tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6420306800995487392024-03-16T00:08:54.807-07:00The average everyday - Reality FictionizedCurious, questioning, Imaginative, Brutal, Possibly Rhetorical - A salvage of ideas and words, Often as stories - Sometimes as musings.muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.comBlogger109125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-34888479486961480322014-07-17T08:18:00.001-07:002014-07-17T08:19:45.463-07:00All in a Train's Day - 55 Fictions<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>"Four Different Stories - Four Different Times - Four Different Emotions - About One Character - The Train"</i></div>
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<b>0600 Hours: </b></div>
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A moist breeze laden with wet promises of the day rushed
past the speeding train. A few early risers and a few empty cabins floated past
a city rising to the embers of the sun. </div>
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Littered out on the roof tops and on the window sills, a few
kids alone stared at the passage mesmerized. </div>
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<b>1200 Hours:</b></div>
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Nobody knew who dropped their lunch on the entrance of the
carriage; Warm rice and curry, still steaming and thrumming along with the rhythm
of the train; its spicy flavor and fragrance flicking the roiling appetites of the
passengers. </div>
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The passengers jumped across the spilled food, their attire
and their hunger neat & intact. </div>
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<b>1800 Hours:</b></div>
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The train started to sweat. It’s every orifice enamored with
the crowd returning from their jobs to their homes. Humans hung to each and
every piece of holding and standing space available; jostling at each other; their
parts and pieces hanging out of the vehicle; squirming with life; </div>
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The train plodded on.</div>
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<b>2400 Hours:</b></div>
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A few beggars moved from compartment to compartment; picking
up whatever hooped their fancy. A red kerchief, a bottle with some water left
in it, a few news papers, a couple of ear buds. Carrying the echoes of life
left behind, the train clanged hollow. </div>
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Amidst these empty ensembles, those beggars compared their
today’s loots with glee.</div>
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<o:p><b>Author's Note:</b></o:p></div>
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I have been wanting to start blogging again for quite a while. For that, I was looking for an idea both interesting and also challenging. A jump start of sorts. And when i was playing football today evening, I had a eureka moment about what I was going to write.</div>
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A group of 55 fictions, that would all stand alone as separate fictions but when put together can evoke a singular narrative. A single character narrative.</div>
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And hence, the story! after some deliberation, I decided to take train as the character. (Last Week, I visited Chennai by train and had an awesome weekend. Hence the inspiration.) I hope you guys like it. Also, I got a few amazing photos while searching for nice snaps of trains. Do visit again to read the stories I frame on those images. Cheers. </div>
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If you are interested in reading my similar fictions, kindly visit use this<a href="http://www.average-everyday.blogspot.in/search/label/55%20fiction"> link</a>.</div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-21954598831611602342013-10-15T18:34:00.003-07:002013-10-15T18:43:50.196-07:00In Love - Poetry<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Darkness drags its feet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">deliquesce denied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Caught in the dark locks of her hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">II</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16px;">Thy voice of the breeze</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 16px;">singing;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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III<br />
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Celibate moon<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Through her window screens!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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IV<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><b>Author's Note:</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> It has been quite a while since I blogged. When I wanted to restart blogging I wanted to post something light and memorable - some of old poetry (that I tweeted a while back). Hope you guys like them.</span><br />
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muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-20308129737875606542013-06-10T07:29:00.003-07:002013-06-10T07:29:37.926-07:00The ballad of balloons & other poems<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b> Poem 1 - The Ballad of the Balloons-</b></div>
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A few blue balloons flew skyward </div>
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Time & Gravity</div>
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killed their hegira</div>
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But the kids eye's
were still lost</div>
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In the vast skies</div>
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<b>Poem 2 - An escape to death:</b></div>
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Hegira from heights</div>
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Thy rain drop alights</div>
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Torn wings in loaned swings</div>
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An escape with torn capes</div>
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From thy pan, plop into fire </div>
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<b>Poem 3 - The distant echos...</b></div>
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Ensconced amidst </div>
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Thy rumbling heart beats; </div>
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Echoes a mild melody; </div>
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Listen close; you may hear </div>
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Her smile; </div>
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<o:p><b>Poem 4 - SOS</b></o:p></div>
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In paltry beats</div>
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some billion feats</div>
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Thy earth's heart</div>
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thumps & bumps</div>
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Thy tabernacle</div>
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thy home become. #stopterrorism</div>
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<b>Author's note-</b></div>
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These are some of the tweets that I posted a while ago. I hope you guys like my poetry. In case you guys are interested in more of my tweets, do follow me in twitter @aarthycrazy - I cannot assure you regular tweets but can always guarantee some quite quirky ones. :) </div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-91611504737586611012013-06-01T19:32:00.001-07:002013-06-01T19:33:31.148-07:00The Helpless - A 55 fiction<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The Snap:</b></div>
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<b>The Tale:</b></div>
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“I don’t want to go to the dentist” Her chubby voice gurgled.
</div>
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“hmhm”</div>
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“Please papa….. Please….”</div>
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“hmhm hmhm”</div>
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<br /></div>
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The kid pulled his hand gingerly.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I really don’t want to…..”</div>
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“hmhm.... Okay.” he sighed.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The kid calmed down for a moment, a bare moment before then
her voice crackled as she sobbed.</div>
<br />
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“I am sorry, papa but my tooth .......... still pains” </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Author's Note:</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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The idea behind the 55 fiction is to emphasize the unsaid reality that is left out of the story-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the kid who did not take care of her teeth despite the warnings of the parent, The helplessness that chokes her father when she is suffering from pain, the innocence of the kid when she is apologizing for something as simple as taking care of your teeth. <br />
<br />
This is a part of <a href="http://www.indiblogger.in/topic.php?topic=79">Colgate's IndiBlogger Contest</a>. To know more about the Colgate initiative and their expert articles on teeth and gums, kindly visit the following <a href="http://www.myhealthyspeak.co.in/">link</a>.</div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-25688170045256610122013-04-01T03:48:00.000-07:002013-04-02T09:34:27.918-07:00A king's Tale - Flash Fiction<br />
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<b>The Snap-</b></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HBx7P43o374/UVljBcYXVII/AAAAAAAAAg0/crQjvTDIbiY/s1600/the-battle-of-anghiari.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HBx7P43o374/UVljBcYXVII/AAAAAAAAAg0/crQjvTDIbiY/s320/the-battle-of-anghiari.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>The Tale-</b><br />
<br />
<br />
A dry smile hung on his bloodied face apropos the stark
struggle it had taken for him to claw his way to the top; to have had the guile
to be ruthless; the gall to war tooth and nail with his own clan, his own brethren.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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All of them, every single one of them fierce warriors, now defeated; now lying broken on the battleground beneath
his feet; their tired breaths echoing around the empty embers of the open sky;
their astute eyes fixed on him, their very fates hanging by the tethers of his
decision.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I win” His deep
voice shattering the slip of silence welling after the din of the conflict. “I
am the alpha and I am the king”</div>
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<br /></div>
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Then he got down on his knees to help them up.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Who's a <b>king.......... alone??</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-26130850153519066622012-12-14T01:09:00.000-08:002012-12-14T01:18:39.257-08:00The Honest Woodcutter- Fiction (Aesop's Retold)<br />
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<br />
“You are not honest.” The angel sighed. “Not even close to
it.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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The wood cutter’s hand tightened around the three axes as he stopped walking, turned and looked up at the angel. His hardened face skewed into welt lines lashed
with the abrupt accusation. </div>
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<br /></div>
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“But I did the right thing… Didn't I?” </div>
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<br /></div>
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“Oh …. Really? So, tell me, my dear man” She taunted “What
happened? And what did you do, that you think is so right?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“My axe. It fell into the river. My mistake. Was not
handling it properly. And just as I thought that it was done for, you came
forward to help but retrieved a golden and silver version of my axe before
coming up with my own. And yes, as honest as I am, I owned up to only my own
axe.”<br />
<br /></div>
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“And then…” she prodded.<br />
<br /></div>
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“You gave me all the three as a gift to my honesty. Right??”<br />
<br /></div>
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“Well, that’s true.”
She paused, her warm red lips dipping into a delicious smirk. “But wouldn't a really honest man simply refuse
the other two axes given as gifts. And what’s the point of being honest, if you
start accepting bribes for the very act, the one you deem to be in accordance
to your own moral principles.”<br />
<br /></div>
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She calmly shook her head, her soft flowing hair reveling in
the mellow breeze. <br />
<br /></div>
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“Oh… please…… Didn't you see this coming? What are you… a
thumb sucking kid? You are honest because you choose to be; not because someone
greases your palm now and then for your <u>good deeds</u>.”<br />
<br /></div>
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The wood cutter blurted out. “But it was a gift.”<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z3AzcIcCvGU/UMrpIEVqGBI/AAAAAAAAAgU/Ro8wTGb5hDs/s1600/5586813260_00bbf8b47d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z3AzcIcCvGU/UMrpIEVqGBI/AAAAAAAAAgU/Ro8wTGb5hDs/s320/5586813260_00bbf8b47d.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
It was then that she started to laugh. Her luscious voice
raining through the entire valley, her guffaws drizzling with the dew of her mirth,
her dark eyes exploding with a million teasing tinges, she turned around towards
the bottom of the river. And just before leaping in into its arcane depths, she
gave the bewildered woodcutter one last look and sighed.<br />
<br /></div>
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Another wannabe. A honest one at that.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Author's note-</b><br />
<br />
Another attempt in twisting the Aesop's with regard to a more skewed version of morality. The argument that is made by the fairy is ambiguous and questionable but I think it is still valid in its own right. If we are not enjoying something and doing it just for the end result- then that I think marks the first step in the decay of human purpose. (Well, that went too philosophical than I intended to. Pardon me.) And I would love to hear what you guys think of my version of honesty.<br />
<br />
Also, If you guys are interested to check out the other Aesop's that were retold by me, kindly check out this <a href="http://www.average-everyday.blogspot.in/search/label/aesops">link.</a> Also, the original tale of the honest woodcutter can be read in the following <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Honest_Woodcutter">link.</a><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-35239042300481623242012-12-09T19:25:00.002-08:002012-12-10T01:34:07.201-08:00Always late - 55 fiction<br />
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<b>The Snap-</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UcLBIuoxGws/UMVRHv5YZXI/AAAAAAAAAf8/QZKYB8mLGeo/s1600/Angry-woman-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UcLBIuoxGws/UMVRHv5YZXI/AAAAAAAAAf8/QZKYB8mLGeo/s320/Angry-woman-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>The Tale-</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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“Always late” </div>
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They stared at her in silence.</div>
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<br />
“Irresponsible jerk!” </div>
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She looked around defensively.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Oh, Trust me……………… I should know.” Her tart voice pitched up.</div>
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“He was late even for our marriage”</div>
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<br /></div>
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She nodded to the others.</div>
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“Wait till he gets
here. He is going to wish; he crashed the car once more……But now <u>Alone</u>.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><br /></b>
<b>Author's note-</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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The theme of the 55 fiction is Ghost. I wanted the fiction to be vague and cryptic in the first read. But subtly humorous during the second. I hope that you guys like it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When I read in my comments page- that a 55 fiction contest is being conduced by <a href="https://plus.google.com/100179800525066970330/posts">Sasi</a>, I felt that it was just tailor-made for me, as I was not getting time to write a good post for almost a month now. I wish him cheers and all the best for his venture.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And I loved that picture I found on Google Damn. She is hot, cute and at the same time angry. Now, that's some girl. :P</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">This post is written for the </span><b style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sasithebeginner.blogspot.in/2012/12/best-55-fictionist.html" style="color: #351c75; text-decoration: initial;" target="_blank">Best 55 Fictionist Contest</a></b><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">, hosted by Sasikumar Raja Blogs at </span><b style="color: #666666; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sasithebeginner.blogspot.in/" style="color: #351c75; text-decoration: initial;" target="_blank">Beginner</a></b></div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-41955081966931075102012-12-06T18:56:00.000-08:002012-12-06T18:56:10.701-08:00"Her nightmare": My entry for the Get Published contest<br />
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="separator" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4Aos6aUKa2w/UE9drEqEadI/AAAAAAAAAZI/ZBIs2AKz9xc/s320/sak1.jpg" /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The Idea-<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Yes. The fiction is about love. Not just that ephemeral
string of amber tones between the lovers themselves. It is about the tight
bonds that are strained between the parents and their kids involved. A youngster
in the final year of her engineering graduation gets caught red handed by her
mother while chatting with her lover in skype. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Of course, she is placed in a well reputed MNC. Her career
is secure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Of course, she has always been given ample freedom to make
