"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.

Another love, lasting?? - A short story

The snap-

The fiction-

“So you loved her?”

“hmhm”

“And she loved you back??”

“hmhm hmhm”

“But it did not last!!”

“hmhm”

He took a deep drag at the cigarette hanging from ridge of his mouth reveling in its crisp vapors, sighed. “So good!!”

“Huh!!” he looked at him flabbergasted.

“Good….. Good for you!!” He blurted out, once again trying to empathize.

He started to laugh. “May be… May be not. But that doesn't really stop the pain. Does it?”

For once, his friend fell silent. 

Author's note-

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.

The silent melody- A short story

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 31; 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 Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is 'Strangers in the Night'

The fiction-

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-

Strangers in the night

Exchanging glances

Wondering in the night

What were the chances?

We'd be sharing love

Before the night was through

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.

The doctor took control of the situation seamlessly, ordering an orderly to break open the door using the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall nearby. He then rushed to the window and peeked inside its crevices trying 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 terminal patient ward but happening to him was quite a surprise. 

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 literally.  

“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.

“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.

Something in your eyes

Was so inviting

Something in your smile

Was so exciting

Something in my heart

Told me I must have you
Strangers in the night

Two lonely people

We were

Strangers in the night

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.

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.

Up to the moment

When we said

Our first hello

Little did we know,

Love was just a glance away,

A warm embracing dance away.

“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”

“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.

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.

Ever since that night

We’ve been together

Lovers at first sight,

In love forever

It turned out so right

For strangers in the night

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.

“How’s she?” he asked as soon as he saw him.

“Exhausted... completely” he paused sitting near him. “But okay..... She's okay”

His father let a deep breath out and closed his eyes. They sat there silent, lost in each other’s thoughts. Neither of them spoke. Neither felt the need to. They simply sat there sharing not just the space and the silence. The biting cold did not seem to bother them in the least. The song had finally ended.

Author's note - 

Thanks a lot to Sadiya Merchant, 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.

I would severely recommend listening to the song 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 here. 

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. Introduced By: BLOGGER NAME, Participation Count: 03

Good bye my love - A poem

Snap-

The poem-

Oh! I will forget, just like them fingers in my hand, babe-

As they strum thy guitar strings

Rapid strokes of mambo jambo-

To the rhythm my heart rings.

A single solo I sing,

Of a man gone hollow-

Breathing sorrow- with each and every ping!

Oh … Yeah!  We danced around with words, babe;

Of the few that were said;

One or two- here and there; Nothing more than that;

Too much a-bare; too much to bear;

Like the distant stars in a lonely sky;

We scattered them too much-

And in darkness, they were.

Waiting for you, girl- Just waiting for you.

To reach out with your hand- babe, them five member band;

Thy strumming; ramming at my heart;

For with each and every move, your warm eyes tend to move;

I root alone for me- for you to look at me

And say something- girl.

My jumping parts are praying thy lord;

Say something girl; Just anything, my girl.

Oh yeah! I am just a fool;

Laying in my pool of a few bitter tears- dried long ago,

My last words to you- a simple song for you;

Hewed broken sods- just if you may;

Just before I leave, somewhere away,

Ahoy in a sway!

But my girl- Don’t you worry,

I am never sad- Nothing’s ever bad.

My love for you will always be there; so bitter and so sweet;

Not that I notice- my own parts; of those young and jumping sorts,

Just like I forgot the fingers of my hand,

Strumming along with me,

Humming alone with me,

Good bye, my love –

One last good bye, my love.

Author's note-

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.

And for people, who haven't listened to Bob Dylan, Guys, you just don't know what you are missing. Bob Dylan is the guy who gave the lyrics not just meaning but soul. His songs "Blowing in the wind" and "Times they are a-changing" 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.

PS-

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

The wounds will heal- A 55 fiction.

The Snap-

The fiction- 

“Hold still.”

“Hmhm.”

“I will be done in a minute.”

“Hmhm.”

“It will take a couple of days. But it will heal.”

“Hmhm.”

“Try not to strain yourself until the wounds heal.”

“Hmhm”

And just after he bandaged her, he stammered “I….. am sorry”

Silence fell hard, for once harder than his thrashes.

Author's Note-

When people read my post - Two minutes- A short story, 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.

ps-

I am experimenting with my blog's appearance, so guys I would like to have your comments on the topic. Thank you.

