The Quote -

"Nope, I don't really have anything new to say. but then, I always have something amazing to tell about things that you already know!!"


Monday, December 5, 2011

Her primary Colors- A set of 55 fictions

The Snap-

The fiction-

His deliverance- (the blue story)

“Go on…” she nodded.

A few shadows turned back shocked at the dry nonchalance pouting from her voice.

He left. Not once did he turn back.

Perhaps guilt finally saved him from her burning eyes.

Tears poured along her remaining tatters but then she was not going to build her family on another one destroyed.

The snap-

The tail/tale of the giant asshole- (the green story)

“Go on…” she nodded.

“That’s it” He retorted.

She sighed. Men can be giant assholes at times. Perhaps they are all the time. It just misses getting noticed.

“No” she calmly replied. “There could have been more but then, didn’t we just find out you have a wife. Now get lost. I am nobody’s substitute.”

The snap-

Cookie jar delicacies- (the red story)

“Go on…” she nodded.

A kid caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar. He blinked at her and his wife standing at her doorway.

“What’s happening?” His voice wavered slightly.

“Oh, I called her. Nothing personal. It’s just that” She paused. “I hate it when men play women for fools.”

Author's note-

Some time back, I wrote a similar set of 55 fictions, with the same starting theme but ending in different ways. I tried the same with the idea to write responses of women on finding out that the guy they were seriously dating was already married. I wanted 3 of them, so that they will each represent different reactions based on primary colors, hence the name of the title. I wanted the endings to be bitter sweet, not a totally morbid one.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Practice makes a (Wo) man perfect - A 55 fiction

The Snap -


The fiction -

It ended abruptly. No scratching, snarling, rank abusing, tearing of clothes, pulling of hair, biting, nails trying to plough through skin like any other cat fight.

A single blow to the jaw was all it took.

“You can ….. Really Punch” The spectators stammered amazed.

“Yeah” She shrugged. “I have an elder brother to practice on”

Author’s note - 

Quite a while back, I asked my sister what she will do in case someone’s trying to hurt her, really hurt her. She thought for a while and said that she will use her nails on him. But then, nails won’t really do much damage and it will never save anybody in case of a physical skirmish. In fact, I told her that the only thing long nails are good for is to look good her. That’s when I talked her into learning a few basics of self defense and how to punch.

The easy part was teaching part - how to make a strong fist that will direct the punch, not divert it, how to maximize the force of the punch and so on, the hard part started when she started to practice on me and from there it went to worse and worse as she got better and better. And nowadays, when I anger her, she sweetly lets me know with a sharp punch or two. Courtesy - of course my own selfless punching lessons.

The 55 fiction was hence inspired.

But then, jokes apart, I think basic self defense is something each and every woman should know. No need for full blown karate or kung fu lessons but it does not hurt to know how to throw a good punch. You never know when it will need it.

 This post is dedicated to all sisters and brothers. A very happy Raksha Bandhan to one and all of you guys. Have fun.

Saturday, July 30, 2011

In darkness, we smile -- A series of short fictions

The snap -

From under the Bed- (7 Sentences)      
“You there” His thin voice resonated; pealing of from its lucid ring, a few unheard echoes leaped, bouncing off the lonely bed room walls. Slowly, very slowly, as deliberate as a dancer on spilled oil, he edged towards the end of the bed, it’s pearl white mattresses frowning, its face folding a million myriad lines, scorning at his easy gullibility, the trustful innocence of any 9 year old.

A dry pair of lit sockets from under the bed moved along with his small fingers, grappling at the edge of the cot- a fuzzy ball of disheveled hair tentatively poking out followed by a juvenile pair of eyes, curiosity and hesitant fear in competing dips. What really is under the bed of a 9 year old, of any young kid, too flustered to scream, too manly to call out for his father, a bit too frightened to confront for himself, as he uncertainly chews his lower lip, sweat salt and fear lining his forehead, his perked ears hearing his own booming heart trying to break his ribs with each pushing thump.

 The answer to all this and to some more, looked eagerly into the liquid eyes of the kid and barred its teeth; its lips, a thin line curled, trying to grin and bringing out rather dull reclusive smirk.