her own decisions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Of course, her parents have always been more friends
and guides than the conservative meaning of the word.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Of course, the boy she loved is a senior executive working
in management sector, is a responsible guy earning handsomely, not just loved
her but cared about every aspect of her and her family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Their love was heartfelt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">But, all that’s for naught, when her mother confronts
her with the raw fact that she had to find out about her daughter’s love like a
third person. Just by accident.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">What Makes This Story ‘Real’<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The first serious problem lovers face, confrontation
with their parents. It’s inspired by my own friend and her parents – as they
try making sense of the spiraling realities of love.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Extract-</span></b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“What were you doing?”<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>her mother’s crisp voice prodded<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“Nothing” She said staring at her mother standing at
the doorway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="TA" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Do
you want me to believe that” her mother asked as she came into the room and sat
down on her bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">The clock stuck two; its chimes ringing across the
silent room, jumping from one blank wall to another slowly dissolving into the
darkness of the night. The fan continued<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>in
its merry go round, a dull creak with every other round, probably just not merry
enough<span lang="TA">.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>And
despite<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>all those swirls of air,
that it<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>threw<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>forth,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>she started to sweat<span lang="TA">.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="TA" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Who
were you chatting to” her mother’s voice was eerily calm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“No one” She blurted out, the words tumbling out of
her<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>and slipping into<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>open.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“No one??<span lang="TA">”</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="TA" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Yes,
no one”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Her mother sighed. “You forgot to switch off<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>the modem and the web camera.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>The computer itself is still running.” She
paused and looked at<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>her
daughter’s widening eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span lang="TA" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Was
it in Skype?? Who was he? You were chatting with<span lang="TA">”</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“Who??” she mouthed back. The actual words never
crossed her throat; they just suffocated themselves rather than lying to her
mother again. She looked up at her mother, tearing herself up into pieces, not
knowing what to say. She felt her fingers through her loose hair, caressing
with all the love and then a stifled tear shot across her cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“It’s okay. Please don’t lie” her mother shifted
herself to hold her head to her bosom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<u1:p></u1:p>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">“It’s just that ” her mother<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>paused<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>“after all the freedom<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I gave you, after all the open
environment<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I provided, after
everything” her voice wavered for the first time “I<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>….. I<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>had to learn it like this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Endnote: </span></i></b><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">This
is my entry for the <a href="http://www.indiblogger.in/getpublished/">HarperCollins–IndiBlogger <i>Get
Published</i> contest</a>, which is run with inputs from <a href="http://www.yashodharalal.com/">Yashodhara Lal</a> and <a href="http://www.harpercollins.co.in/">HarperCollins India</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-41807238630091081892012-11-19T12:33:00.001-08:002012-11-19T12:33:05.498-08:00Love her smile- A poem<br />
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<b>The Poem-</b></div>
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Of Latin celebrated;</div>
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Coliseum scarlet painted;</div>
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An epoch of aristocracy sainted;</div>
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Their;</div>
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Dagger tips tainted;</div>
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Lips regal anointed;</div>
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<br /></div>
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Matins of a Red satin empire</div>
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A culture cooped on attire;</div>
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Strung,</div>
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Sung &</div>
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Cremated.</div>
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In a land of Caesars departed-</div>
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<br /></div>
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In Rome – </div>
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The home of glass blowing;</div>
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Silica Silver warm & glowing;</div>
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Fair slivers of-</div>
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Flair Rivers;</div>
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A million colors; them pillion weavers- </div>
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<br /></div>
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Raining away those brush strokes of light;</div>
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Loaning away lush rainbows in flight;</div>
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Glazes of glass; </div>
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Lazes in class;</div>
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Shades shivering in pastels & all ells;</div>
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Shimmering allure; their simmering azure;</div>
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</div>
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Such a lovely art; of arcane sort;</div>
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Simply lost!</div>
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Quite simply lost!!</div>
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<br /></div>
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All the etchings; plaid in pane;</div>
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Glass blowing in plain;</div>
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Simple lost!</div>
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Quite simple lost!!</div>
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Its mystery lost-</div>
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<br /></div>
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And all she did was simply smile.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just smile.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ax-CgrXv4Jk/UKqTiE53sgI/AAAAAAAAAfk/CtqcPtK7mI8/s1600/beautiful-beauty-black-and-white-blog-Favim.com-538985.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ax-CgrXv4Jk/UKqTiE53sgI/AAAAAAAAAfk/CtqcPtK7mI8/s320/beautiful-beauty-black-and-white-blog-Favim.com-538985.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The dip of her lips;</div>
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</div>
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The curve of its nips;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Dew drop dimples;</div>
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The few prop pimples;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her crimson smile</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thy blooming isle;</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With summer's sparkle;</div>
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A bit of winter's crinkle-</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Just let her smile-</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just once, Oh please-</div>
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Just... Let her smile</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh!! for </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love her smile.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Author's note-</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wanted to write a poem where the smile of a girl is put in a sublime and poetic way. Hope you guys like it. I learnt the facts of glass blowing and the influence of roman empire on it from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glass_blowing">wikipedia</a>. Kindly look into it, if interested further.</div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-79587211970859641852012-11-13T12:44:00.001-08:002012-11-13T12:44:45.581-08:00The shopping safari-<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>The snap-</b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u9usJzs8tcY/UKKwi1q5xJI/AAAAAAAAAfA/hykGv1idzlM/s1600/shop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-u9usJzs8tcY/UKKwi1q5xJI/AAAAAAAAAfA/hykGv1idzlM/s320/shop.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><b>The Tale-</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was
out shopping with my mom and my sister last weekend. And as always, it was one
of the most enlightening and enriching experience, I am destined to have as a
guy with a girl (be it mom, girl friend or wife). It’s not just about lugging
around their purchase, trying to keep up with their trails that that tend to
follow no known path. It’s not just about the ample amount of time that you are
going to wait for her to make her choices. It’s not about you always having the
right supportive comments even if it’s about obscure things like which is the
best color for mattress mauve or amber (Yeah, yeah- I have been educated by the
women in my family, those are indeed colors.) It’s not even about all the money
that’s being eased out of your pocket with finesse. Ah, and there comes the
punch line, putting forth the corner stone of shopping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s
not about you, at all. It’s about her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And
no, no questions are entertained by women on this part. Period.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I am
pretty confident that shopping can be used as a litmus test to see whether you
are ready to tie the knot with your girl. If you can sustain the slaughter for
the entire day and still manage to smile at her when she calmly asks you, with
a thoughtful pause whether she has bought too much, then hats off dude - you have
just been perfectly potty trained. And hey, better hang on to her. You don’t
really want to undergo the cumbersome training process once again with the next
girl down the line. Do you?? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And
yes, the trickiest part of the shopping yet- One that has stumped generations
of men, one that’s still going to trip the unwary, the oldest problem in the
book, the choice con. It all starts with a simple vacillation that she has and
cannot decide between two colors and asks you for your comment. Of course you don’t
really know the colors and knowing is not really going to help you when you are
shopping for a garden hose but then this is the holy grail of shopping. And
what you are going to do here- she is going to remember forever. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Whether
you were there for her or not? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Whether
you care about her selection or not?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Whether
you are interested in her purchases?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Whether
you were paying any attentions at all or not? (Of-course that question’s
rhetorical)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">My
mom can spend all day trying to decide what color hose to buy and she would
still need some more time. She might even purchase the damn hose and then will have
a feeling that the other hose was aesthetically much better. It’s like being mesmerized
by the bottles of a juggler. The women, they are too skilled in this arcane art
swindling their choices and tastes around their limber minds leaving us men
totally lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And to
know that it all started with those few words my mom uttered with genuine
puzzlement “I think red hose would be good but I am still thinking”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And
how are you going to face this? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">How
are you going to claw yourself out of this one? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">How
are you going to prove your mettle to her? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tough
questions- <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And
no, I don’t know the answers. If I would be that lucky bastard who knew the
right reply, I would be out there teaching it all those men in need out there,
not writing this blog post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And
yeah, a final question begs to be pondered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">What’s
so unnerving about a women selecting a sari* -</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">May
be it’s the way she makes the sales guy show her almost every single sari in
the store;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">May
be it’s the way she asks exactly what is not available in the store without
even realizing it; May be it’s the way in which she asks for the first sari she
was shown after making a huge pile;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">May
be its way she looks calmly at the sales man after causing all the ruckus in
the world to select a single sari and then demand a discount with all the cool and
reserve in the entire universe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">How
do women get away with it? When I asked my mom, she just smiled and answered me
–“hey we are women and we are entitled to certain things”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">“Like”
I quipped<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">She
calmly looked at me and just smiled for an answer. Go figure that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">*Sari
– the most common attire that women wear in India. It looks real good on a
girl. Trust me on this one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><b>Author’s note –</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Though the post can be construed as a puerile
attempt at humor, I would like to stick to the idea that truth can also be humorous.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And guys, I would love to hear—your take
on the topic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-19162911949008705442012-11-03T11:31:00.000-07:002012-11-14T07:57:52.199-08:00Celebrating Diwali – A short Story<div style="text-align: justify;">
<blockquote>
This post has been published by me as a part of the <b>Blog-a-Ton 33</b>; the thirty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following <a href="http://blogaton.in/"><b>Blog-a-Ton</b></a>. The theme for the month is 'Celebrations'
</blockquote>
</div>
<i><br /></i>
<i>This fiction won Silver in Blog-a-Ton 33. A warm thanks for all the readers who voted for this post.</i><br />
<br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b><u>The Tale-</u></b><br />
<br />
<br />
“WOW”<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The twelve year
olds gasped as the bottle rocket leapt up into the sky, drawing an arc of
glittering sprinkles and burst into a million lights. The inky night’s sky
carried around the echoes of the bloom, still reverberating on the lucid eyes
of the playful lot, as they stared up into the void waiting for the next
dazzler. Anticipation welling in their chubby faces. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He looked at his street peers and sighed to
himself as he walked to light the next cracker. He couldn't help his chest
swelling a bit in pride, with each and every fancy cracker that he set ablaze,
with the swirling showers that bound forward into the celestial heights, the litany
of colors that shot out of his hand held sparklers, swirls, twirls and the
light pearls, the middle of activity and celebrating frenzy. He let loose
another bevy of fireworks and turned to look at the fascinated faces of the
street kids. Pink, Violet, Amber and Magenta – a bunch of curious eyes followed
the myriad lines cruising from the spilling sparks seething unbridled into the
darkness of the night. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Burst some
more!! Burst some more” the street kids shouted. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sighed
melodramatically pleased with himself, at the magnificence of the firecrackers
that he was bursting and at the bevy of requests that piled up at him for his
consideration. He smiled and responded. Once again, the street exploded into a
plethora of colors brimming with incandescence and life. The poor kids jumped
with their hands up, floating up along with them; their faded clothes raised
and riveted, its torn rims scuffling in the passing wind, their dirty hair
puzzled but still pandering to their delighted leaps, their lucid voices
tethering in jubilation. Somewhere beneath their bare bucking legs laid
forgotten the dirt sack- filled and tied tight with all the thrown away pieces
of clothing and the bits of recyclable plastics, still rank with lurid
fungus, an assemble of things that they thought was worth something from the streets and the occasional dustbin, their bag of scavenge, the bag that was to pay for their latter supper,
if they were to get one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then, when in
bliss now, why bother about later. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
And just when the
volley of crackers went down, he took out the real big ones, the 1000 walas*
and held it out to them like a showman magician putting forth some object of great
mystical value and a brief proud smile glinted down his lips just for a moment.
