The Quote -

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

-Muthu

Showing posts with label crying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crying. Show all posts

Saturday, June 1, 2013

The Helpless - A 55 fiction

The Snap:


The Tale:


“I don’t want to go to the dentist” Her chubby voice gurgled.
“hmhm”
“Please papa….. Please….”
“hmhm hmhm”

The kid pulled his hand gingerly.

“I really don’t want to…..”
“hmhm.... Okay.” he sighed.

The kid calmed down for a moment, a bare moment before then her voice crackled as she sobbed.

“I am sorry, papa but my tooth .......... still pains” 




Author's Note:

The idea behind the 55 fiction is to emphasize the unsaid reality that is left out of the story-
 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.

This is a part of Colgate's IndiBlogger Contest. To know more about the Colgate initiative and their expert articles on teeth and gums, kindly visit the following link.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

"Her nightmare": My entry for the Get Published contest





The Idea-

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.

Of course, she is placed in a well reputed MNC. Her career is secure.
Of course, she has always been given ample freedom to make her own decisions.
Of course, her parents have always been more friends and guides than the conservative meaning of the word.
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.
Their love was heartfelt.

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.


What Makes This Story ‘Real’

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.


Extract-

“What were you doing?” her mother’s crisp voice prodded
“Nothing” She said staring at her mother standing at the doorway.
Do you want me to believe that” her mother asked as she came into the room and sat down on her bed.

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 in its merry go round, a dull creak with every other round, probably just not merry enough. And despite all those swirls of air, that it threw forth, she started to sweat.

Who were you chatting to” her mother’s voice was eerily calm.
“No one” She blurted out, the words tumbling out of her and slipping into open.
“No one??
Yes, no one”

Her mother sighed. “You forgot to switch off the modem and the web camera. The computer itself is still running.” She paused and looked at her daughter’s widening eyes.
Was it in Skype?? Who was he? You were chatting with

“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.

“It’s okay. Please don’t lie” her mother shifted herself to hold her head to her bosom.
“It’s just that ” her mother paused “after all the freedom I gave you, after all the open environment I provided, after everything” her voice wavered for the first time “I ….. I had to learn it like this.”


Endnote: This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.

Saturday, August 4, 2012

Saving the Sun – A short story.

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 30; 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 Blog-a-Ton.
The Following fiction won the Silver at Blog-a-ton 30. A warm thanks for everyone who voted for the same.


The Snap-





The fiction-

“Papa papa, the sun is drowning….. The sun is drowning…”

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.

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.

“Papa….. Papa…….. The sun’s drowning. The sun ………. drowning”

She paused and raised her tiny arms towards the coast.

“We need to do something.” She turned and looked at him. “Don’t we??”

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.

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.

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.

“Look papa…… The sun’s drowning. It’s sinking, sinking slowly into water”

The youngsters sitting around started to laugh, seeing that their prank on the kid was working just fine. One of them teased.

“A sad day indeed, for the sun to drown.” A few wild guffaws followed.

The kid shouted back. “I have brought my father.”

“Oh Really!! And what’s he going to do.” They challenged back her innocent claim.

“He will save the sun.” his daughter’s chirpy voice sounded firm and decided.

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.

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.

“Yes, my girl we will save the sun.”

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.

“Yes, my girl we will save the sun.”

“But, how shall we do it??” he quizzed her.

His daughter replied determined. “Lasso it papa……”

“Like wonder women”

“Yes papa”

“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.

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.”

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.

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.

A crowd started to gather.

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;

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.

“Papa…. It’s gone.” Her voice wavered. “It’s …….. gone.”

Everybody fell silent.

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.

“We have to do something papa” she shouted, her voice broken and shrill.

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.

He stared ahead thoughtfully and said. “It did not work.”

His daughter nodded; her eyes still staunch, too stubborn to cry, to whimper.

“Are we going to give up” He asked, touching her flushed cheeks with his fingers.

“No” she shouted back with an animal ferocity. “No, we are not going to give up”

“Good” he said calmly nodding. “There is always another chance.”

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.

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.

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.”

And as the crowd slowly parted, allowing the couple to continue on their adventure, the kid stopped.

“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.

“I will save the sun.”

And then the father and daughter left, their walk vigorous, unfaltering, towards the sun.


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. And of course the father and daughter, if you are lucky enough.





