover of the book , "My experiments with truth". The book belonged to my grandfather and I had read and hailed Mahatma Gandhi as the epitome of truth while in reality I had trodden on the path of lies. The tempest raging in my mind could not pour out the words of truth and  I kept mum. But soon realised that I could not carry the load. I blurted out the truth to my mom with my heart-beats pounding. My mother was dumbstruck at the audacity of our boldness. But she quickly composed herself saying that we were lucky that the black-marketeer did not harm two young girls. Today as I open the pages of the morning newspaper to read abut young girls taken advantage of  I shudder to think about the incident.  We were fortunate that we did not become statistics  in the register of juvenile crimes.

I was relieved of the baggage I was carrying but I had broken the promise. 

Why did I reveal the truth to my mother? Was it selfishness on my part to jettison the guilt that threatened to rot my conscience and make my life miserable? Or what it Bapu's book that acted as a catalyst in my confession?  Whatever were the reasons I feel I took the right decision and vowed not to trust strangers so easily. This is the message I dispense to my son. 

My teenage son will today read this as I finish the post. I have to expose the weak side of me, a younger me then, to him so that he learns  that it is better to get up and rise after every fall.

                                       Satyameva Jayate 

Written for :  Kinley : happyhours purity-in-every-drop

Friday, 26 December 2014

crumbling memories

PHOTO PROMPT - Copyright -Björn Rudberg

                                                             PHOTO PROMPT – Copyright -Björn Rudberg

The dilapidated walls of the fortress could no longer bind to each other and
the wary stones had fallen apart bringing down history.

Caroline lifted her specs and scanned the stony stairs, the only surviving arm 
of the fort. Here time had stood still six decades ago when Jane breathed her
last on these steps succumbing to a freak accident.

Caroline never forgave herself.

A hand seemed to guide and support her as she took a step up with a satisfied
smile. The staircase crumbled into a heap of debris.

              At the gates of Heaven, the fairy said, “Welcome twins”.

                           Linking it to Friday Fictioneers

Word Count : 100

Thursday, 25 December 2014


Theme Thursday


Alone I stare at the moon
together we can count the stars
under the canopy of open sky.

        Alone I dance 
        together we can tango
        to the tune of eternal love.

                Alone I drink
                together we can raise a toast
                taste the nectar of happiness.

                          Alone I breathe
                          together we can live
                          a life of fulfilled wishes

                                    our hearts beating together
                                    is music , a symphony
                                    an orchestra of togetherness.


             You and me
      in the Garden of Eden
Unspoilt, unaffected by evil eyes.

                                                                  written for : Theme Thursday


             Carpe Diem #635, Stars

                            Sun sleeps
                     stars wake to shine
             a pact : guiding the universe 


                    written for : Carpe Diem

Wednesday, 24 December 2014


The unopened faded brown box is the cynosure at the Christmas night party.

Grandma’s soul resides here was a stern warning handed down as legacy.

 Little John broke the tradition. A note read, “Bless you for freeing me.”

The clock struck twelve.

Tuesday, 23 December 2014


Haiku Horizons prompt “near”

            far away from

      near and dear ones

he gazes at the distant galaxy

he gazes at the distant galaxy

distancing  near ones away

      closer to his dreams

Linking to : Haiku Horizons

Monday, 22 December 2014

Ray of hope

Five Sentence Fiction – Glimmer

When my feet could no longer keep pace through the narrow, dark and winding
alleys , I took refuge in the corner of a broken , crumbling wall, covering my 
eyes in my cupped palms.

The dark shapeless shadow howled around me , screaming , screeching trying
to scare and agonise me.

I opened my eyes , stared deep into the unknown fear and it crumbled ,
dissipated  like sand grains of the past.

I  kept gazing at the crimson horizon while the Sun God got up from his
pillow to sprinkle a glimmer of faith and hope on me.

A new beginning of dawn was waiting to embrace me with open arms.

                                       Written for Five Sentence Fiction

Friday, 19 December 2014

silent prayer.

Two pairs of nervous soles pounded the hard street taking urgent steps.

The slight mist which had descended down clouded their vision but the 
determined couple did not lose sight of their endeavour.

"Hope we are not late", Katie said with words barely escaping her lips,
the chill in the air aggravating her arthritis. 

"I have the candles and the wreath ", and Malcolm tightened his grip of their
intertwined fingers.

The tears rolled down her cheeks and the illumination of the bulb added to her misery.

The news of over a hundred  little innocent souls snatched away by insane act of terrorism re-winded the reels of memory and brought forth the picture of their only son Ryan, who a decade ago completed their family.

                                       The smallest coffins are the heaviest to bear.
                                             They had buried Ryan in their hearts.

This 140-words Micro Fiction is shared with Succinctly Yours Week 195.

Thursday, 13 November 2014

gift of time

PHOTO PROMPT -Copyright-Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

I looked at myself in the huge oval mirror bordered by woodwork carvings.

A little head popped up in the reflection tugging my beige androgynous ironed suit.

“I have a presentation at office and they pay me on hourly basis, Emile.”

The soft thud of a pair of tiny feet running away from me wrung my heart.