“Peek A A BOO” It screeched. “PEEE  …. KAA …. BOO”

“Hush” the kid rebuked “You… IDIOT… you will wake up mom!!”

The Snap-

His last request – (5 Sentences)

His back arched in pain, raw scalding pain, cutting through his senses like a knife slicing through rancid butter, exploding white dots singeing blank the borders of his vision, his shrill voice squealing, hands flailing around her neck desperate to get a decent grip on the soft protrusion, fingers wild in a murderous frenzy, in a mad struggle to squeeze the life out of her. Blood, it’s warm, sticky trickle, his own blood, dripping down his neatly pressed trousers, drawing fine lines of crimson red along the creases and crinkles of the smooth fabric, its warm fingers seized him in a sudden panic jellying his quivering bowels, farting out in haste the morning’s breakfast – a generous slice of ham tossed with carrots, beans, two extra large omelets finishing off with an good portion of fresh orange juice, now nothing more than a wet nauseous stench, one that filled his crotch.

And then it snapped, just as his nostrils picked up the reeking damp stink, his mind finally snapped, trying to make sense of his rapidly spiraling world, one thread at a time, shredding raw his reason and logic,  the vortex pulling him down as he scrambled desperately to get a grip, a grip on anything – anything to sane himself. It was then that the knife, sharp and serrated, finally found his hand that plucked the same with monstrous ferocity and started hacking away at her again and again, blood spilling and splashing in a free flow bid, his, hers, theirs, pieces of hair caked with mud bloodied, bits of skin, shards of mutilates, bits of broken bones- all flying in the air, in a few moments of Technicolor visceral fountain.

Next day, when they found the two carcasses spooled in a pool of dried blood, the face of the women hewed featureless, the man’s under belly cleaved by his own knife – a few hundred gnats buzzing around in the sodden smell, relishing the retch of death, they couldn’t help but notice her teeth were still tearing into his vitals- Sucked him dry, that she did, just like he requested when he cornered her at his knife’s point.

The snap - 

The good bye – (3 sentences)      
The floors flew past her in a scrambling charade of random images, vividly colorful – a pandemonium of jumbled scenes leapt at her face, her father’s office- the top floor executive suite with the gleaming mahogany table where  he liked to walk to and fro when deep in thought, the posh blue interiors of her play room, a few forlorn toys lying around in disarray, thrown around probably during her last tantrum, her mother’s photo, her warm smile encased in a cold frame, long dead by the time she was long born, her nanny for now calling out, shouting for her, as listless as any other in the long list of nannies that have attended to her, too many rooms to search, always empty, like her nights always spent lonely and like everything in her life, this too started as a childish thought, a prank, may  be a attention grabber, but once she had jumped, there was no going back, just swirling eddy of her own misplaced thoughts.

No, she did not really scream, like a deer caught dead looking at the head lights of a speeding vehicle, she looked at the grey building that has been her life until then, until today, her last day probably and her last second probably and in those few final few moments, some part of her couldn’t help but wonder, Will her father ever notice that she was gone??

And just about when the ground swelled up to kiss her good bye, her eyes saucered with exultant cheer, noticing someone, someone who had actually took the time and energy and was waving at her, really waving at her- falling down and just about when she hurriedly cart wheeled her arms to return the good bye – splat.

The Snap -

The meal – (1 Sentence)

“It is okay to be lonely” he repeated aloud to himself, may be just to break the silence sinking him, maybe to reaffirm the callused fact – with words like touching a dead wart, maybe he really wanted to just feel okay and may be even hear himself say the same in his own unwavering voice, but then before the sound of his own chords reached his ears, the television box grabbed and ate him up.

 Author's Note - 

Quite a while back, I once tried to write a few short stories, reducing the number of lines gradually in each one of them. And, for some random reason, I wanted to try the same once more. Have I gotten better!! Now that's something that I rather would leave it to reader to decide. Do try my other story of the same idea at - link. 
The stories – all have a common streak of dark themes, inspired by Stephen king – to whom, I have begin to take an instant liking- his broody themes, philosophical ranting, dark ideas. Wow... I hope, I have done justice to the genre.

