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.