And just as he sprang to the middle of the road to light the crackers, the kids
scampered with frantic cries and hushes to a safe distance,
just safe enough to be at the foot of the excitement. And the crackers did not
disappoint. Even as he scuttled away with heroic sweeps of his legs after he
lit the fuse, a jumble of drums rolled pitching and patting ripping out from a
litany of lights skewing the borders of fun and festivities.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><u>The Snap-</u> </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ES0VmFFETj4/UJThjt2pD7I/AAAAAAAAAek/x-4Hrdbnfhc/s1600/fireworks-lights-photography-Favim.com-513666.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ES0VmFFETj4/UJThjt2pD7I/AAAAAAAAAek/x-4Hrdbnfhc/s320/fireworks-lights-photography-Favim.com-513666.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
And then finally,
he brought forth his last show piece for the day; His most favorite of the lot;
the last pack of bottle rockets; with special double shot; ones that exploded
not once but twice in the sky sending out reels of lighted petals. And with
each and every whoosh, boom and boom of every single rocket, he savored with vigor
the fireworks, all the attention sweeping around him, the joy he threw open for
everybody and most of all, just the bumbling binge of life that pumped around
him.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
After bursting all his crackers, he turned to his house with a dazzling smile and walked in, his strides smart and confident. His
mother was in the kitchen cooking, his father as usual in front of the
television with the news channel playing, its volume tuned up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Papa….” He whined
“I want to see cartoon network…”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Not now chotu*”
his father retorted “Don’t disturb me. You can watch your cartoons later”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“P… L… E…. A…..
S…. E….” He pitched up his voice dragging raw the bare legs of those syllables.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And just as his
father turned at look at him, with irked lines crossing his face, their home
went dark; A power failure. His father cursed to himself, got up and went out
to look at the fuses. The house shone a melancholy amber, bathed in all the liquid light
that the array of Diwali lamps put up; its hallowed luminescence drawing
sweeping arcs of their shadows as he went along with his father to the front porch. And just
then, he heard sharp jubilant laughs and yells coming from the street.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He went and
peaked outside the courtyard gate. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Amid-st the dust
being kicked up and the bunch of legs that warred with each other, a rough
version of football was being played by the rag-picking kids. They pushed about
each other trying to get their ball into some invisible goal, their ball that
rolled around with gusto, their ball that clinked and rattled with each and
every bounce, their ball; the bottle, his bottle, his own bottle, the one he
used for lighting the fuses of those rockets, the one he got from his father after
quite some tantrum, the bottle he simply forgot and left in the middle of nowhere, skittered
across the street bumping from one tiny feet to another, chased and paused by
the same bundle of feet. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And just then,
the bottle rolled and landed right in front of him, kicked by one of those kids
still soaked in the slime of their celebrations. They turned and looked at him,
their brown limpid eyes expectant. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He looked at them and at the bottle and felt himself torn with indecision. Some part of him wanted to get his bottle, his
bottle from these kids. Some part of him urged him to kick the bottle again and
join in the game. But how can he?? It’s not like he hated them or don’t want to play with them.
It’s just that, it felt somewhat awkward, him playing with them, the rag
pickers. He stood there caught in a rut vacillating, his heart pounding in
his ears, licks of sweat lining his underarms; his fingers pulling tight his
shirt tails. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He looked down at
his bottle once again, his bottle, his own bottle and then at the kids. It was not
like he needed the bottle. But, why should he give it to them? He was not there
playing. He was not there in the middle of things. He was not even involved. Of
course, he was the one who forgot the bottle. But then it’s still his bottle.
Right? And he doesn't really need any permission from anybody to take back the
same bottle? Does he? Why shouldn't he? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He started to
edge towards the bottle; measured steps; One eye still on the bottle; one on
the street kids. The bottle shimmered alone in the distant light of the diwali
lamps. Its once smooth contours, now a parable of scars and lines, its fine
features chipped and nipped in countless places, the bottle kept its silence
for once, maybe it sensed the drama unfolding around. And just as he got near the
bottle, he heard the clear voice of a girl from the bunch shouting.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“KICK”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He paused and
looked blank at the bunch of kids staring at them; as blank as a deer caught in
the severe lights of a racing truck. He just stared; lost for thoughts. The
kids, like the kids they were jumped into the band wagon and chorused “KICK…… KICK…… KICK”. Their eyes
alone shining in the darkness, along with those few diwali lamps still left
with oil to continue burning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Their throbbing
voices flooded him in waves, their joy, their openness, their friendliness and
the easy invitation to their game. He suddenly felt beaten, ashamed. He had wanted
deprive them of their ball. He had wanted to stop all this fun, all this delight and
rejoice, all this warmth and games; Just because he wanted back his broken
bottle, his old wasted, broken bottle; His bottle that was going to end in the
dustbin anyway; His bottle that was a another piece of litter for him; his bottle that he did not really have any lasting interest in, His bottle, his own junk bottle but
their coveted ball.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His throat
clenched with emotion and his young eyes welled up. He looked at their them warmly. Their eyes alone shone in the darkness, sparkling with rapture and exalted delectation. A fete embellished and garnished with innocence and life. The kids were wanted their balls. It was their ball. He took
a deep breath and moved forward to kick the bottle to them and to join them in the game.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And just then,
the power came back on. The front porch lights blinked suddenly illuminating
the expanse of the street, replacing the kind and warm lights of diwali lamps
with the harsh and static shine of electricity. The new brilliance spilled the
realities that the diwali lamps had kissed and missed; The torn dirty ragging
clothes flapping free in the wind, their dry dejected hair, their dingy bare
feet with nails rimmed with grime, their noses dripping with phlegm and their bundle
of dirty rags left to stink in the corner of the street. And as he hesitated, in that
split second, he heard the sharp voice of his father calling for him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Chotu*, where
are you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He turned and
walked slowly to his father, leaving the bottle right where it stopped in the
first place. His strides thoughtfully slow. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey… Why the
long face? What happened?” his father quizzed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nothing” he
said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“hmhm .... Really!!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“hmhm hmhm” he
nodded.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay, come on”
said his father as he led him by hand into the house. “I am hungry. Let’s see what your
mother has made for dinner.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And as they went
inside hand in hand, he could help but hear the rampant jubilation of the street kids and
their game of football, still <u><i>celebrating Diwali</i></u>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<b><i>Fin</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
*1000 walas - a firecracker that is made from 1000 smaller pieces and it very famous in India during the celebrations of Diwali<br />
<br />
*Chotu - Colloquial call name for kids. (translates as small one in Hindi - an Indian Language)<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Author’s note-</b><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I first
contemplated this tale, I was thinking of giving it a happy ending with the kid
joining in for the football game. With Diwali celebrations ahead, I wanted to
write something that will uplift the moods of everyone reading this post. My
sister, my first critic – did not like that ending. She simply told me that you
cannot sacrifice a good story, in order to provide a happy ending and a cliched one at that. So, I revised the story – to work in a more practical manner and
that gave me this bitter sweet ending. Hence, I share creative credits of this story
with my sister. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Also, I take immense
joy in wishing a very happy and a memorable Diwali to each and every one of my
friends, reading this post and their families. I bid you guys’ good health and
great spirits in this festive season. And ample luck to all my buddy - blog-a-ton participants. Hope you guys have a great time blogging this holiday season.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>PS-</b><br />
<br />
Diwali is an important festival of India that usually comes around in November. It is celebrated with bursting crackers, exchanging sweets and savories that are home made and decorating nights with rows and rows of Diwali lights (trust me, you should see the resplendence of the them. Its from these lamps that Diwali also gets the name as Festival of lights ).<br />
<br />
In my native, Tamil Nadu- the festival marks the victory of Lord Krishna over the Demon Narakasura. It is said that the demon himself when dying at the hands of the Krishna, requested to him, that he did not want to be forgotten and would like for his death to be celebrated with the bursting of noisy crackers(the tale as told by my grandmother). There are several other origin stories for Diwali and to know more about them and to know more about the festival itself- Kindly visit the given <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diwali">link</a>.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<blockquote>
The <b>fellow Blog-a-Tonics</b> who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective <b>posts</b> can be checked <a href="http://www.blogaton.in/2012/11/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-33.html"><b>here</b></a>. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following <b><a href="http://blogaton.in/">Blog-a-Ton</a></b>. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: 05</blockquote>
</div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com162tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-4896159594879354392012-10-27T09:46:00.001-07:002012-10-27T09:57:12.788-07:00The Puberty Talk-<i><br /></i>
<i>The following contains material of mature discussion between my sister and myself and reader
discretion is strongly advised. The author does not intend to hurt anyone’s ethics nor their
cultural perceptions. The issues raised are but a fragment of quite a few pertinent
questions that creep around the fringes of our mind, concealed, camouflaged and
forgotten but still breathing, pulsing and very much alive.</i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The Snap-</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aYgdqsUHkbE/UIwKiTI2FVI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/jN4xaMHlKJs/s1600/MenstrualHealth-TOP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aYgdqsUHkbE/UIwKiTI2FVI/AAAAAAAAAeQ/jN4xaMHlKJs/s320/MenstrualHealth-TOP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Sis-</b> “I wonder why it’s that hard for parents to teach
their own kids about Sex, their menstrual periods, related stuff. I think they
don’t really know the kind of misinformation that’s rampant among teens
especially girls.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myself-</b> “Misinformation really. I honestly thought that with
internet, face book, chatting and stuff, kids today are more knowledgeable than
ever.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Sis-</b> “You THINK??”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myself-</b> “Wow, you sound pretty raw!! Why what happened?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Sis-</b> “hmhm… My friends and I were discussing about our first
periods, the way our parents handled us, the problems that we faced, our first
education on hygiene during periods and so on …………. and I heard some pretty
fucked up stories; Stories that I know to be true but just cannot digest the
reality of them.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myself-</b> “Okay….”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Sis-</b> “you do know my old roommate! Right? Did you know that
she actually believed that she had cancer when she had her first periods? She misinterpreted
her bleeding to be associated with cancer and assumed that she was going to
die. Imagine her terror as she struggled mentally for 2 months with that
misunderstood fact! Thankfully, her mother caught her bleeding during the third
month and that put an end to her misery.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myself-</b>“Wow- that’s pretty hard to take in”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Sis-</b> “Okay, then you are not going to believe a word of the
next one. Happened to one of my class mates. She had her first periods. Her
mother helped her clean up. They had the usual ceremony* marking her first menstrual
cycle. Then they went on with their lives. They never really talked about what
happened. And now again, imagine the state of the girl when her second period
starts. She was not just flabbergasted with the unexpected bleeding but ill
equipped to handle the situation when it occurred to her in school. Sordid chagrin
of a memory.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myself-</b>“I…..... I don’t know what to say!!” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Sis-</b>“Yeah, it does feels daunting! Right? To acknowledge
that matured adults are pretty much fumbling in the dark when it comes to dealing with
issues on teaching their own children stuff such as periods and sex in a sensible manner. It’s not like I want to
generalize but I think the majority of those who rant about the preservation of
culture fall under this same category.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myself-</b> “hmhm… yeah, that argument can be made. And yes, honesty
with regard to such issues between kids and parents are pretty low. But still I
am at loss for words. How can such extremes of ignorance exist?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Sis</b>-“hmhm… It’s hard
to reason it out or explain. In a society such as ours where people want to preserve
the idea that they are culturally enigmatic, sometimes gives rise to some
pretty messed up scenarios. Some even hilarious!! You know, what happened to
me!! ”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Myself-</b> “WHAT?? ”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Sis-</b> “After my first
period mom was explaining to me about hygiene with regard to tampon usage and
its proper disposal. You know how she is – quite a stickler for keeping things
neat and compartmentalized. She was explaining to me that the best way to
manage the stuff to be used during periods was by keeping a separate bag for
all the pads and wipes being used. Then she gave bag for me and instructed me to
start using it. It was then that I saw a similar bag on the credenza and asked
her about it. She shrugged nonchalantly and told me, it was her own bag for her own periods. I
looked at her appalled and blurted out <u>“You too have the same periods!!!”</u> ”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<o:p>* In Tamil Culture, the first Menstrual cycle of the girl is celebrated as a customary ceremony of welcoming her into adulthood. </o:p><br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Author’s note-</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is not an effort to impart any knowledge, nor any solutions
to bridge the gap that exists between the parents and their child when discussions pertaining to issues of sex, menstruation, hygiene and such are concerned.(I am hardly hardly an expert.) It is just a confirmation of the issues that are at hand and are eating away at the rims of our society. I just want people to take notice. Just want them to ponder for a few seconds. Just want them to be aware. Nothing more. Nothing less. Hence the succinct and sharp tone of the post. </div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-30135266929338862872012-10-16T07:08:00.002-07:002012-10-28T02:58:12.818-07:00Navratri - 55 fiction:<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Note - This post is
dedicated to Navratri, with each story depicting one of the nine forms of
Goddess <span id="goog_2135667566"></span>Shakthi<span id="goog_2135667567"></span>. </i><b><o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The Snap-</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SYxJ2w2E_-Q/UH1kLHFhb6I/AAAAAAAAAcs/KNSxhlZY7Y4/s1600/Durga_Mahisasuramardini.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SYxJ2w2E_-Q/UH1kLHFhb6I/AAAAAAAAAcs/KNSxhlZY7Y4/s320/Durga_Mahisasuramardini.JPG" width="205" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Story 1: Durga – The invincible:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They waited; hyenas relishing the anticipation of the kill.