Of all the stories, I kind of wanted to expand on the first one alone. In a way, I am curious to see how the story will take shape, what the kid is trying to do, whats actually inder his bed, whats the  dynamics between the kid and whats under his bed... My mind like scratching an itch, is still pondering over the same. May be, I will do a write up of the same fiction – and finish the story, just hang with me for a wnile.

The second fiction, is inspired by the coloumn I read, on a magazine about how – Women being subjected to physical & mental harassment, how trust is becoming a rare thing to find in people nowadays. My story in a way, is a hit back to it - to the part about women being abused.

See you guys in my next post.   J

Sunday, May 22, 2011

True Beauty- The urban myth

The Snap - 

True Beauty??

The Post -

“True beauty”

After a mild chuckle, my sister repeated the words slowly – rather relishing, pronouncing every single syllable of the word separately.
“True beauty.”

“Yeah! True beauty” I nodded. “So what do you think of it?”

“You want a honest answer” She shot back.

“Yeah! Just tell me the first thing that comes to your mind.”

“Hmhm.... OK.”

She nodded. Her thoughtful eyes wandered outside the window, probably pondering on the subject at hand. The road, lit up by the evening sun stood empty other than for a few mosaics of dry leaves & bits of scattered scrap. Week end holidays always leave them, the roads- lonely. None of the rush hour traffic and noise. The frenzy of life takes a back seat, the front ones mostly unoccupied. Rarely of-course, some may break the trend, a newly married couple perhaps- probably lost in each other too much & may be a few boys with cricket bats scouting for a game, the rest peaceful in the closure &comfort of their homes, glued to Computer screens & television sets.

The Question !!

“Hmhm.. You know what” My sister’s voice echoed through.
“I don’t know!” she said in an almost mellow whisper.
“WHAT??” I blurted out.
“Yeah!” She calmly told to rather to herself rather than tome, as if she just comprehended the enormity of the truth that she has discovered. “I don’t know what true beauty is? ”
“Hmhm... Really!!” I sighed, clearly disappointed with her candid answer.
Her face lit up with a quirky expression- eyebrows raised with a broad grin.
“Why? What were you expecting me to say?” She asked.
“Hmhm.... Like....  Something along the lines of Mother’s love, Baby's smile & such stuff.....”
“You are not really being fair to the women, who are not mothers... Are you?" She paused "And please - with the baby's smile - how more cliche' can you get??" 
“Hmhm..... Yeah! You are right....” I remarked.  “I never really thought of it in that way. OK... How about a women in love?”
“Once again- you are limiting true beauty to a segment of women? So, What you are meaning is that women who are not in love- aren't truly beautiful.”
“No, I did not mean it like that.." I looked up at her completely baffled. "Then what is real beauty - REALLY” I asked.
“You see.” My sister calmly stated. “Real beauty is elusive. It’s ephemeral. Something that's only possible in fairy tales or so..... I mean... All of us women want Real beauty. In-fact we dream about it. even fantasize about it.” She paused.
“Nice! But of course – Then you don't know... what you guys really want...” I couldn't help grinning.
“Ah.." She smirked "Thank you, for the observation- Genius. I am leaving you with your post. I have got some work to do.”

 Before I could think of something to say, she left.

Simple things are the most hard to figure out. I sighed to myself as I looked out of the window.

The evening was at it’s climax.

The damsel dusk flowing across the blue pavilion in her last tango. Her dramatic finale. Her satin gown dipping & diving on the azure’s sly. A turn, a twist, a trot; Fingers entwined in an embrace eternal, the orange sun’s last embers- infernal fingers, lingers behind in warm cinders. Amidst the sporadic splashes of spectra- the million minions of colors- cyan, magenta, yellow & black- Interlaced in-between white streaks of light laces strut along- dimming delights of hues - honey coated.

The dusk in adieu – on an blue evening’s sky. Full of warmth & life. A free hug from Mother nature.

I sighed to myself. True beauty without boundaries. Full of love & spurting with life.

"So, have you got the idea for the post" My sister came into the room throwing around her warm smile. Her easy smile- Full of life & warmth.

& then it hit me. The simple meaning of true beauty.

It’s a women’s warmth. It’s manifestations- a million.

