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.


Mother Courage.


Today as Amrita stood tall on the dais, with a thousand palms applauding her for the 

breakthrough in Genetic Engineering, she credited and thanked her mother , Nirbhaya, 

for her guiding spirit.

Nay Amrita was not born in an improvised family but her rich ‘zamindar’ grandfather-

patriarch tried to throttle her as soon as the umbilical cord was cut. The young Nirbhaya

barely out of the labour pains shielded the tiny life. Despite looking wan and feeble, her 

fierce mien and ululation pulverized the ageing head of the family.  Nirbhaya's husband a 

nincompoop put a pococurante demeanor while the sordid ordeal was being played in 

the ‘haveli’. The breeze stopped in its track and the sheep swallowed its bleats into 

deafening silence.

Nirbhaya, as her name suggested, stepped out of her marital threshold gathering her 

courage and the new-born Amrita in her arms. No voice cajoled her to stay behind. The 

blood of 'Durga' ran in her veins and voice of 'Kali' ordained her to take this step. The 

firmament bowed, showering their with blessings.


Nirbhaya’s parents did not welcome her but the security of a roof over her head was not 

denied. She picked up the books again, breastfeeding Amrita and changing the diapers.

Two pair of feminine feet entered the school premises, one as a student and another as a 

teacher. Thus began the arduous journey for Amrita to culminate at the dais. Nirbhaya’s 

palms refused to stop cheering for her Amrita.

The media-persons thrust their microphones towards Nirbhaya for sound bytes.

challenge 4 prompt

“Whatever I had earnestly wished for, has become the fulfilled goal of my life”.

Nirbhaya’s words resonated through the television screen of the crumbling ‘haveli’. The 

patriarch‘s photograph hung on the wall adorned with a sandalwood garland. 

                                           Reena's Exploration Challenge # 4. Thank you Reena S.

Notes : Zamindar : family owning huge tracts of land.

             Haveli - huge mansion.

            Durga and Kali are Indian goddesses.

           Nirbhaya means fearless.


"I would have loved to help you, Sandra, but you know I have a full plate now  with the client meetings , power-point presentation", and Zarine's voice trailed off.

"It is okay", said Sandra concealing her disappointment and making her way to her cubicle.


"Here is your dinner and don't forget to take your medicines", Sandra's courteous voice echoed as she pushed the plate towards her sick room-mate and office-colleague.

Nibbling on her food in bed with the fever burning her body and the throbbing ache threatening to split her head into two, Zarine recollected her self-centered and selfish attitude while donning a mask of civility.
She realized that tables could be turned on her and a helping hand and heart went a long way in establishing solid bonds.

Zarine missed her mother in this moment of weakness and decided to make amends.


                         Six Sentence Stories. Thank you, Zoe.

                                                The cue is plate google pic

Wednesday, 20 September 2017


  Twittering Tale #50 – 19 September 2017



                                                                keywest3 at Pixabay

Go to the left where nothing is right or go to right where nothing is left? Tread on either of them. Maybe they will merge together. 

Twittering Tales # 50- 19th september 2017. Thanks Kat Myrman.

136 characters.


                           Thank you Sarah Potter for the wonderful picture prompt.

“You need not have remained single to bring me up. I could have managed by myself”.

The old man’s proclivity for silence irks James.

“Dad, are you listening?”

The senior citizen draws an old battered suitcase and beckons his son to open it.

A pair of old shoes lay reposed wrapped in faded newspaper sheets.

He surveys the white canvas soles with a farrago of sadness and fondness and 

communicates with his eyes.

“These are old worn-out shoes and not my size. I cannot walk in your shoes”, blurts out 

the young son without realising the wisdom of the words. 

                  Written for :  Friday Fictioneers. Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


Tuesday, 19 September 2017

The Night.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
133rd Challenge

This week's photo prompt is provided by Pamela S. Canepa. Thank you Pamela!

25th March, 2017

20th floor apartment, Mumbai

8.30 pm

The tenebrosity of the night seems to hug her like a warm blanket. The Earth Hour has 

just begun.

As her gaze wanders up, the celestial twinkles seem to cast their glow a tad brighter.

The vehicular traffic appears to crawl, holding lanterns in the trajectory of darkness.

Anita turns inside to step into her cosy home. The aromatic candles are lit, mingling its 

scent into the urn of red floating rose petals. The gastronomical wafts beckons her to the 

table. He serves her the simple yet tasty food for soul and both eat with love in their 

eyes as the two decades of their flowering partnership melt in their hearts.

The next day the maid steps in with newspaper and milk while Anita is still in the 

embrace of slumber.

The maid notices the two plates in the sink and sighs, “Poor madam is missing her 

husband. So she eats from two plates”.

                           written for  : Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers


word count  : 161

Notes : Earth Hour is a 60 minute period when all the lights are switched off voluntarily.

Read more about Earth Hour.

Sunday, 10 September 2017

bridging the gap

          Sunday Photo Fiction – September 10th 2017

211 09 September 10th 2017

                                                photo courtesy A Mixed Bag.

“A part of the proceeds of the sale of my property will be donated to the local 

orphanage, Girls’ school and library”, instructing her lawyer.

“The Temple renovations will be funded by me, Pandit-Ji”.