The waiting game will pay. She will get exhausted; will break; will deliver.
They have the whole night. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Moments melded into minutes; minutes into hours.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The dawn broke. They ran leaving 2 of their buddies at her
feet bleeding, the knife still in her hand, her eyes still burning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Story 2: Bhadrakali –
The auspicious:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The kid raced through the fields laughing at the top of her
voice. The wind swiveled through her loose hair as she tumbled into her
father’s open arms. He lifted her over his shoulders with a surplus smile on his
lips. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nothing new; Nothing much; He did not really care when
celebrating his daughter’s youth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Story 3: Amba – The
Mother:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her child slipped and fell down with a tearing shriek. The
pain jack sawed through his tender body. She rushed to her child, dried his
tears, cajoled him, checked him for serious wounds, cleaned the mud off him and
she left him alone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Left him alone to pick himself up once again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Story 4: Annapoorna Devi
– The Provider:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She could never breast feed her baby. The doctors were kind
enough to explain with patience. But all she heard in the damning silence was
her own soul wailing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hard decisions; harder to live through them; Months passed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She never breast fed and her kid’s still healthy. She
sighed. Love cannot be breast fed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Story 5: Sarvamangala
– The joyous:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She always laughed loudly; especially after arriving there. Her
voracious mirth; verbally signed; Deep and sonorous; lucid and warm guffaws; brimming
with unsaid humor; listless possibilities and life in abundance; the happy
echoes reverberated not just with air, sweeping through corridors of the old
age home, touching and cuddling the few listening souls. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Story 6: Bhairavi –
The Fierce:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sickle in her hand moved with a practiced rhythm as they
went through all the unwanted weeds. Their dry roots were torn apart from the
earth without mercy. After going through the entire field, she sighed with
satisfaction. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The land owner paid her in full without any questions. She
still had the sickle in her hand.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Story 7: Chandika –
The Supreme:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chaos reigned. Chairs were thrown. Curses exchanged. Parties
formed. Favors fished. Violence sought. Bullies brought. Politics played.
Nobody was listening to nobody; Bedlam on riot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She came into the room with a brisk walk. A deep hush was
followed by a warm greeting of the kindergarten kids wishing their teacher
Good morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Story 8: Lalita – The
Beautiful:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She sat on her bed, staring at the mirror. A frail old woman
stared at her back with drooping breasts, generous age lines, white wisps of hair,
pale pallor, wrinkled skin, over her bent body. She sighed to herself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The years had been kind”. Her husband whispered to her “you
still have the brightest smile”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Story 9: Bhavani –
The merciful:<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her chubby ten year old eyes looked at him with a sad glint.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I am not able to break the chocolate into two.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh” his squeaky voice responded, his eyes caught between
her and the small spherical candy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shall we wait” she asked thinking for a while. “For another
same chocolate,... then share.... eat??”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Author’s Note-<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wanted to bring out the different faces of Goddess Shakthi - with simple everyday women. I took the help of Wikipedia to get to know all the forms of Shakthi and then, wrote stories that best suited the various shades of their nature. I wish all of my friends, reading this post- a Subh Navratri. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For people, interested to know more about Navratri - a prominent Indian festival, kindly follow the link <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Navratri">here</a>. I have avoided putting many pictures, so as not to disturb the flow of the fiction and also, no to disrupt the respect for the Goddess that the festival and the idea of the fiction is based on. </div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-10872402097695700542012-10-12T06:02:00.000-07:002012-10-12T08:42:22.355-07:00The Fox and The Crow - Fiction (Aesop's Retold)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The snap-</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mgs0eoiBJnc/UHgRoanl8BI/AAAAAAAAAcE/kcdgpmpHvpo/s1600/the+fox+and+the+crow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mgs0eoiBJnc/UHgRoanl8BI/AAAAAAAAAcE/kcdgpmpHvpo/s320/the+fox+and+the+crow.jpg" width="127" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The Tale-</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rich, Sweet & relishing goodness; the cheese slowly
tumbled down falling from the open mouth of the crow, bouncing along the tree it
was perched on and landed right in front of the fox. The fox suppressed a
malicious grin, as it moved to pick up the piece of cheese. What a sucker!!
Still falling for his “you are so beautiful, do you also have a sweet voice to
match” scam. The crows, they just can’t resist direct flattery and just like
their ancestors have been doing for generations now, they always end up cawing.
What a dumb bunch!!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And just as he started to taste his loot, he heard the crow
laughing; laughing in roaring guffaws. Curious, he looked up at his victim.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Still pulling that two bit scam with your flattery eh??”
the crow rasped. “Grow up. Think up something new. How long are you going to be
nicking crows for cheese, you pathetic moron?? Do you know if you can find the right person and flatter him, like may be the one who actually made this cheese, you can have a
shot at something better!! ” It calmly sighed. “Where do you think, I got
that cheese? How the fuck do you think, I ended up with such a big piece? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The crow paused and suddenly felt sorry for the gaping fox.
“It’s okay, you can keep that piece, and I am not really hungry anymore.” It
calmly shrugged. “And just in case you were wondering, why I let you have the
cheese in the first place, it’s just that, I couldn't help bursting out laughing when you
tried that silly old scam on me. I just couldn't help...” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<b>Author’s note-</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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I have always been fascinated with the Aesop’s fables from
when I was a kid, simple, interesting and always inventive. I have been
experimenting with the same Aesop’s fables for quite some time- Writing up
skewed up versions of the same tales with twisted morals. Do let me know, your
take on my version guys. Also, do check out my other Aesop’s tales retold in the same
manner in this<a href="http://www.average-everyday.blogspot.in/search/label/aesops"> link</a>.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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For those interested in the original Aesop’s tale, kindly
follow the given <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Fox_and_the_Crow_(Aesop)">link</a>.</div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-36244752698035833182012-10-06T11:44:00.000-07:002012-11-04T18:46:03.181-08:00Rest in Peace - A short story<div style="text-align: justify;">
<blockquote>
This post has been published by me as a part of the <b>Blog-a-Ton 32</b>; the thirty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following <a href="http://blogaton.in/"><b>Blog-a-Ton</b></a>. The theme for the month is 'An Untold Story'
</blockquote>
</div>
<br />
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<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>The snap-</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-306u0g6hQAQ/UHB6qnQJFxI/AAAAAAAAAbw/1tc5RQndkjE/s1600/dark+alley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-306u0g6hQAQ/UHB6qnQJFxI/AAAAAAAAAbw/1tc5RQndkjE/s320/dark+alley.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>The Fiction- </b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even the most daring and the desperate of the prostitutes
avoided that alley, its dark shadows and its depraved inhabitants, for no
better reason than the simple fact that they wanted to; Not that it did
not have its share of leering customers with sleazy money and even sleazier
sexual appetites. The alley, if it could be still called that was dead, decadent and
decaying. Its crumbling walls, the dank paint with its edges pealing, the
spewing drainage, its putrid stench wafting about, the street hewed into loose
stones and broken pot holes, murky puddles slurping in the darkness, a broken
streetlight flickering dipping in and out of life, A few crows pecking at the rutting
garbage and its contents. A more perfect stage could not have been bargained
for, for all the blood that was going to be spilled.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a cold silence, a calculating silence. The three
men stood there simply staring at each other, trying to get a sense of each
other, daring the other to make his first move. The knives they held glinted
wickedly in the moonless night, its sharp counters cutting the few shards of
light from the broken tube light. One of them, the one wearing a dull red shirt
stood on one end of the narrow lane facing the other two; the other two who
were here to kill him. <i>Bloody mother fuckers. Who did they think they were
dealing with? Some street punk! He was not going to be easy. Fucking dammed, if
they think this is going to be that easy.</i> His fingers tightened, closing hard
on the handle of his knife, turning his knuckles white. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“MOTHERFUCKERS” He
shouted and rushed at them both with his knife in his outstretched hands. <i>He was going to do them, do them both real good,
cut through their fucking innards. Nobody gets away with this. Nobody gets away
after pulling a fucking knife on him. </i>He sped up, his feet plodding across the
rubble, his face slowly widening with a loathsome mirth. And then he tripped.
Tripped on some left over debris and was down with a dull thud. He laid there
on the bare lifeless gravel, with his own life slowly ebbing out of him along
with a warm worm of blood trickling out of his broken forehead.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other two looked at each other and exchanged a smirk.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“What a lovely fuck
up!! Went down and died even without putting up a decent fight.” </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remarked one of them, the one who seemed to be the sadistic leader
as he slowly came forward, measuring each of his steps, eyeing the red shirt for any sudden
movements. “Pathetic Bastard !” He thought to himself. A waste, A criminal waste. Now, he was never
going to get his arousal. He never really got them, until and unless he heard
his victims cry and beg for mercy. Just for a few minutes as he played with
them and the dull end of his knife. And when he was denied that, that simple and basic joy of killing just because this asshole couldn't wait to get iced, made him mad, quite a bit mad.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He kicked with his heavy soles into the abdomen of the
victim and heard him cry out in ripping pain with delight.<br />
<br />
"Fuck, the ponce is still alive!!"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The tormentor grunted his approval with a malicious grin
that lit his face in the dead darkness of the alley. He turned and looked at
his young partner, beckoning him to join the fun. He sighed to himself. After
all, he was just getting started and the more the company, the more the fun.