 Author's note-

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. 
PS-

If you loved this short story- then you might want to try reading another one of my similar story - The spring. Both are strongly dependent on nature to bring out the theme of the fiction. 
Have a great day. :)




The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. I’m thankful to BLOGGER NAME, who introduced Blog-a-Ton to me, and I debuted in XX edition.
Credits Image - Shades of Orange by Harsha Chittar Courtesy - Curious Dino Photography via www.blogaton.in

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Short Stories - Topic "Thy Exam, Thy Fever"




Author's Note -

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







Short Fiction 1 - The reason to smile !!


"Whats the big smile for?"

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

"I just remembered the answer for a question."

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

The Student shrugged.

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







Short Fiction 2 - A season of tears


Suddenly she suffocated.

One silly mistake.

Her centum has been ruined by a single silly mistake.

Far once, she felt helpless.

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

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

Piece by piece, she slowly broke down. Alone.







Short Fiction 3 - The single right guess !!


The question paper stared back at him.

He gave out a calm sigh.

At peace. At last.

No surprises there.

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

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





Fin -


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

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Another girl; Another day; - A short fiction

The Snap-






The Fiction-



" What are you going to do me... " Her voice trembled.

" What else... " He smirked. "than to raping you.. "

She tried to get up and slipped, falling on her face. Her jaw broke in with a sick thud. Blood poured. Her legs refused to respond, torn at the shins, they begged her to forgive them. They could not save her anymore. She cried. A broken brook of agony, the cold pain of what's to come.

In between the tears that flowed mixing with the gutter and blood,he noticed she was mumbling something to him.

He smiled and bent down, trying to listen to her last words. The last begging for mercy always gave him the best hard on.

He whispered to her. "go on dear... I am listening... " .

Her voice was faint but stern. "Please can you kill me after you are done with me........."



A few silent seconds paused. Somehow he was not able to hear her crying anymore.

Nor was he feeling anything when he walked away from there. Just emptiness. Dark, bleak and grey.





Author's note-


Well, I was actually planning to write a 55 fiction but fiction grew without restraint into more than 55 words. Hope you guys enjoyed the piece. And Wish you guys a happy Pongal - the south Indian harvest festival.....

Friday, May 29, 2009

Alone in the crowd – 55 fiction

The Snap- The sport





Attempt 1- Sweet.


She was suffocating on the air she was breathing.

The jostling crowd around her, the cacophony that was soaking the stadium, the final match of her favorite club – every single thing that had her attention till then, faded away obsolete.

She felt alone & was in bliss. Her love was on his knee.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Snap- The crowd & cacophony-





Attempt2- Sour.

She looked around bored.

The jostling crowd, the cacophony & the stupid match - everything bored.

But she did not care anyways. She was there.

Better to be alone in this crowd than in her room, whose four walls of late have been complaining too much about how they never get their privacy.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Attempt3- Salty.

“I miss you- alone without you in this crowd” She typed & sent the message.

“Me too” came the reply.

She smiled & then joined in the rhythm of the match cheering with the guy she was with today.

The message did not even transcend towers. After all both the mobiles were inside the same stadium.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Snap- The cheering & jeering-




Attempt4- Bitter.

Up & down she went,

Jumping & shouting with the crowd around her, her cheers lost in the cacophony of the stadium but she did not give up.

A few tears flew in a few directions.

Her lone voice broke. But still she shouted. If only her son wasn’t stillborn on that day, he would be here now shouting with her.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's note-


The following 55 fictions are all based on the same Idea -Being alone in the crowd(Inspired by Keshi when she commented about it in my last post.) So i dedicate this series of 55 fiction to her. Gal, I hope I did justice to your Idea. :)

I have tried to bring out the different tastes that can be involved in the same scenario playing around with the four basic tastes. Sweetness, sourness, saltiness and bitterness. Guys, do tell me- how did you like my recipe.





If you like this kind of playing around with 55 fictions dealing with the same Idea but having different tastes, then- You should try out my previous such attempts.

-- About a girl crying[link]

-- About prostitutes[link]


PS-

Guys, I am actually pretty much in the middle of writing a pretty much bold, aggressive post. A post about gender and what I think is the most bigoted issue of all thats affecting us as a sexual being. I want to make the argument in the post strong, so I am taking my time. Will post it soon.

