holiday

                               Sunday Photo Fiction – Sept 16 2018

                                  Thanks for the Photo Prompt : Susan Spaulding

The Sun had already begun its work of burnishing his body with its heat. He 

would flaunt his body to his colleagues after their holiday. She smeared 

generously the suntan lotion on his back. He woke up from his reverie.

The azure waters gently kissed his toes and a smile spread on his face. He tore 

open the Chips packet to munch its salty and spicy contents. After relishing, 

he was about to litter it in the sea when she grimaced and a volley of 

reprimands followed,” keep the water bodies free of plastic”

“Where do I throw this?” he meekly asked.

“Shove it in the duffel bag”, she commanded him.

The teacher in her would not relax even on a holiday, he sighed.

                                              


                                         written for : Sunday Photo Fiction.

word count : 124

Bare

       Sunday Photo Fiction

                      

                                              Thanks Joy Pixley for the photo prompt

“Isn’t this landscape so mesmerizing?” sounded more of a statement than a question.

I was jolted out of my trance as my head involuntary turned in the direction of the voice.

A twenty something had donned a faded tee teamed with tattered denim emphasizing the adherence to fashion fad.The bareness of the canvas failed to see any beauty but it aptly reflected the state of my mind.

The clairvoyant young mind pronounced, “Can spring be far behind? The cycle of life has to continue”. The words of wisdom sprouted hope in my infertile heart. My legs carried me to the next frame. A verdant landscape seemed to beckon me to shed my self-piety like autumn leaves.

My facial contours softened, my drooped shoulders straightened and my lips spread a smile.My eyes searched for the tree of enlightenment.

The tattered denim was out of sight.

                                                             Sunday Photo Fiction


                                                                

 Word count : 146

Walk the path.

         Sunday Photo Fiction

  
                                                   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


                                                      

Journey

                              Sunday Photo Fiction – 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

Egyptian Spirit

Sunday Photo Fiction – October 8th 2017

                                                       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 Heliopolis, Cairo)

                                                      Sunday Photo Fiction.

                                                

(Google pic)

Click HERE to read all the wonderful SPF stories

Word count : 200

Read more about Vijayanagara Empire.

bridging the gap

          Sunday Photo Fiction – 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.       

defence

            Sunday Photo Fiction – September 3rd 2017

                                             
Chopping the coloured bell-peppers, zucchini etc with metronomic precision and the 

wrinkled hands deposited the juliennes into the bowl. A magazine lay on the table.

“Jennifer, is everything okay in office?” the senior lady enquired.

“Yes of course”.

“Something is troubling you, right?” more of a statement.

Jennifer’s deep breath is an indication of her internal suffocation and her propensity to 

keep matters to herself.

“Mama, my team-mate is placing hurdles at every level”.

The senior lady widened her eyes indicating her to continue.

“She hogs the limelight and takes credit of my work”.

Mama tilting her head to her left side asks Jennifer to concentrate on the picture in the 

magazine.

“The battle-tank is an armament of attack as well as defence. Every human has an in-

built defence and attack mechanism in their body. When attacked, try to defend yourself 

or attack the person with ferocity to defend yourself. Bring out the guns. If you don’t 

fight for yourself, no-one will”.

                                                         (Photo courtesy A Mixed Bag.)

Mama sighs and the battle that she fought for alimony and child-maintenance re-winded 

in the spool of her memory.

“Here, eat your greens. Antioxidants strengthen your body”.  

Survival of the fittest is the mantra.

                                    written for :  Sunday Photo Fiction

                                                           
word count : 196

Ephemeral

                  Sunday Photo Fiction – August 27th 2017

         

                              Thanks Dawn M Miller for the lovely photo prompt.

Amisha preferred to be alone in the company of Nature. Her ornithology interests were 

pampered in the environs. She ventured out into the concrete jungle to buy essentials.

The few visitors to the sprawling but spartan cottage on the periphery of woods were 

discombobulated to notice the trio of porcelain set of cup-saucers stuck upright on 

wooden palisades with a respectable distance from each other. But knowing her penchant 

for being an outlier, they expected a departure from the usual.

She filled the empty space with grains and the other with water to attract the avian 

species despite knowing that the deep woods treasured berries and water bodies. From 

the portico, her keen eyes would feast on the different species of feathered friends that 

satiated from the tea-cups. Her brushed replicated the chirping shapes and colours on 

the canvas.