Right!!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then fate took a sharp turn. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The blow to his shin with the knife was so hard, it ruptured
a few veins that blood didn't just ooze out but gushed out to paint the alley
road a dense dark crimson. Instinct took over all his senses and he simply
bent over reaching for his leg. A mistake and even before he realized that, the red shirt thrust-ed his knife all the way through his left eye, tearing apart the softer
tissues of the brain. He fell down dead.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Exhausted with his vengeance, the dull red
shirt laid there panting and fighting for air in the stagnating cesspool of
blood. The third guy, quite shaken but still holding on the side of tough edged
towards the dead and the nearly dead. The Sweat was pouring from his face and
every fiber in his body was pulling taunt with fear, as he slowly bent over his
partner and tried to rouse him.<br />
<br />
Then it happened.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The red shirt in his final attempt to breathe opened his mouth
wide and all the gathering blood rushed in and he choked, his last breath escaped with a ghoulish
guttural splurged in his own fluids. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That low haunting sound broke whatever remaining guts, the
third guy had. He stood up and started to run; away from there; Away from the
alley; Away from everything. He simply ran until every single muscle in his
soul was totally exhausted, his lung palpitated and his mind numbed. Right in front of a
speeding truck. He became one of those hit and run
casualties, dead even before hitting the ground.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The sky slowly darkened as if in mourning and the sound of
the rain mixed with the sirens of the ambulance in distant echoes.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three were dead. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A few
untold stories, some dreams and some distant tears rotted away along
with those carcasses and but what told aloud in a solemn voice by the priest as
he presided over their joint burial ceremony was that all the three were but
the children of god who were pure in soul and though good in character, had
been corrupted in life and forgiveness was sought, for the almighty is all
forgiving and benevolent. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the dead would finally rest in peace. For after all, the
dead rarely lament.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Amen.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Author's note-</b><br />
<br />
If you guys liked the dark theme of the above fiction and do have stomach for much grittier and wicked stuff, stuff that could really get to you- do try this <a href="http://average-everyday.blogspot.in/2011/07/in-darkness-we-smile-series-of-short.html">one</a>. ( Darkness in its most wicked form guaranteed.)<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<blockquote>
The <b>fellow Blog-a-Tonics</b> who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective <b>posts</b> can be checked <a href="http://www.blogaton.in/2012/10/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-32.html"><b>here</b></a>. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following <b><a href="http://blogaton.in/">Blog-a-Ton</a></b>. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: 04</blockquote>
</div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com61tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-87636069845991688422012-09-24T21:09:00.003-07:002012-10-27T20:59:35.738-07:00Lyres of Lust - Poetry<b>The Snap-</b><br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9l10Kp3Y1Rw/UGEkXPEOrqI/AAAAAAAAAaM/j77dHw8SJTM/s1600/Favim.com-20965.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9l10Kp3Y1Rw/UGEkXPEOrqI/AAAAAAAAAaM/j77dHw8SJTM/s320/Favim.com-20965.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>The Poem-</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br />
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="I">
<li class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></li>
</ol>
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<br /></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Plunderer unpermitted,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her Surrender –</div>
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Pepper minted.</div>
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He escaped; with the loot;</div>
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Unscathed; his wicked suite;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Without even a trace;</div>
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He left, except;</div>
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She alone simmered; blushing;</div>
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Just for a few moments-</div>
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With the memory of his touch;</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
<ol start="2" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="I">
<li class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></li>
</ol>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her warm lips; Indulgent sips;</div>
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Hot & wet; in bartered bets;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lisps truncated; thy cusps violated;</div>
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Shudder & shiver; Blunder & shower;</div>
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Her warm lips; kisses; nips;<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My eye lids close;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Darkness binds.</div>
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Blights-</div>
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Ten fingers blind;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fumbling to find;</div>
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Thy elephant’s kind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nobody’s wiser; nobody cares;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her warm lips, in relishing
zips,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do care.</div>
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<br /></div>
<ol start="3" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="I">
<li class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></li>
</ol>
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Very few are thy flowers,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Their buds; Warm suds; </div>
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Sodden; unbidden; </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pardon; alone not ridden;</div>
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A binge in bed; a tinge of red;<br />
<br /></div>
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In ecstasy they burst;</div>
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Blossoms & Bust; </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Blooms in thirst;</div>
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Bits of Pollen; bits swollen;</div>
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Drips; drops; dew props of honey.</div>
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Very few are thy flowers,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That flower first;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
& root last.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mM4xTHFRivg/UGHaqihrAHI/AAAAAAAAAa0/tJqNGtid8ds/s1600/careofme-beautiful-black-black-white-love-Favim.com-402054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="287" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mM4xTHFRivg/UGHaqihrAHI/AAAAAAAAAa0/tJqNGtid8ds/s320/careofme-beautiful-black-black-white-love-Favim.com-402054.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<ol start="4" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="I">
<li class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></li>
</ol>
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Wine tasting; Thine lasting;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s Aroma arresting; </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Relish riveting;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each drop savored; </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Each one love flavored;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Wine tasting; Fine yeasting;</div>
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A rare finesse;</div>
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Flair of rich ease;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Taste buds rejoice;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chaste duds devoice;</div>
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Two cups together;</div>
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Wine tasting, in tether.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<ol start="5" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="I">
<li class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></li>
</ol>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sax was played;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In silence of sorts;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Notes of parts; Keats of tarts;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Held & sled; around thy bed;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Man & women;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not in parts; not anymore;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Listen close; your ears might lose;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Their embers of melody;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
& there lumbers a sweet parody.</div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Author's Note-</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Writing poems about sex and lust in a covert way- in it subtle hints and shy words has always held my fascination.There is I think a sublime line between the aesthetically pleasing and the vulgar in such poetry. With the above poetry, I wanted to make my readers blush and feel warm with love at the same time. And hence I indulged in a tinge of wickedness in the simple lines of love. I leave the shrouded implications to your mind's child. I extremely enjoyed penning the above lines. I hope, you guys- have a pleasurable experience reading them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Tamil Version of the poem-</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IbNyoWDDJ6E/UGEneYzoDzI/AAAAAAAAAag/Z4gMyOs7fQ4/s1600/3+-+laments+of+lust.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IbNyoWDDJ6E/UGEneYzoDzI/AAAAAAAAAag/Z4gMyOs7fQ4/s320/3+-+laments+of+lust.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Tamil is a beautiful language tailor made for writing poetry. It is the soul of my inspiration as a writer. You need not think in Tamil, words will flow unbridled, bumbling in fountains, simply if you love her, love Tamil. She will entice you with her teasing curves, those sonorous syllables, the fierce passion of her written embers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Like most of my poetry, my initial version of the poem was in Tamil and I roughly translated the same to English.(Since a direct translation would water down the poetic allure of Tamil.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>PS-</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The second poem is a direct reference to the famous story of blind-men and the elephants. If you want to know more about the related story and the John Godfrey Saxe's Poem about the same, kindly visit the given <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blind_men_and_an_elephant">link</a>.<br />
<br />
The fourth poem contains direct references to wine tasting. (Though in Tamil, the poem is primarily about how to serve is joy, rather than being served.)<br />
<br />
It was quite a task translating the Tamil poems to English. I have taken poetic licence in the translation to keep the wickedness and the joy in the poem true to it's original. For, guys - who could read tamil, I would really like to know - how I have fared.<br />
<br />
If you would like to read more poems penned down by me, kindly follow the <a href="http://average-everyday.blogspot.in/search/label/Poetry">link</a>.<br />
<br />
And finally, I would like to thank my friend Joy for suggesting the title to me and also, asking me to write the English versions of the poem in a more descriptive and elaborate manner so that it will retain the beauty of the Tamil version and do justice to the same. And I hope, you guys can enjoy the Tamil version of it too. </div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-33418828141788840992012-09-17T11:39:00.002-07:002012-09-17T18:55:18.618-07:00Of tweets and quirky comments<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><span style="color: #333333;"><i>Guys, a collection of my tweets -- A bit about Politics, some murmurings of love, with the ending touching- the usual satire and the rhetorical. Hope you guys, find the same entertaining. </i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><b>Politics</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Pranab says-Some older people in politics should make
way for the young. I say- Nice thought!! Who r U addressing to! Not yourself of
course!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">100 % of all MPs below age 30 -- in parliament are from
Political families- Salam the next Generation of Indian Rulers-<span class="apple-converted-space"> #SOS</span>-India<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">What is Pawar’s favorite thing about both IPL & Politics - Power Play Probably #SOS</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Indian Politics is but tight rope walking with all the innumerable tight ropes woven into a comfortable mat. No falling guaranteed. #SOS<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In India, it’s mother tongue. After-all the father
figures seldom speak. Don’t believe me #askSoniaJi</span> #askmanmohanJi #really?? #saveIndia<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--Ra_tIBbrI8/UFduFw_T-PI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/u4obmoL_yeg/s1600/adorable-anna-chlumsky-blonde-boy-brown-Favim.com-414425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--Ra_tIBbrI8/UFduFw_T-PI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/u4obmoL_yeg/s320/adorable-anna-chlumsky-blonde-boy-brown-Favim.com-414425.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">She blushed. A red tinge of quirk blossomed. Perfection
felt inadequate.</span> #short poem<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Hope in love is a strange thing. It’s like during every
last beat of your heart, it yearns for another one.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span>#love #pain<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The day says a lot about love. It starts fresh; warm-
turns hot, sweaty and ends in a bitter sweet purple melancholy.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span>#love #quote <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Love is good for health - at least you have someone to kick
some sense into U after your hangovers. :P<span class="apple-converted-space">
#love</span></span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Her Smile was worth a million. But I never expected her to
cash in- once I got hooked.<span class="apple-converted-space"> #SOS #love
#really??</span></span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bLoineiV6D0/UFdteGHVZoI/AAAAAAAAAZw/TTLb0PMn-fU/s1600/facebook.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bLoineiV6D0/UFdteGHVZoI/AAAAAAAAAZw/TTLb0PMn-fU/s320/facebook.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Which crank discovered like in Face book. My friend just
posted about his accident & it has 28 likes. #assholes #SOS</span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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#facebook<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333;">= the new porn. Nobody seems to get enough of it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">#socialmedia
& #facebook<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #333333;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333;">are lies you tell yourself that you are actually having a
social life.<span class="apple-converted-space"> #SOS #hardtruth</span></span></span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">No, face book is not your close friend- you should not share
all your shit with it. #really? #SOS </span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Thanks to my married friends, who post their marriage photos
online- I never get to shake of my impending sense of doom<span class="apple-converted-space"> #bachelorLife</span></span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Xrw2z4HQOXc/UFdqiaXWzrI/AAAAAAAAAZc/Q_NQISHPLIQ/s1600/ass-ladies-lady-the-fact-the-truth-Favim.com-449379.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Xrw2z4HQOXc/UFdqiaXWzrI/AAAAAAAAAZc/Q_NQISHPLIQ/s320/ass-ladies-lady-the-fact-the-truth-Favim.com-449379.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: whitesmoke; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"><span style="color: #333333;">Girl... Do you believe in love at first sight or do I have
to walk past u again? :P:P #SOS</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Adultery is fun until caught pants down- Infancy is fun until
we remained kid enough to have our pants down. :D<span class="apple-converted-space"> #meaningfulshit #really??</span></span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Nowadays, I am not allowed to cook. Vegetables, my mother has
declared have become too costly to waste on my experimentations. :P #SOS