And yeah, I am going to kodaikanal - A hill station in TN this weekend with my family. So I will be out of blog ville for a couple of days. Will catch up with you guys when I get back most probably on Monday. :)

Monday, May 11, 2009

Alone – A poem

The snap -





The poem -

Mad moments few,
Will be drenched in dew
Lost in the darkness; my wry laments;
Just a handful
A handful of bitter tears;
Deeply blistering tears –
Scarlet scars painted; on
Crimson cheeks tainted;
Of pain;
Of love slain;
Like Cain;
Of Abel slain;


An elegy;
Of a love lost.
An orgy of a melancholy;
At a hearts cost.
Anguish; Ache;
Vodka; Sake;


I cry alone every night,
Dipping and drenching my shattered soul; in
A handful of bitter tears;
Deeply blistering tears –
I cry alone every night,





To remember the moments I spent laughing with her.
The bliss; the heaven;
The kiss; the Beethoven;
My love, my bow;
My Soul, my Spirit;
Lass of an angel;
In the bass of love;




Oh…. I lost her, I lost her
I lost her, I lost her……




Please do not disturb me; When



I cry….. Alone every night.





Author’s note –


The above poem also is based on a Tamil poem that I wrote while travelling to Coimbatore a few days back (I haven’t posted the Tamil poem but if you guys want to read the original Tamil poem, I will post it later). My sis says that I can be pretty depressing with my words sometimes. The above poem according to her is one of them. I don’t really agree with her. I think that pain in love is the ultimate salvation in life.



PS –


I actually am posting this poem from a browsing center nearby my home. The broadband connection in my home has been having a lot of problems lately and I have not been able to tweet or to blog regularly because of that. I have registered a complaint and I think that those BSNL guys will take a couple of days to look into the problem. I will be offline till then. Really funny things have been happening lately and I do have a lot of smiles to spill to you guys and will do so once I come back online. :):)


Until then.


Cheers….


muthu

Monday, May 4, 2009

The thread - A poem

The Snap -




The thread - The Poem.



Sacred and Scattered;
Along and across the long lonely nights
Spent pinning,

Are the blossoms of my dreams,
Of you my love; of whom I love -
With all my heart; my soul apart,

And of from those blossoms and buds that lie;
Lie across a million miles,
A million miles across my heart -

To garnish a garland for you, my queen,
A beauty, even moon cringes to face -
And wanes away into the night -
Wading away with shame at it's plight;



I search a thread to thread my love,
From blossoms, blooms, flowers & shoots;
Of a million miles -
A zillion times....

But fail and falter;
Every time;
Every attempt.
The more i try the more i fail;
Remorse rains, remains & drains
My pain, failing to find a worthy thread;

A worthy thread to thread my love,
As flowers and dreams it lies scattered,
My love for you.



In your eyes, then i see....
A strand of light,
A twine of delight,
As the embers of your eyes sparkle when you laugh,

Oh.... I stare mesmerized
And hypnotized,
With rejoice and joy infinite,
I stare.....



At your love, my dove;
Your love for me
That spindles threads out for me...

As the line of light
In your sight....
That jumps and twinkles out of your eyes.....


I love you.


Author's note -


Guys I usually write poetry in my native tongue Tamil in which I am spontaneous. The above poem - The thread is my first full length poem in English. The idea of the poem is based on tamil poem of the same name that i penned a year ago. I have posted the tamil poem as an image for you guys who know tamil. I would love to have your comments on my venture into English poetry.


The tamil version of the poem -




Tamil is a beautiful language that was tailor made for poetry. It is the soul of my inspiration as a writer. You need not think in tamil, words will flow in tamil. I love my language with a passion so fierce that when i write about it, I am overwhelmed with love for my language - tamil. I dedicate this poem to my mother - mother tongue - Tamil. May all praise go to her for seeding in me the germ of poetry.


PS -

Guys, If you liked this poem of mine, then do check out the other poems of mine here. Hope you enjoy them. Cheers.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

And then, she cried- 55 fiction

Author's note: I came across the idea of writing short stories with just 55 words called 55 fiction and was quite intrigued by the concept. And so i have tried to write a few 55 fiction here in my own style. Though these stories are based on the same situation I have tried to capture the various ways in which the situation would have turned out with different responses from the male character to the female protagonist.I am looking forward to your comments.


For more information on 55 fiction, kindly visit here.







The wish:




You are going to cry……… Aren’t you?