A mother whose face creases & crinkles with a overflowing smile in every line of her face, when she first sets her eyes on her new born;  A daughter’s gift to her unsuspecting father – a simple play of crayon on a scrap of paper; A wife’s warm smile, as she greets her husband returning exhausted from work; A pregnant women’s jubilation over her baby’s first kick; An old lady’s toothless grin; A little girl’s joyous cry when licked by a puppy, she reached out to pet.

Give or take a few careless freckles & wrinkles. It doesn't really matter.

The warmth of Women

She is always beautiful. Truly beautiful.
Real beauty.  Reaching out at arm’s length.
Just her. In her own smile. In her own skin.
Glowing in her own warmth.
Just let her be.
Let her glow.

Author's Note -

Guys, this post is a submission to the blogging contest on
On the topic - What does real beauty mean to you?
I hope I have stuck the right chord. I am waiting for your comments.
Also, do check out Yahoo's real beauty Web page.

PS - The photos that are used - are from
Do note the watermark in the images.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Short Stories - Topic "Thy Exam, Thy Fever"

Author's Note -

Quite a while back, I experimented with writing short fictions based on a same theme. I just wanted to explore the same in a mildly different way- Different faces of the same issue. In this case exams. This being the exam season, hope you guys find my fiction relevant.

Short Fiction 1 - The reason to smile !!

"Whats the big smile for?"

The hall examiner asked as he was collecting the answer sheets.

"I just remembered the answer for a question."

"hmhm... But It's of no use. You just submitted your answer sheet & I am not going to give it back to you...

The Student shrugged.

"Yeah I know - But the irony of it .... I cannot help but smile."

Short Fiction 2 - A season of tears

Suddenly she suffocated.

One silly mistake.

Her centum has been ruined by a single silly mistake.

Far once, she felt helpless.

Tears surged. Her vision blurred. Uncontrollable sobs slowly shook her.

Never once - did she cry foul against the education system, that has made her into the memorizing machine that she has become, nor did she find fault with the monstrous emphasis - that has been laid on the exams.

Piece by piece, she slowly broke down. Alone.

Short Fiction 3 - The single right guess !!

The question paper stared back at him.

He gave out a calm sigh.

At peace. At last.

No surprises there.

Of course he knew- he was going to fail. But then, thats no reason to fret.

After all, he did guessed today's subject right. Didn't he???

Fin -

PS- Do try out the original experimentation for short fictions of the same Idea at

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

A few lapses of Recognition-

The Snap -

The Story-

"I wonder why people from cine field can get recognition & national, state awards so easily. I mean, I have nothing against the industry. In fact I love good movies. It’s just I know so many people who are so good, dedicated & selfless at what they do- in other fields, like engineering, medical, social service and what not."

"I mean, why should actors & actresses be called stars first of all. Acting is a job like any other."

"Why should people listen to their interviews on festival days? What kind of sense does that make? I mean, they are professionals who just portray what’s given to them. I respect them for what they are. But, why I ask, are they given undue importance."

"I love movies. I love the movie industry. But, don’t you think – Most of the times, recognition that is met out to people in the industry aren’t always well keeping in line with their achievements. People from other walks of life deserve more? From the public. From the government. Don’t they?...."

My father shrugged with a calm reply- “ Well we asked them.”

“You asked them.”

“Yeah.” He replied. “When I was there to get the president’s award, which was quite a while back, we were told that, the president was busy & so we will have to receive the award from the junior dignitaries. For once, I was ruffled. I know I have worked hard for what I am going to receive & I deserved to get the award from the president. At least I am entitled to a better answer than the president’s busy.

I blurted out – "But will you do the same if some actor or cricketer is receiving the same award?"

"Do you know what I was answered ?"

My father had a dry smile as he quoted their single worded reply – satirical scar from a wound long forgotten.


Author’s Note –

There are usually ample reasons for the president to give awards to celebrities by themselves.

Bad publicity,

Criticism from Fans,

Money factor,

Close watch of such issues by the Media –

Are a few of the concerns….. But anyways, it does not really stop me wondering…..

But, people from other fields deserve – better recognition. Don’t they??

PS -

The image I used- may not be exactly in tune to the topic. But It had a few Iconic movies, such as Sholay & I guessed nothing could be a better attention grabber.

Do note that, I am quite a movie buff myself- with Christopher Nolan & Zack Snyder topping my current interests. Counter arguments & opinions are welcome.