#really??<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Of course, I want to offend you, make you to throw not just
your shoes & slippers but anything I could sell at me- Thankyou<span class="apple-converted-space"> #SOS #really??</span></span> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span class="apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The hot sultry summer sun is always my side –Gives
girls’ ample reason to put some cotton, show some cleavage. #Blame it on the
fact that I am but a male. :P</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
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<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><b>Author's note-</b></span><br />
<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">It has been quite a while since I last summed up my tweets and since I started tweeting after quite some time, I penned down some 20 of my tweets that I thought were interesting. Guys, do let me know your thoughts. Cheers. <br /></span><br />
<span style="background: whitesmoke; color: #333333; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Also, for more shitty tweets do follow me @aarthycrazy. </span></div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-76375756661682954422012-09-08T23:40:00.001-07:002012-09-09T01:24:00.650-07:00Another love, lasting?? - A short story<b>The snap-</b><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kpRXKmp1-bk/UEw12TK53aI/AAAAAAAAAY0/IlkKjzBoBwU/s1600/beach-cute-foot-girl-heart-Favim.com-453137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kpRXKmp1-bk/UEw12TK53aI/AAAAAAAAAY0/IlkKjzBoBwU/s320/beach-cute-foot-girl-heart-Favim.com-453137.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>The fiction-</b></div>
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“So you loved her?”</div>
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“hmhm”</div>
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“And she loved you back??”</div>
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“hmhm hmhm”</div>
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“But it did not last!!”</div>
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“hmhm”</div>
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He took a deep drag at the cigarette hanging from ridge of his
mouth reveling in its crisp vapors, sighed. “So good!!”</div>
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“Huh!!” he looked at him flabbergasted.</div>
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“Good….. Good for you!!” He blurted out, once again trying
to empathize.</div>
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He started to laugh. “May be… May be not. But that doesn't really stop the pain. Does it?”</div>
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For once, his friend fell silent. </div>
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<b>Author's note-</b></div>
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I watched the movie- The swingers yesterday. I loved it. Its an awesome movie that follows a bunch of wannabe actors, their love lives and their careers. An honest depiction. No mushy stuff, just the bare truth. Do try it. And I was inspired by the same movie to write the above short fiction. Hope you guys like it.</div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-37167078950926654092012-09-02T00:01:00.001-07:002012-11-04T18:46:20.377-08:00The silent melody- A short story<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This post has been published by me as a part of the <b>Blog-a-Ton 31</b>; the thirty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following <a href="http://blogaton.in/"><b>Blog-a-Ton</b></a>. The theme for the month is 'Strangers in the Night'
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fiction-</span></b><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A
slow Jazz music filled the dead silence of the hospital, its melodious notes
dragging their feet across the almost empty hospital corridors resonating with
the dry lonely lights spaced uniformly across the length of the walkway. A few
nurses who were going about their jobs stopped and listened not believing their
own ears. A few patients who were still awake blinked stupidly wondering what the loud music was doing near the ward for terminal patients. It was then that Frank
Sinatra’s lucid baritone started to croon the lyrics of his once famous song-<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Strangers
in the night</span></i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Exchanging
glances</span></i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Wondering
in the night</span></i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What
were the chances?</span></i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We'd
be sharing love<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Before
the night was through</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The
duty doctor who was finishing up his last rounds stopped in mid-step hearing
the song. His own heart suddenly picked up speed and literally started to pound
against his ribs, as he reversed his direction and started running towards the
source of the sound. A few nurses and orderlies of the night shift were also
rushing along breathless in the same direction. The motley bunch of
curious patients who had already gathered outside the room from which the music
was coming moved away jerkily making may for the rushing mob all in their
medical whites. Their panic stricken faces heaving up oxygen trying keep up
with their plodding legs. A locked door shut from the inside of the room
greeted them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; line-height: 12.25pt;">The
doctor took control of the situation seamlessly, ordering an orderly to break
open the door using the fire </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 12.25pt;">extinguisher
hanging on the wall nearby. He then rushed to the window and peeked inside its crevices trying </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"><span style="line-height: 12.25pt;">to
grasp what’s happening on the inside. Someone from the crowd behind whispered
“but the door opens to the outside….. How did he manage to lock it? And
from where did he get his stereo” Nobody had any answers. Just more questions
that echoed in the hollows of their mind, the more important questions that
they did not dare to ask aloud. What is he doing inside? More importantly what is he
doing to her? Is he suffering a mental breakdown? It’s not something new to happen in the </span><span style="line-height: 16.33333396911621px;">terminal</span><span style="line-height: 12.25pt;"> patient ward but happening to him was quite a surprise. </span></span></div>
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Dealing with cancer always gets to you, breaks you, makes you do crazy
things. Seeing life ebb out of the one you love a single bit at a time with
each and every passing day, with no way to stop it, counter it but to simply
slow it, as they wallow in their own suffering, the empty words of faith falling meaningless in their darkening world. With too much hurt drenching them
down, nibbling away at their edges, as they
try to plod though life smiling, pain takes new meanings </span><span style="line-height: 16.33333396911621px;">literally</span><span style="line-height: 12.25pt;">. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I
see them” shouted the orderly breaking the door. “I see them. The door just
gave a crack. I….” He paused with a pained voice and turned his head from the
door looking up at the doctor “I think he is crushing her, suffocating her”.
The doctor leaped to the door plunging his eye into the broken rift in the
door. A few seconds stood sweating without the heart to pass on; together with
the bunch of people standing around waiting for the young doctor to give his speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Bloody
bastard……. He is making her dance with him.” He turned around enraged and
snatched the fire extinguisher from the orderly and started going at the door,
all the while cursing mad. “Bastard…. I told him.
Fucking bastard….. I told him. She is too weak. She cannot take the strain.”
Sinatra sang along ignoring him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Something
in your eyes<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Was
so inviting<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Something
in your smile<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Was
so exciting<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Something
in my heart<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Told
me I must have you<br />
Strangers in the night<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Two
lonely people<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We
were<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Strangers
in the night<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fkTseWRejPk/UEL-moVwi0I/AAAAAAAAAYc/tVB8xpKeGIc/s1600/022old-couple-dancing-at-wedding-reception.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fkTseWRejPk/UEL-moVwi0I/AAAAAAAAAYc/tVB8xpKeGIc/s320/022old-couple-dancing-at-wedding-reception.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pieces of wood, dust
and broken strips of plaster flew in the air with each ram the door took.
Plaster….. The fucker had used plaster, fucking plaster on the entire door to
shut them out. And thatsealed the door leaving no weak or easy
fracturing points. Soon the other orderlies joined in going at the door with
everything they had. The door slowly started to cave in giving into the inhuman
beating that it was receiving. Cracks slowly broke into rifts that started to
fissure though the entire structure of the door. Someone shouted “we are almost there”. And then suddenly the door tore open.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And they rushed in,
the doctor, the orderlies and the nurses spilling into the room each one
spinning out of control rushing with the flow of the crowd, they saw one of the
weirdest sights ever. An elderly couple slowly moving around locked in their
embraces; her lanky figure with the flowing white hospital gown, himself suited
up in his best threads; her bony hands clinging to his bosom; his arms around
her, holding her with care as he dipped and moved her around to the warm and
wafting melody. Her shriveled face looked satisfied, her eyes closed rejoicing
the swing of the movement, the ease with which he held her, the love with which
he moved her around, ever so gently and his burning eyes that betrayed his own
pain, seeing her wince in distress with each and every turn, her frail figure
going rigid in his hands, the few wisps of hair on her bald head, the
occasional gasp when the stress and the pain are too much for her. Sinatra’s
regal voice dived into the simple lyrics once again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Up
to the moment<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When
we said<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Our
first hello<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Little
did we know,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Love
was just a glance away,<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A
warm embracing dance away.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Ma….” Cried the
doctor as he separated his mother from his father and set her on the bed. She
looked exhausted, her lungs trying to breathe in gulps and failing, her pulse
stammering erratically, her tiny body wrestling with the few drops of life left
in her, she looked forlorn, expect for her eyes, her eyes that twinkled with a
mischievous grin. She beckoned him to her and started to slowly mouth
something. “Ma, don’t strain… please.” He whispered, his voice begging as he
bent down to catch her words. Her flailing voice fluttered. “Don’t be hard ……….
on your father. He could ……..” She paused thoughtfully and whispered with a
mellow fondness “Never refuse me”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nurse, some help
here…” He shouted as he started to treat his exhausted and ailing mother. He
never noticed the single tear that raced across his quivering cheek.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The music still played, left unattended to in all the happening commotion and was painting bold strokes of intense love in the vibrating embers of air. Seconds slipped
around, danced swirling into a few minutes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Ever since that night</span></i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u1:p></u1:p>
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;">We’ve been together</span></i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u1:p></u1:p>
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Lovers at first sight,</span></i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u1:p></u1:p>
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;">In love forever</span></i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u1:p></u1:p>
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;">It turned out so right</span></i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u1:p></u1:p>
</span><br />
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="font-size: 11pt;">For strangers in the night</span></i><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><u1:p></u1:p>
</span><br />
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He slowly walked to
the door after treating his mother. His father was sitting on the bench outside
the room staring into the dead of the night, alone with his own thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“How’s she?” he asked
as soon as he saw him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Exhausted... completely” he paused sitting near him. “But okay..... She's okay”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His father let a deep
breath out and closed his eyes. They sat there silent, lost in each other’s
thoughts. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt;">Neither of them spoke.
Neither felt the need to. They simply sat there sharing not just the space and the silence. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 11pt;">The biting cold did
not seem to bother them in the least. The song had finally ended.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Author's note - </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Thanks a lot to <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/03316384629883317783">Sadiya Merchant</a>,
for introducing me to to Frank Sinatra's - Strangers in the night. I don't
really know whether she was inspired by the song itself but I myself
was. The song is going into my favorites. As for the story, I wanted to
create one that would start and end with a single song, the song itself
being an integral character of the story. hope you guys enjoy it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
I would severely recommend listening to the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><a href="http://www.last.fm/music/Frank+Sinatra/_/Strangers+in+the+Night">song</a> and
reading the story. The song itself is a statement of love, poignant, lucid and
heart felt. Just close your eyes and listen to Sinatra creating the atmosphere
of pure love and it's joy. For more information about the song, kindly
visit<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strangers_in_the_Night"><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"> </span></span>here</a>. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
<br />
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The <b>fellow Blog-a-Tonics</b> who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective <b>posts</b> can be checked <a href="http://www.blogaton.in/2012/09/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-31.html"><b>here</b></a>. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following <b><a href="http://blogaton.in/">Blog-a-Ton</a></b>. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: 03</span></blockquote>
</div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com65tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-15186449437099482402012-08-24T01:43:00.001-07:002012-08-24T02:03:40.908-07:00The Goose That Laid the Golden Eggs - Fiction (Aesop's Retold)<b>The snap-</b><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8TwwtiPP5hQ/UDc5X4iHF-I/AAAAAAAAAWA/dFv5rbIirWQ/s1600/411px-The_Goose_That_Laid_the_Golden_Eggs_-_Project_Gutenberg_etext_19994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8TwwtiPP5hQ/UDc5X4iHF-I/AAAAAAAAAWA/dFv5rbIirWQ/s320/411px-The_Goose_That_Laid_the_Golden_Eggs_-_Project_Gutenberg_etext_19994.jpg" width="219" /></a></div>
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<o:p><b>The fiction-</b></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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All the hay, alfalfa and the dried grasses made for quite a
comfortable spread, just warm enough. The smell of fresh dug earth wafted
strong, its musky odors pulled up by the light drizzle drumming against the newly
patched tin segments of the roof. He
spent the next few moments taking care of each and every single detail to the
letter, of what he had learned about making her comfortable.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“God help us all” </div>
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<br /></div>
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He sighed to himself. Of course, him more so than others; considering
his recent venture. Quite an ambitious one, if his opinion might be allowed; Perhaps,
tad greedy as others might put it but then the world was not made by people who
are content with what they already have. Right??</div>
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<br /></div>
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May be his counterpart was not all wrong as they depict him,
when he tore open the stomach of his goose, expecting to find the mother lode
of the eggs, those golden eggs that it laid one by one each and every day.