“Take this”, she commanded, and the jingling of metal made a soft melody while emptying her piggy bank.

“I am hiring you. Play with me.”

I looked out of the window, with the palm trees swaying and the pink neon sign announcing “GIFTS”

                                              Ellehcor Banner FF

                                              Linking to Friday Fictioneers

word count : 100

Wednesday, 12 November 2014

a life snatched



She was full of life
yearning for more
fate had sharpened its knife
to languish her in pain and sore
 malignant tumour
had raised its ugly head
as days dimmed to hours
as crucial minutes ticked, we dread
of the inevitable.
Alas! we became poorer
a  angel snatched , blow terrible
wish she had bloomed brighter

Let's join hands, all , you and me
to defeat the germ of Big C.


                                                Linking to 3 Word Wednesday

I lost a dear friend 8 years ago. The void left by her will never be filled . We carry on with our daily life pausing for a second to see if she is with us.


Tuesday, 11 November 2014

good old days

“Sigh! Those were the good old days”, my grandpa used to say.

 People ate nutritious home-made food, unadulterated sweets and grains
were not genetically modified. 

Humans were healthy and it was a pleasure to draw their blood,
remarked Aedes insect to comrade Anopheles insect. 

The world sucks, both concluded.

                                   Written for :  from-15-to-50 / Moving Quill

                                                    jaws of death

                                         Picture Prompt: courtesy The Moving Quill

Word Count : 49

Thursday, 18 September 2014

The attack


The 3 words are breezy , hairy , monstrous.

The UFO had taken refuge on the baseball ground. The earthlings fearing for 

their safety huddled, trying to find solace in numbers. The hairy monstrous 

creature came romping towards me while my nervous legs found a way to 

escape. The grizzly bear pinned me down on the promenade and my gasping 

breath woke me up to feel the pillow moist with my sweat. It was only a 

nightmare , I concluded and as I got up to sip water, I pulled up the Venetian 

blinds to allow the breezy draught to calm my frayed nerves. I reached for the 

remote button and the television screen sprang to life.

                “Attack of the aliens on Earth “, the breaking news resonated.

                                 Linking to 3 Word Wednesday

Word count : 118

Wednesday, 17 September 2014

harvested life

Five Sentence Fiction – Grief



                                                   Photo from: Lillie Mc Ferrin

They approached the lady whose weary eyes  withheld a thousand sorrows but shone brightly groping for a flicker of hope which seemed distant across the horizon.

But they had no promises to offer her which exacerbated  the task of the junior doctor and the Medical Social Worker, making them feel guilty.

The ventilator had to be removed robbing her of her only son , a truck driver , an accident victim , trying to avoid a careless pedestrian, jaywalking.

They counselled  her , before obtaining her consent and she requested them for some moments to grieve in privacy.

Tears rolled down uncontrollably as she  buried her face into her shivering cupped palms , stifling her sobs as a ray of satisfaction spread on her wrinkled face that her son would continue to live a harvested life in an anonymous person's body.

                                           Written for Five Sentence Fiction

                                                    FSF badge


My feet couldn't find the uneven ground as my hands ran over a surface, abrasive to touch. Struggling to gather my poise, my cheeks felt the cool breeze caress and assimilate with the hot breath from my nostrils. I found support on the bark of a tree. The voices of the children playing nearby soothed me. The lingering light fragrance permeated into my being. 

"The gulmohar flowers are a lovely shade of red and white”, a husky voice echoed.

“Yes”, a feminine voice answered.

 But my world was dark and black.

I tightly held the curved end of my stick. 


Word count 100

                                                           Linking to Velvet Verbosity.   


Tuesday, 16 September 2014

Pick up your pen and write

                              Write Tribe 100 Words on Saturday Prompt

This time WTers have been asked to choose a quote and pen 100 words. I have chosen Martin Luther's famous line , "If you want to change the world, pick up your pen and write." This quote is apt as pen is mightier than the sword.

 The untold damage done to the Mumbai shoreline was palpably visible through the lens of the binoculars. With molten lava running through her veins, it was time to unleash the fury of her weapon.

The cool environs of their air-conditioned Bandra bungalow was silently screaming of the feud threatening to divide the family. The crisp rustling page of the newspaper read, "Destruction of the fragile mangroves by a leading construction company halted by reporter Sumedha Katkar and alert citizens expose the nexus between politicians and corporate world." 

"Sumedha, how could you do this to your own brother?" questioned Mamma Katkar.

                                  Linking to Write Tribe Saturday Prompt.