Did Nature have an agenda to make better use of the empty space or will it serve no 

purpose other than being a mere exhibit piece? Time would decide and patience was her 

virtue.

The feeble melody of the inmate of the nest occupying the empty porcelain filled her 

vacant nest of her heart. The feeling would be ephemeral, she realized.

                                                       

                                Written for : Sunday Photo Fiction


                                                     

word count : 200

Read  the other interesting SPF stories HERE.

alien thoughts

          Sunday Photo Fiction – August 20th 2017

                          

Looking hither and thither, she winced as the drab commentary takes center-stage on the 

sci-fi puppetry show. She wished she had been spared the ordeal of chaperoning her little 

sibling. The jejune show had a soporific effect on her.

Exiting out of the make-shift stage she tried to force her thoughts back to some 

semblance of order when she bumped into an ebullient creature. Handing over the fallen 

books, he notices the genre of the books.

“Psychology er Miss..?”

“Tanya”, she found herself introducing and a second later, indignation rising on her 

cheeks.

“Psychology and sci-fi do not mix”, he mocked.

“How will you interpret this?” pointing to the poster.

“The stray alien thoughts disguised as missiles try to enter into the orbit of sub-

consciousness of human mind. The heart is a magnet attracting both yin and yang”, Tanya 

concluded.

“And what resides in the human mind?” he posed a query.

“Thoughts that the heart feeds stay in the mind. The mind is the powerhouse to decide 

what stays on lease rent and what remains permanently etched”, said she.

“Kick the boredom out of your system, pretty one”, and he sauntered away.

Ironing her creased face, she enters the stage with an open window of mind.

                                                  Written for  : Sunday Photo Fiction .

                                                 

word count : 200

Zanjeer

          Sunday Photo Fiction – August 13th 2017

Photo Prompt by Al Forbes

He wiped his muddy stains on tar road and raced around it, his coat gleaming of

eucalyptus oil. Ganesh trailed him, waiting for the slightest signal to pick up vital clues. 

The grey telephone booth  became a centre of his focus and attention. Ganesh 

took the hint and wondered what the innocuous looking wooden structure held inside to 

garner attention. But being trained to handle sensitive cases, his unseen antennas picked 

up unusual wavelengths. The entire force in khaki apparel got ready for action. One pair 

of strong hands opened the door of the booth effortlessly. The Police scanned the entire 

structure. Only air seemed to be enclosed. His acute sense of smell could never be 

doubted or undermined.

While the Mumbai Police looked at the walls and roof, Detective Karamchand’s pupils 

were arrested at the ground beneath his soles. “Dig”, he yelled having scented the cache.

There was enough ammunition to blow up the entire city of Mumbai. The area was 

immediately cordoned off to avoid the onslaught of the Fourth Estate.

Ganesh bent down and patted Zanjeer's gleaming coat.

“Good boy, treat yourself with a biscuit”, praising the canine.

“woof woof” , responded Zanjeer.

                 Written for  : Sunday Photo Fiction

                                            



word count : 196

Note : Zanjeer was trained at the Dog Training Centre of the Criminal Investigating 

Department. The Mumbai Bomb Detection and Disposal Squad took him under their wing 

and handler Ganesh and Zanjeer helped the department recovered RDX  and gelatin sticks 

in 1993 Mumbai bombings.

Read more about Zanjeer here.

I have tweaked a bit for the story.




Click HERE to read all the wonderful SPF entries.

A game

Sunday Photo Fiction – August 6th 2017

© J Hardy Carroll

200 words

A few cars were parked along the kerb. The brick red building with tiny outlets called 

windows stood silently, their inmates packed inside. The peaceful locality could be the 

target for communal conflagration and the Police were taking no chances. People were 

asked to confine themselves indoors.

Twenty-two pair of alert eyes scanned the entire place. 

The screeching siren could be heard from a distance. The feet scurried to take refuge in 

the ramshackle building nearby. As the siren noise ebbed they spilled on the road.

"Nikhil stand guard at the northern end", barked the captain lifting his visor in charge of 

the shebang.

“And you Vicky place yourself at the southern end". 

They divided themselves into two groups and took their places at strategic points and 

brought out their ammunition.

The white and orange sign board was dumped into the building as it posed to be an 

obstacle. 

The powerful willow was unsheathed and the innocuous circular object was raring to go 

to knock off weak heads.