Overdue - A poem

The Snap-

Overdue- The Poem.

Bunch of blossoms;

Wet and wilted.

Pinch of thunder;

Set and shorted.

Writhed around;

Tethered abound.

Lightening adrift;

Heightening in shifts;

A few wings tore;

From dew drops sore;

The cloud petals bore;

It started to pour.

A pregnant blast;

The rain’s ballast;

Sloshed soaked;

Terrain naked;

Filth; Grime;

Soil and Slime;

In spurts, it ran; rivulets sang;

In leaps; coy peeps;

Along with the flow;

Alone on the plough;

Furrowed through;

A few lost blood drops;

The last few of the million hewed;

Bled with gusto; Honor presto;

Crimson patches; raw earth’s swatches;

Of long forgotten; War begotten;

In satin swirls, those last blood drops;

Ran along in swills;

Searching along;

For a few drops of tears;

A few drops of tears;

A few centuries overdue!

Author's note-

I simply love to write poetry in Tamil. It just flows.Tamil in itself is so phonetically worded, It's orgasmic to create a lovely thought in the language. It's like my first love- each and every time i write poetry in Tamil, the fleeting sensation of immense pleasure, the more you love, the more you enjoy, getting drunk with words.

The above poem is a roughly translated version of a Tamil poem, I wrote a few days ago. I wanted to capture the pain of war and violence in a melodramatic fashion. I hope that you guys enjoy the same.

The Tamil version of the Poem-

PS-

This is the second Tamil Poem that I have posted. If you liked this one, do check out the first one at the link here. Cheers.

I smiled - A poem inspired by the poem in the movie - The grey.

The Image -

The Poem -

I smiled.

Blood salivating,

In warm trickles,

A mellow taste,

For life’s chaste.

Nails christening,

Each swing crimson.

Those taken red,

Those delivered redder,

I smiled.

Cut lips, waxing blunt.

Wild eyes, waning sharp.

Begotten and forgotten,

Causes and clauses.

Prey and predator,

Praying for the coin tossed.

Heads, he dies,

Tails, he dies.

I smiled.

 Author's note -

I just saw the movie -  The grey and was inspired by the untitled poem that is portrayed in it. The exact lines of the poem are

Once more into the fray

Into the last good fight I'll ever know
Live and die on this day
Live and die on this day.

I wanted to capture the same die hard essence in my own words. 

The rabbit and the tortoise- Fiction (Aesop's Retold)

The snap-






The Fiction--



Nobody can call the tortoise a slouch. Nor can anybody criticize his efforts.

Sweat poured across his face; drenching his soul, as he plodded along the race path, one step at a time; each harder than the earlier.

Every minuscule molecule of his might, exhausted. A dry throat gasping for breath; battling with the heat and exhaustion – dieing to give up. Just give up this unjust race already.


Of course, his opponent is tough and obviously faster. It would be a child’s win for the rabbit to win. But then, all the odds staked against him, made it the more important, more important for him to win.

And no, the chance for the rabbit to fall asleep, once again- after the Aesop’s race would be, like the Americans say; a fat chance. But then, it was his dignity that’s at stake. He took a deep breath and sighed. Sometimes a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. With a rebuilt resolution, he plodded on.


Just then, just for a flash of a second, he couldn’t but help think that – Maybe, his claiming reservation was not a bad idea at all.




Author's note-


Like the last post, this one too is retelling the Aesop's in relation to the modern circumstances. Hope I have made a interesting dent to the story.

Regarding reservations - I do not intend to support nor oppose it. I merely would like to rethink reservation depending on circumstances. Isn't that all democracy about ? To decide for ourselves, whats to be done to ourselves. So, tell me guys, what do you think about reservation? and it's implication - both in the story & in real life.

For those interested, the original Aesop's tale- can be read at the following link.

The honors-- A short fiction

The snap-





The fiction--



She welcomed him with a sad smile...

"I was waiting for you... What took you so long...."


"Really" he prodded. His rusted voice visibly surprised.


"It's just that I dont have the nerve to do it. Can you do me honors..."


Freddy shrugged before ripping her apart.

Killing rampages on Friday 13 does have it's wierd moments....