Sunday, 14 September 2014



The action of celebrating an important day or event is described as celebration. But celebration need not be confined to the narrow realms of a day or an event  but a never ending path of togetherness.
An incident took place on an ordinary day converting it into  an extraordinary bond of friendship lasting and strengthening over the passage of time. This milestone in my life made me realize the latent layer of patience in me which threw up surprises to the surface.
A colleague sharing office space was always at loggerheads with me, the reasons strangely unknown to me. I ignored the barbs directed against me for a considerable period of time. 
One day while working together  in the cubicle , I calmly questioned the reasons for her angst. Knowing that she had succeeded in  her diabolical mission , a smile spread on her face which did little to increase her face value. I read her thoughts and made her aware of her actions by which her standing  at the workplace had taken a beating. While she rained blows on me , the shield of patience and my calm demeanor won many friends at workplace. She realized her folly and the dam of tears burst open exposing her raw wounds that she had nurtured in her mind . She bluntly told me that my entry into the office space which she hitherto considered her domain , was unwelcome to her. She felt the spotlight was shifted on me. Her lower economic status and her study in a vernacular medium had sowed the seeds of inferiority in her infertile mind which had matured into a tree of discontent.
 Hearing her speak made me realize what a troubled soul she was. I opened up to her gently nudging her to focus on her strengths and achievements despite her drawbacks which were not justified. One cannot chose the circumstances  one is born under but had to rise like Phoniex from the ashes. 
Her attitude changed for the better  albeit slowly. Her confidence and self-esteem was regained and today though We are separated by a geographical barrier we are soul sisters to each other. I saw behind her tough exterior lay a soft heart waiting to soak love. We learnt a lot from each other over a period of time. A phone call or a what's app message confirms our bond and our chatter continues. 
Had I returned the insults she had heaped on me , I would have been ,today, a poorer person. Had I not opted to clear the fence of misunderstanding , we wouldn't be in a the garden of bliss today. This truly is a celebration of life , a triumph overcoming the mountain of our ego. 
Readers , this is a true story  and I have a true friend for life. Do share your story with me.............

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Read the interesting WOW blogs here.

Saturday, 30 August 2014


Write Over the Weekend inspiration for this time

Start a blogpost with “Hello ______, my old friend.” and then let it just flow.

"Hello God, my old friend"

Loneliness is a constant companion that refuses to desert me even though I am surrounded by my loved ones.

I beckon you in the dead of night and you never fail to appear as a faceless person and your soothing voice calms my frayed nerves. "How long, God, do I have to endure this agony?"

"You are still on the waiting list , my child."

"Do I have a purpose to live?"

"Every being is born with a  purpose, my child".

"Are humans a mere puppet in your hands, God?"

"I have moulded each clay figure with my bare hands and breathed life into them. All are my babies, my child"

"If everything is pre-destined , do my wishes have any effect on you?"

"Amen , I say sometimes. "

"Is death and birth of a human pre-ordained?"

"The span between these two have to be measured in deeds not in years, my child."

"One more question, God."

I feel you smiling on me.

"God, when will I die?"

"My child , this body of yours is a living temple. After the soul departs to take refuge in another being ,  re-cycle to help fellow-beings. This is ultimate salvation"

The divine aura merges with nothingness and I am left all alone with myself until dawn.

I feel the warm caress of her hand on me. I smile and she reciprocates with a radiant curve on her face. 

The papers are ready and I give my consent.

I look up and a divine hand is stretching towards me. I nod and get ready to the journey to the Gates of Heaven through wafting clouds and peace descends on me.

"Do not look back my child. " 

And I obey.


The headlines in the newspaper read : Organ donation is on the rise.............................

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda.

Thursday, 7 August 2014

A friendly ghost

                                                    Light and Shade Challenge

Photo by Thomas Marlowe

“Some ghosts are so quiet you would hardly know they were there.” 

                       An unwritten rule was etched in every-body's mind. 

The innocent looking tree bearing evergreen leaves, gently swaying to the melody of the breeze could  be sinister , I doubted. But my questions were repelled by a stern warning ,  "Do not go near THAT tree"  . But curiosity won and I ventured close to the tree. I stopped in my tracks . "Not this way" was boldly written on the tree trunk. 

 I  bravely took two steps  closer to the tree. The brown bark was flaked and red ants were seen scurrying in and out of the cracked layers. Touching the bark of the tree with my fingers sent a wave of shiver throughout my taut body. But I noticed nothing unusual. I circled the giant tree and froze suddenly when a figure stood in front of me.  No words escaped from my mouth nor a muscle moved. He bent down and sat on the ground. My eyes met his wrinkled blue ones. He smiled . I barely managed to move my lips.

"Hello young girl"

"Hii", I managed to blurt out. 

Gathering courage , I asked ,"Who are you?"

"I am ............" 

The lawns on the other side of  THAT tree were well laid out and manicured. The rose plants were watered and roses bloomed on them.

Pointing out to the writing on the tree, I asked him "Why have you written this?"

"To keep intruders at bay. And you are a lovely young girl." Answered he with a twinkle in his eyes. I giggled.

It was dark when I came home.The table was laid out with hot tea and cakes. Sinking my teeth into the chocolate cake ,  I asked my grandmother whether anyone lived in that old house beyond THAT tree.

Grandmother said she didn't remember anyone staying there except a gardener who lived and died in the old house.

 "Was his name Joseph, Grandma", I  asked as I bit my lower lip.

"How do you know , little Peggy?", a stern voice came.

Ï guessed it , grandma", said I pacifying her.

               I had made a pact with Joseph that the secret remained between us.

“Some ghosts are so quiet you would hardly know they were there.” 

Written for Light and Shade Challenge where one could make use of the photo or the quote or both and I have combined both.