Foolish like him or not, being satisfied with whatever you have in life is not
going to get you anywhere. How more pathetic an idea you can put forward? Bollocks.
Complete bollocks. How can people believe and spread crap like that in fables? </div>
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<br /></div>
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“Simple minded fuckers, God help ‘em all”</div>
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<br /></div>
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He murmured to himself again as he slowly got up leaving his
goose to her task; roosting alone, trying to breed a bunch of her ilk for him;
a bunch of geese that lay golden eggs. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<b>Author’s note-</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Quite some while ago, I wrote short fictions that retold
some famous Aesop’s fables that were taught in kinder garden. I have retained
the spirit of the narrative and twisted it to suit a different moral scenario. Do let me know, what you guys think about them.</div>
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And also do check out the other famous Aesop's fables- retold likewise in the following links.</div>
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<a href="http://average-everyday.blogspot.in/2010/04/rabbit-and-tortoise-fiction-aesops.html">The rabbit and the tortoise-</a></div>
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<a href="http://average-everyday.blogspot.in/2010/04/retelling-aesops-fables-fox-and-grapes.html">The fox and the grapes-</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>On a side note-</b></div>
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On 22-8-2012, I booked for an accidental warranty service with Dell around 11.30 am, (My friend dropped his laptop accidentally, damaging it's screen). I was visited by the service engineer on 23-8-2012 at around 12.15 am and had the laptop's screen changed immediately. The response was quite swift and the service was precise and friendly. Honestly I am not just satisfied but impressed. I wanted to share this info, so that it might help people who are looking to buy new laptops.</div>
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muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-34580341732095916342012-08-19T16:16:00.001-07:002012-08-19T16:26:22.040-07:00Of fair women & fairer men<br />
<b>Disclaimer –</b><br />
The following is just the author and his friend shooting the shit together and is not intended to establish any credible facts with regard to anything. It’s just another day with two argumentative Indians talking about some crap but then who says shit ain’t interesting. : P<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Snap -</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GFuMIvwB4IA/UDFxFMJAIWI/AAAAAAAAAVY/az-EZdijZ_w/s1600/Two-men-talking-8-x-10-ins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GFuMIvwB4IA/UDFxFMJAIWI/AAAAAAAAAVY/az-EZdijZ_w/s320/Two-men-talking-8-x-10-ins.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Myself-</b> Do men actually fall for that bull shit. John Abraham all smiles and muscles, asking people to care for your skin. Pathetic. <br />
<br />
<b>Kishore-</b> hmhm….. It always cracks me up, the way they usually show your skin color getting fairer in a very short period in such ads. Imagine the world if that one was really possible, there would not be a single fellow with dark skin.<br />
<br />
<b>Myself-</b> Oi…. Don’t say that. Our skin is our identity. I like its brown color. I just can’t understand the idea of men trying to get fair.<br />
<br />
<b>Kishore-</b> Yeah, but then you speak for yourself. I know people working with me who use that men’s fairness cream.<br />
<br />
<b>Myself-</b> Dude- Seriously! Oh god. I think that men are losing the idea of what it’s like to be men actually. Men are supposed to be worldly, funny, burnt from all the roaming in the sun. I mean, not all of us market our asses to wine and dine, only a few like Abraham-ji get to do that.<br />
<br />
<b>Kishore-</b> I think, that all this has to do with- love for white skin. I think it’s rampant even more so, than when we got our independence. May be some mind set that’s left over from our colonial era.<br />
<br />
<b>Myself-</b> No, that really isn’t it. I think that corporate work is making pussies out of men. What kind of men wants to be groomed and fair for his girl? You want to be strong for her. You want to be funny, yeah intelligent but fair. I can understand that it’s in the nature of women to be concerned with their looks. But men! I find that hard to digest.<br />
<br />
<b>Kishore-</b> Now, you just being a sexist asshole.<br />
<br />
<b>Myself-</b> yeah, I am if it means to save the last piece of honor left for men. Hey, did you know that Miss.World this year is a Chinese girl.<br />
<br />
<b>Kishore-</b> hmhm…. I remember this mock group discussion we had in our UG days. The topic given was whether all these beauty pageants were doing any credible good or just a waste of time and resource. I remember this guy’s argument. He was quite convincing actually. His assertion was that all these beauty pageants are but vehicles for all these skin care and cosmetic items to enter in to the country. He did have a few valid points. Like how, after Aishwarya Rai was crowned Miss.World, the influx of all foreign cosmetic brands in India increased exponentially. It was like, she gave credibility to them. And I think that, it’s pretty much the same with all the countries.<br />
<br />
<b>Myself-</b> Damn…. That’s one heavy argument to make. Yeah, it’s pretty hard to defeat that argument. Even if you say that, the selection process is democratic and everything is done for world peace, you just cannot avoid the fact that it’s just a great publicity vehicle not just for the girl but anything brand, industry or life style associated with the girl.<br />
<br />
<b>Kishore-</b> If you ask me, all their concerns about the world, the way those girls talk about poverty, and peace and any other issue dressed up in their cleavage arresting designer clothes is pretty much a satire in itself.<br />
<br />
<b>Myself-</b> hmhm…. You got that one right. It’s like KarunaNidhi suddenly caring for the Lankan Tamils now. Pretty much BS. And hey, did you know that he has started an official twitter account.<br />
<br />
<b>Kishore-</b> who? KarunaNidhi. No kidding. Hey, I think I am going to open a twitter account just to follow his tweets.<br />
<br />
<b>Myself-</b> hahaha…. Do that. You don’t want to miss the BS of the master of BS.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Author’s note – </b><br />
We had this conversation this week end. Though, we talked about a lot of things, Like <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palagummi_Sainath">P. Sainath</a>’s lecture at a Kollam university (which we buffered it on <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7OOw9mcI7FU">YouTube</a>), the immense stupidity of the movie my friend saw (<a href="http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/battleship/">battleship</a>), the prospective market and the features for the new<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Counter-Strike:_Global_Offensive"> counter strike global offensive</a>, about some music and some politics. I limited the exchange to general issues so as not to bore you guys. Hope, the shit was worth shooting.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>PS-</b><br />
And yes, Mr.KarunaNidhi has started a new twitter account @Kalaignar89. You can get your daily dose of BS in just 140 characters.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-3380673328892171182012-08-12T17:17:00.002-07:002012-09-09T16:34:39.460-07:00Good bye my love - A poem<br />
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<b>Snap-</b></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5rWxlBWKRo/UChGQNq6KSI/AAAAAAAAAVE/IIEMAnT4ExU/s1600/boy-cut-guitar-music-photography-Favim.com-287914.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z5rWxlBWKRo/UChGQNq6KSI/AAAAAAAAAVE/IIEMAnT4ExU/s320/boy-cut-guitar-music-photography-Favim.com-287914.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>The poem-</b></div>
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Oh! I will forget, just like them fingers in my hand, babe-</div>
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As they strum thy guitar strings</div>
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Rapid strokes of mambo jambo-</div>
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To the rhythm my heart rings.</div>
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A single solo I sing, </div>
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Of a man gone hollow-</div>
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Breathing sorrow- with each and every ping!</div>
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Oh … Yeah! We danced
around with words, babe;</div>
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Of the few that were said; </div>
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One or two- here and there; Nothing more than that;</div>
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Too much a-bare; too much to bear;</div>
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Like the distant stars in a lonely sky;</div>
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We scattered them too much-</div>
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And in darkness, they were.</div>
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Waiting for you, girl- Just waiting for you.<br />
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To reach out with your hand- babe, them five member band;</div>
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Thy strumming; ramming at my heart;</div>
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For with each and every move, your warm eyes tend to move;</div>
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I root alone for me- for you to look at me</div>
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And say something- girl. </div>
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My jumping parts are praying thy lord;</div>
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Say something girl; Just anything, my girl.</div>
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Oh yeah! I am just a fool;</div>
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Laying in my pool of a few bitter tears- dried long ago,</div>
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My last words to you- a simple song for you;</div>
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Hewed broken sods- just if you may;</div>
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Just before I leave, somewhere away,</div>
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Ahoy in a sway! <br />
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But my girl- Don’t you worry,</div>
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I am never sad- Nothing’s ever bad.</div>
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My love for you will always be there; so bitter and so sweet; </div>
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Not that I notice- my own parts; of those young and jumping sorts,</div>
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Just like I forgot the fingers of my hand, </div>
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Strumming along with me,</div>
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Humming alone with me,</div>
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Good bye, my love – </div>
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One last good bye, my love.</div>
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<b>Author's note-</b></div>
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Last night as I was listening to Bob Dylan, It stuck me how simple and lucid his lines were, yet so sharp and honest that they carried his pain, anguish, thought across. And hence I was inspired to write the above poem and I dedicate the same poem to his legend. I tried to model the theme of the song around one of my own favorites "Don't think twice, Its alright" by Bob Dylan. I kept the lyrics quite simple. Hope you guys like it.<br />
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And for people, who haven't listened to Bob Dylan, Guys, you just don't know what you are missing. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bob_dylan">Bob Dylan</a> is the guy who gave the lyrics not just meaning but soul. His songs "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Blowin%27_in_the_Wind">Blowing in the wind</a>" and "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Times_They_Are_a-Changin%27_(song)">Times they are a-changing</a>" are anti-war revolutions. The man is a cultural icon, his music an ode to the times that there were, the times that will be. Do listen to him.</div>
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<b>PS-</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Well, I have tagged - New technique, since I wrote the poetry more as a song to be sung rather than a poem to be read and yeah, I tagged the same with social problems. I mean what's more than a social problem than a heart break nowadays. What say?? :P<br />
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muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-43902767235185362382012-08-08T12:30:00.000-07:002012-10-17T22:54:40.903-07:00Soak no more !! – a short fiction<br />
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<b>The Snap-</b></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-05GJlQqc1qM/UCK8jz1DCGI/AAAAAAAAAUw/NVlH0Eck388/s1600/mother+and+daughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-05GJlQqc1qM/UCK8jz1DCGI/AAAAAAAAAUw/NVlH0Eck388/s320/mother+and+daughter.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p><b>The fiction-</b></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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“But mom, I just wanted to save you time.” A tiny voice
justified.</div>
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“So, you soaked the clothes yourself.”</div>
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The rain drenched kid looked up with pride. “Yes, yes, just
like you do before washing”</div>
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“Yeah” she said with
a suppressed grin “but I usually don’t wear them when soaking…”</div>
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“Okay” her kid said quite obediently. “Next time I will remember it”</div>
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It was then she burst out laughing. </div>
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<b>Author's note-</b></div>
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I wanted to write a small but a sweet fiction for - <a href="http://www.indiblogger.in/topic.php?topic=61">The Surf Excel Matic #soaknomore Contest</a>. And I wanted the kid's gender to be ambiguous so that more people can relate to the fiction. Hope you guys like it.</div>
muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-71834422014510220592012-08-04T20:08:00.001-07:002012-11-18T09:24:17.740-08:00Saving the Sun – A short story.<div style="text-align: justify;">
<blockquote>
This post has been published by me as a part of the <b>Blog-a-Ton 30</b>; the thirtieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following <a href="http://blogaton.in/"><b>Blog-a-Ton</b></a>.</blockquote>
</div>
<i>The Following fiction won the Silver at Blog-a-ton 30. A warm thanks for everyone who voted for the same.</i><br />