“I have finished all my duties and can join my late husband”.

“Have you made peace with yourself, Saraswati?” the retort from the holy man 

unsettled the septuagenarian.

She lowered her gaze and looked the other way, a farrago of anger and guilt.

Several thoughts criss-crossed her already confused mind.

Nandini’s daughter must be in her late teens. She staggered and held the window-bars for 

support. The inanimate bridge with water flowing placidly seemed to reach out to her. 

She had built an impenetrable wall around her. The stones from the obliterated wall have 

to be used to build a bridge, to bring her only daughter, closer.

Hobbling to her almirah, she caressed her jewellery and bridal sari. She pictured her 

grand-daughter in the antique splendour. Nandini will inherit a part of her ancestral 

estate and her love and blessings. Her ‘jamai’ has to be accorded a grand welcome.

“Another ten years and I will join you”, she says to her husband’s photograph.

Peace reigns.

                Written for  : Sunday Photo Fiction.


                                            Click HERE to read all the SPF stories.

Notes : Pandit - Hindu priest

             Ji - addressing a person respectfully.

             Almirah - wardrobe

             Jamai - Son-in-law. In Indian households the jamai is treated like a King and is fed with the                            choicest of traditional food.       

Saturday, 9 September 2017

Abundant reap

       Weekend Writing Prompt #19 – Abundance

                                        Photo Prompt 


word prompt : Abundance

Prose Challenge – Write a story that focuses on a quality that you think the world could do with in abundance.  Word limit: 150 words.
The timely rainfall had the rivers overflowing its embankments. The bountiful crop filled 

the granaries and the bucolic scent bathed the simple peasants.

The Angel smiled brimming with satisfaction.

The Satan winced with displeasure.

The war was declared and winning became inevitable.

Satan spread the shadow of his ugly claws.  Soon the village was dotted with liquor shops 

brewed from the excess grains. The simple hearts drowned themselves in sin, fighting, 

abusing and creating unrest. The Monster smiled stroking his claws.

The words of the clergyman soothed the disturbed minds. Realising their folly, they shed 

their vices and donned the cloak of righteousness. Peace reigned. The abundance was 

donated to the underprivileged, bridging the gap between the haves and have-nots. 

Philanthropy thrived.
The Angel waved his wand on the sleeping village. In the dark of the night, the shadow of 

Satan beat a retreat.

         Weekend Writing Prompt # 19 - Abundance.Thank you Sammi Cox.
word count : 144


            Weekend Writing Prompt #19 – Abundance

Poetry Challenge – Write a non-rhyming poem, in 15 lines or less, that includes the words:

  • abundance
  • prosperity
  • plenty

She sowed a seed, 
on the fertile farm of motherhood.
She reaped an abundance of bounty,
the prosperity made her content.
her child's smiles, plenty,
the cup runneth over.

With wrinkled hands she waves, 
from the blue clouds.
A cocoon she have woven,
around him, protecting him,
from all lurking dangers.

Untie him from your apron strings,
wisely cajoles the angel.
Let him take risks, lead his life,
It is his life, after-all.

           Weekend Writing Prompt# 19 - Abundance. Thanks Sammi Cox

Epic Re-interpretation.


fiction Writing Friday Foto Fiction

The dice was cast.

Duryodhana commanded, “Go and get that maid”.

She was dragged forcibly by vile hands and watched by men in power with helpless eyes.

As Duryodhana lunged forward indicating her to sit on his lap, Karna got up, standing in 

the way of his best friend and the lady “Stop Duryodhana”

“You are my mate, Karna”, blood-shot eyes thundered.

“My shoulders weigh down by your debts, Duryodhana. A lady’s honour is above 

friendship. I will not allow you to cross the threshold of immorality and indecency as a 

close friend.”

“I second Karna”, echoes Bhishma’s baritone.

“Me too”, choruses the court of Hastinapur.

A pair of feminine palms clap in the audience of the Experimental Theatre, Mumbai.

                          Image result for The court of Hastinapur with Draupadi

All feet arise to a standing ovation. The Director’s chest swells with success.

“What would be your reaction, Modern Draupadi, hadn’t you got unexpected support?” a 

critic asks.

Panchali whips out a can of pepper spray and hitches her sari high to demonstrate her 

marital skill.

The curtain falls with pride.

Written for :  Friday Foto Fiction -The Mask-Sep 8-13. Thanks Tina and Mayuri.

                                            Tina Basu

Google pic

Word count :  171.

I tried to stick to the prescribed word count of 150 but was forced to exceed it.

Friday, 8 September 2017


Aunt Charlotte being a very fastidious person, I am on tenterhooks about a slip.

The brownies and cookies are baked to perfection. Darjeeling tea is ready to be 

brewed. The expensive crockery is laid on the table. The curtains match with sofa 


How did I miss this? I station the wooden-stool and hitch my dress high to climb 

despite feeling giddy. I am busy cleaning the ceiling-fan. The landline-phone springs to 


                                             Image result for Landline Phone ringing

I lower myself huffing, losing my balance to fall on the phone. I just pick the receiver.

“Okay Aunt”, I mumble.

She has cancelled her visit.

            Written for  : Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction. Thanks Charli Mills.

google pic