She tried ignoring him staring at the dark skies. Noticing a shooting star she closed her eyes and wished she would just die. Her hidden tears jumped out and streaked across her face along with the sudden rain.

“Now you wouldn’t know? Would you?” She asked





The rebuke:





Are you going to cry?

She hit back “Do you want me to……….” The dark skies took contempt at her rebuke and started to throw rain drops at her.

She shivered and he offered her his coat. She refused and continued to shiver. At least the rain stood by her without asking stupid questions.





The lone flowers:




Please don’t cry

He begged her but she couldn’t just stop the tears as they flowed from her eyes streaking across her face blurring the starry sky. The rain started to wail along with her as if it too chose to ignore his consolatory efforts. And they both cried their pained hearts out each alone and each together.





The dawn:




He did not say anything and he didn’t need to. He just held her tight as she cried, cried and cried, until the tears and the rain washed away her pain. Then he said

Let go

She nodded. In the distant skies the dawn was slowly brushing out the last ghosts of the dark night.





Author's note:

In the fourth story I have tried to bring out that the rain and the girl were crying alone and in that they were together.

Saturday, October 11, 2008

Can boys Cry???

The Snap-




The Tale-


I am a bit of an avid reader and I believe that any good readable stuff must have more than literary finesse. May be, something originally refreshing. May be, something that challenges our present perspective. That would not only make an interesting read but something to reflect upon. I think I came across such a good piece of anecdote and not wanting to spoil it, I am quoting it in its exact words.


---A world famous bull fighter, the epitome of masculinity in his culture, entertained some guests in his villa one evening. After dinner he disappeared and one of the male guests went in search of him. He found the bull fighter wearing an apron and washing the dishes. The guest was appalled and blurted out, “How can you be doing such a feminine thing?” To which the bull fighter replied looking down his nose at the guest: “Whatever I do is masculine.” ---


Wow, the bull fighter did give a very good reply but I think that, there is more to the story than that. The bull fighter boldly challenges the perspective of not only his friend but the perspective of every single reader.

The guest’s attitude simply shows the acceptance of sex – role stereotypes by almost everyone in general, including you and of course also me.

“So what s wrong in associating the characteristics of being bold and brave (a bit bald too– just kidding) to be masculine and that of coyness and tenderness to the fairer sex?”


One may be absolutely right in asking the above question. But by role specifying the sexes, aren’t we becoming a bit too rigidly dogmatic, that we simply forget to be fare to ourselves?


Well, let me think to put it in better words or lets say, in every day circumstances.


I can be a bit of a cry baby. Good books, good movies, whatever touches me, makes me wet my eyes. Sometimes I get caught by my friends in one of those teary moments; they would give me that “dude you crying??? Look”. And of course my “ooh my god, my hand got stuck in the cookie jar” look never ever helps me and I end up feeling real bad that my friend saw me getting mushy.

Now, what’s so bad in a guy crying? Haven’t you guys been to a single movie that moved you that you had tears at the end of the movie. If not, guys you simply don’t know, what you are missing. Pity you. For gods sake there is more to Hollywood than mind blowing action, graphics and yeah of course hot girls. Even Hollywood action movies can pack some real good punches that move you in the end (like brave heart and the guardian).

Also in a way, as easy as it is to behave violently for a guy, it’s as easy for him to have emotional issues. And dude, you know what’s the worst part - guys can do anything better, I mean it anything better than expressing his own needs and feelings.


And of course what’s so obsessive with girls being sweet and soft. I loved it when Anjolina Jolie busted balls in her latest flick (Unless my balls aren’t the ones getting busted). I think that confident women are a real turn on than the usual “damsel in distress”. I simply hate the way regional movies depict love. Almost every single time the hero saves the day (always just in the nick of time) and the heroine simply goes gaga for him. Silly hindi heroines!!!

Girls let me tell you a secret; we guys simply love it when a girl enters a place head held high, hair thrown back, totally confident of herself and with a bold but elegant walk than the usual girl.


So defining stereotypes is too silly and purposeless. As silly as asking Salman Khan to wear shirts(of course nowadays every single hindi hero bares his body at least in a single song. What does the hindi cinema field has against wearing shirts, God only knows.)


So next time you catch your friend crying. Simply leave him be. (You simply missed the part where he got his chops busted by his girl- just kidding). After all, boys too can cry.