The boys wore their gloves and pads for extra safety. They could not take chances. The 

stakes were high.

"Hurray, let's begin our long and interesting game of cricket”, hollered the captains.

                                                 Written for  :  Sunday Photo Fiction

                                                        

word count : 200

Click HERE to read all the wonderful SPF stories.

revenge

Sunday Photo Fiction –   July 30th 2017

© A Mixed Bag 2009
[Synthetic Alien Head from the National Space Centre,  Leicester, UK]

write a story with the photo as a prompt in 200 words or less. 

Caressing his double barrel gun with unblemished pride of his hunting abilities and 

lineage he waxed eloquent about his numerous hunting expeditions even of some 

endangered species.

He was adept in the art of taxidermy, displaying his kill as mount trophies on the walls. 

The mounts stared down from the height echoing an eerie feeling.

A tiger face mount was enclosed in a glass cubicle and displayed on the mahogany table. 

I enquired him about this unusual choice of place.

He had gone hunting deep into the woods where a tribe inhabited the jungle. The tribal 

chieftain was killed inadvertently while aiming his gun onto the tiger. The mounted tiger 

face was kept on his table to remind him of his failure of his perfect bull’s eye.

My inquisitiveness grew about the fate of the chieftain. The tribal was left to bleed as 

they were infamous for vendetta.

A week later the Police summoned me to his palatial mansion.

The tiger mount was replaced by his wan face in the glass cubicle shorn of his prized 

mustache and hair.

His remaining body was found deep in the jungles.

I said a silent prayer to the departed soul of my chieftain grandpa.


      written for : Sunday Photo Fiction - July 30th 2017

                                               

Jungle means forest.

Read all the wonderful stories HERE.

The School

                 Sunday Photo Fiction – July 16th 2017

© Mike Vore

Troubling was brewing In Gangasagar’s school. The structural engineers had already 

written its obituary. But Gangasagar was not the one to bury his late father’s dream. It 

had been built on the solid foundations of altruism and compassion and couldn’t be 

demolished, he reasoned and consoled himself. But in the darkest moments he felt he 

was fighting a losing battle but he wished not to expose his frailties to the people who

had pinned their hopes on him.

The school had survived on the largesse of some Mumbai citizens.

The Municipal Corporation had plans to demolish it. Gangasagar had managed to get a 

stay order from the judiciary. The land sharks were ready to extract their pound of flesh.

“Hope the new Municipal Commissioner intervenes”, he said to himself.

A stranger enters Gangasagar’s humble abode and greets him with a ‘Namaste’.

The stranger tell how Gangasagar’s father’s generosity had touched him and he was able 

to graduate from a chaiwallah to his present position.

He further elucidated that the dilapidated school would be rebuilt and the poor students 

could continue their studies without any hitches.

Gangasagar received a fresh lease of life.

The stranger was the new MC. 

                                          Written for :  Sunday Photo Fiction July 16th 2017

                                                         

Read all the wonderful entries HERE


Notes : Chaiwallah is a a boy who brews and sells tea.

MC - municiapal commissioner.

Namaste - Indian way of greeting.

one afternoon

   Sunday Photo Fiction

© A Mixed Bag

The blue van pulls along the kerb and parks in the shade of the giant Peepal.

Eight eager feet jump out on the cobbled pathway.

“Stick to the path. Your soles will be caked in mud”, the elderly advice floats around.

“The GPS shows we are on the right track, Mom. Can’t spot ‘Mutt’s breakfast cereals’. 

Their website says ‘Open’; Johnny announces.

 “There”, I point out at the end of the annex's wall decorated with Indian Ivy on it.

The Gandhi spectacles behind the counter is dozing off.

I bang the glass counter top thrice to awaken the bald head.

The pot-belly with suspenders stirs.

The sleepy dilated pupils stare at Johnny.

Johnny stares back amused.

“I want a carton of Pedigree Pouch Chicken for my son. He has been a good boy this 

week” and the figure behind the counter shifts his bewildered gaze upward at me.

“Your son?”, and he gapes at me.

Two tiny muddy prints appear on the glass counter and a face emerges above the counter.

“Woof woof”, wagging his tail.

“My son”, I clarify to the man behind the counter.

                                       written for  : Sunday Photo Fiction July 9th 2017

                                                


                                    Click HERE to read all the wonderful stories.




Gandhi's specs.
(google pic)

Peepal - An Indian tree.