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<b>The Snap-</b></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q2CTOPLJqaA/UB3hIVqZ3SI/AAAAAAAAAUc/R3HKmZ29mMU/s1600/save+the+sun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="183" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Q2CTOPLJqaA/UB3hIVqZ3SI/AAAAAAAAAUc/R3HKmZ29mMU/s320/save+the+sun.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>The fiction-</b></div>
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“Papa papa, the sun is drowning….. The sun is drowning…” </div>
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Shouted the small girl as she came in tears, her outstretched
hands searching for him. Her pink frock peppered with wet sand tussled around
making way for her tiny feet scrambling forward. Her tussled
hair swayed around, flirting with the roaming swirls of wind.</div>
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He bent down to greet his five year old, his calm fluid gaze
meeting capturing her exquisite child eyes. Eyes that right now were filled
with concern, a whole hearted concern tinged with passion, an intense burning
passion, a kid’s passion held with all the abandonment in the world. Her voice
tumbled out of her in parts, not waiting for her to get her breath back.</div>
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“Papa….. Papa…….. The sun’s drowning. The sun ………. drowning”</div>
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She paused and raised her tiny arms towards the coast.</div>
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“We need to do something.” She turned and looked at him. “Don’t
we??”</div>
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He moved a few loose strands of hair away from her eyes and
stuffed them in her easy braids, dried her tears in his neatly pressed shirt
sleeves, lifted her of her chubby feet and started to walk following her hand’s
direction.</div>
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The evening beach was a multitude of activity. A few late joggers
plodding across the sand, quite a few bunches of kids playing, some along the
coast running with the waves, a few industrious ones building sand castles,
some just chasing each other, a few teens playing football with the goal posts
marked in sand, people just sitting, relaxing taking in the dusk, it’s simmering
colors washing along each rushing wave’s frolic and froth, ample echoes of
laughter and joy mixing with the warm wind and it’s moisture laden fingers, the
beach was brimming with life spilling at its seams.</div>
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And amidst them, he reached to where his daughter was
leading him; a few teenagers sitting around in the waves, joking among
themselves, laughing at the world, at themselves, at anything and everything, that
picked their flight of fancy. Their pretty beach shirts stood out, vibrant and
playful, a bold display of their gay and festive mood. They turned around just in
time to see the girl say in her voice laden with anxiety.</div>
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“Look papa…… The sun’s drowning. It’s sinking, sinking slowly
into water”</div>
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The youngsters sitting around started to laugh, seeing that
their prank on the kid was working just fine. One of them teased. </div>
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“A sad day indeed, for the sun to drown.” A few wild guffaws
followed.</div>
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The kid shouted back. “I have brought my father.”</div>
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“Oh Really!! And what’s he going to do.” They challenged
back her innocent claim.</div>
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“He will save the sun.” his daughter’s chirpy voice sounded
firm and decided.</div>
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He looked across at the shimmering expanse of water. The sun
was indeed in its last phase of the day’s travel. A shower of orange hews silhouetting
the world against itself, a lavish splash of shadows running along the line of
the coast. The last embers of the sun’s ring were resonating from the other end
of the horizon, from its drowning depths perhaps.</div>
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<br /></div>
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He looked at the people teasing his daughter and herself stout
& defiant making her stand against them, holding on firmly to him. He couldn’t
help but smile to himself and iterate to her in a calm voice.</div>
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“Yes, my girl we will save the sun.”</div>
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He calmly looked around at everyone laughing and repeated
the same slowly, tasting each and every syllable, relishing at the mighty sound
of its absurd claim.</div>
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“Yes, my girl we will save the sun.”</div>
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“But, how shall we do it??” he quizzed her.</div>
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His daughter replied determined. “Lasso it papa……”</div>
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“Like wonder women”</div>
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“Yes papa”</div>
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“Hmhm……. For that, we need to bring the sun closer to us, to
reach out and lasso it.” He paused thoughtfully for a few seconds. “What we
will do is dig a large pit here, so that the water will flow towards us,
creating a slant and the sun will roll towards us along with the flowing water and
then we will get a chance to lasso it, once we get it near enough. Okay” He
asked her. </div>
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His daughter hanging on to each and every word of his, his
confidence, his easy charisma voiced his full consent. “Okay Papa, we do it.” </div>
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He settled her down, loosened his tie, rolled his shirt cuffs
and pants and set down digging with his bare hands. His hard fingers furrowing
through wet sand, shoveled up large wet lumps of earth with each and every
hearty scoop. His daughter joined him at his side moving the earth her father’s
digging up away from falling again into the pit.</div>
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At first they laughed. The youngsters who pulled the sun’s
drowning prank on the kid stood around the toiling father and daughter and
laughed heartily. A few even teased. Harsh comments on the silly charade. And
then after a few minutes, they simply stood there, witnessing this strange
spectacle. </div>
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A crowd started to gather. </div>
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All the small kids playing nearby joined in the effort,
their laughter splaying over the wet sand, just for the fun’s sake; Someone who
was building castles nearby supplied with a few bucket and small plastic
shovels; People gathered entranced by the sight; stood around captivated by the
strangeness of the tall tale; A father and daughter trying to drain the sea in
an effort to roll over the sun towards them, so as to lasso it and save it from
drowning; Utter ludicrous; a preposterous attempt to pacify a kid; a grown man
behaving like a raving kid; </div>
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Many just stood gaping at the effort the father was working
up with his daughter, the multitude of wet sand flying in all the direction,
the pit growing in leaps and bounds with each and every passing second, the
sheets of water rushing into the pit, the unfaltering faith that the kid showed
on her father, half her anxious eyes set on the drowning sun, half on her
valiant effort, her small hands going about their formidable quest, the sun ever
so slowly sinking, gently suffocated and smothered by the expanse of blue water
despite all their herculean efforts.</div>
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“Papa…. It’s gone.” Her voice wavered. “It’s …….. gone.”</div>
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Everybody fell silent.</div>
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Her father sat down exhausted, looking at the rapidly
darkening horizon, an empty horizon, his breath still coming in spurts with all
the hard physical work.</div>
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“We have to do something papa” she shouted, her voice broken
and shrill.</div>
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All around, people stood stupefied. Not knowing what to do,
not knowing how to confront the honest chagrin in her voice, not knowing how to
explain to her it’s all but a ruse to have fun on her innocence.</div>
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He stared ahead thoughtfully and said. “It did not work.”</div>
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His daughter nodded; her eyes still staunch, too stubborn to
cry, to whimper.</div>
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“Are we going to give up” He asked, touching her flushed
cheeks with his fingers.</div>
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“No” she shouted back with an animal ferocity. “No, we are
not going to give up”</div>
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“Good” he said calmly nodding. “There is always another
chance.”</div>
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His daughter looked at him, each and every single of his
words etched into the solidness of her heart. Nobody in the crowd dared to
breath. A few last passing sea gulls were heard, their cries clear reaching out
to their fledglings. Even the kids playing with the sand stopped to listen.
Parents, teenagers, joggers, picnickers, people who were just relaxing, A
couple of old men in their evening walks, each and every one of the motley
group that had gathered leaned forward, not wanting to miss anything, anything at
all.</div>
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The kid’s father continued. “The earth, in fact is round, we
can go in the opposite direction and save the sun from drowning from the other
side” He paused waiting for his daughter’s reply.</div>
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<br /></div>
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She stood up from her father’s lap, pulled him up, dusted
the sand off him with her tiny hands and said in an urgent voice “papa… Let’s
hurry.”</div>
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And as the crowd slowly parted, allowing the couple to
continue on their adventure, the kid stopped.</div>
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“One minute papa….” she told her father and turned back and
went straight to the teenager who first put her to saving the sun and said in a
clear crisp voice.</div>
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<i>“I will save the sun.”</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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And then the father and daughter left, their walk vigorous, unfaltering,
towards the sun.</div>
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And yes, for those who are still wondering, on whether they
saved the sun or not, rush out and see the rising sun. If you look close
enough, rally hard enough you might notice the lasso around the corner of the
mighty sun and the sun itself being slowly pulled out of the distant horizon. <i>And
of course the father and daughter, if you are lucky enough.</i></div>
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<o:p><b> Author's note-</b></o:p></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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<o:p>I loved thinking up and writing this story. I am thankful for the image and Blog-a-ton for putting me up to this. And this story is for my sister, who is always the first to hear all my flights of fantasy. </o:p><br />
<o:p>PS-</o:p><br />
<o:p><br /></o:p>
<o:p>If you loved this short story- then you might want to try reading another one of my similar story - <a href="http://average-everyday.blogspot.in/2009/04/spring-short-story.html">The spring</a>. Both are strongly dependent on nature to bring out the theme of the fiction. </o:p><br />
<o:p>Have a great day. :)</o:p></div>
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<blockquote>
The <b>fellow Blog-a-Tonics</b> who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective <b>posts</b> can be checked <a href="http://www.blogaton.in/2012/08/rules-and-reminder-for-blog-ton-30.html"><b>here</b></a>. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following <b><a href="http://blogaton.in/">Blog-a-Ton</a></b>. I’m thankful to BLOGGER NAME, who introduced Blog-a-Ton to me, and I debuted in XX edition.</blockquote>
</div>
<b>Credits </b>
Image - <i><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Bxv70kWq0c/Ty-SbfFU2lI/AAAAAAAAA7U/AJGNLxTb0OQ/s640/_DSC5783_w2.jpg">Shades of Orange</a></i> by <i><a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/10596722078024031693">Harsha Chittar</a></i>
Courtesy - <i><a href="http://curiousdino.blogspot.in/">Curious Dino Photography</a></i> via <i><a href="http://www.blogaton.in/">www.blogaton.in</a></i>muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-642030680099548739.post-36739226162387716662012-07-22T06:05:00.002-07:002012-07-22T09:35:43.762-07:00The wounds will heal- A 55 fiction.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Snap-</span></b>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4NbzHkE2XaQ/UAv4wc_NJDI/AAAAAAAAAUE/3qDKkGF_Nuw/s1600/women_worry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: white; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4NbzHkE2XaQ/UAv4wc_NJDI/AAAAAAAAAUE/3qDKkGF_Nuw/s320/women_worry.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>The fiction- </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Hold still.”
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Hmhm.”</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“I will be
done in a minute.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Hmhm.”</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“It will take
a couple of days. But it will heal.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Hmhm.”</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“Try not to
strain yourself until the wounds heal.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">“Hmhm”</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And just
after he bandaged her, he stammered “I….. am sorry”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Silence fell
hard, for once harder than his thrashes.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Author's Note-</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">When people read my post - <a href="http://average-everyday.blogspot.in/2012/06/two-minutes.html">Two minutes- A short story</a>, I was asked whether the fiction was about domestic violence. While answering back to those comments, I was inspired to write a shot fiction about the same topic. I wanted the story to be brutal, realistic and hard hitting. Hope you guys like it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><b>ps-</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">I am experimenting with my blog's appearance, so guys I would like to have your comments on the topic. Thank you.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>muthuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02849537728128467505noreply@blogger.com9