Author's note-

Guys, I am writing 55 fictions and short stories a lot nowadays coz I dont get to be online for a wholesome post. Hydrebad, I must say is too intense a lady who keeps me busy most of the time. And this particular story, I wrote keeping in mind the last Friday which came to be on a 13th.

Of humans & humanity -

The city-

A city that was found on the banks of the river Musi, A juxtaposition of the magnificence of the old and trendiness of the new. A city whose development in the last decade is not just astounding but mind boggling. A city that still reeks of a rustic charm with the edges of sophistication and refinement creeping in. A city that once courted the Nizams. A city where the beauty of the language Telugu flourishes along with lavishes of Urdu and Hindi added. The city of pearls, of lakes, of a climate red hot and of girls hotter than that. :D

A city which will be my home for the next three months -- Hyderabad.


The snap-




A chaotic hub of activity welcomed me when I arrived here, at the junction of Secundrabad one week ago. The buzz of rushing human life played around me, always constant and engaging. Dozens of stores with a million goods of every sort; T shirts, bags, flowers, combs, locks, fruits, trousers, Remote control covers, Cushions, Cushions covers. A multitude of things that were being haggled over for better prices by both the seller and the customer.

Auto Rickshaw wallahs looking out for everyone and anyone coming from inside the junction for a prospective passenger. People with pale shirts clean and pressed rushing over to their destination unknown, offices probably to confront whatever the morning has prepared for them. Students with ties and a twinkle in their eyes hurrying past the milieu, their heavy bags lugging behind their backs. A few teens fooling around; A couple of men in lungis* sitting in front of closed shops reading the news papers; Buses, taxis, Autos and what not zooming past loaded with people and their early morning concerns; A haste of activity, An onslaught of life.

And as I stood there, a kid enthralled by the flurry of whats happening around him; I saw her.


She-

White wisps of hair; greying in the frays probably from the dust billowing from the road, dry and lifeless, a sad shine in it's last days in those old eyes, clothes beaten and faded; colors long forgotten, A face wrinkled blue more with the worry of hunger than of age, A poor old women looking around for someone who would be her savior today; giving her a few coins; winning her today's bread.





And of all those people who moved past her in haste or of even those just loafing around, nobody seem to even notice her. They were too lost in the maze of their own life that they have just become a bit too immune to see the pain and sufferings that's at their door steps.

As I stood there waiting for my bus, I really wanted to see someone help out that frail figure of an old lady. But alas, even though the explosion of activity increased ceaselessly along with the trickle of time and the blooming of the sun, nobody, not even one seemed to mind her. The hunger in her eyes,her dry, parched lips, the streaks of her tears; dried.

A lost soul amongst a million lost souls.

Humans if needed may learn to eat humans to live. But can we be called humans then?

A few more moments crawled by. The lady lost all her hope that she will get to eat something today and sat down with hunched shoulders trying to bear another day of her drab life.

May be I was destined to buy the lady her morning food. I smiled to myself. Quite a destiny.

I gave the lady some money and asked her to go and eat. She looked at me with those silver eyes with mixed emotions. I moved away before she could thank me.

After all, I was just trying to salvage the reminder of the humanism and kindness in my heart & for that, sorry but you don't really need thanks.



Author's note--

This post is but what I felt when I looked at that poor lady & by no means, do I credit the city for the plight she was in.

And Guys, I am having quite a time in here in Hyderabad. Will soon post about my wanderings and experiences here. :)


PS--

Guys, Since I am staying here in Hyderabad in a hostel and doing my blogging from a nearby net cafe, I am not able to keep up with your blogging. So, so pardon me. Will sure catch up soon.

Until then... Cheers.

Forgetting you

The snap-




The poem-


A child; My mind
jumped with glee,
Two feet in air-
Joy abound & bare.

Two wings unhinged
lunged; lupine,
A sky lark's dance-
Of a forgotten romance.

Of kisses; salty,
& tears; saltier.

Of memories; sweet,
& thy pain; sweeter.

The pain of my love;
An angel lost;
eons past;



In a
Lucid tone; of
A lurid atone-

My mind's lark rejoices
And harps,
Rambling drunk;

Soaked up &
exuberant that,

it has forgotten you,

You, my girl

Fair lady of thy lot;
The thumping melody of my heart;

Tangerine-
The rhyme of
her clear crystal voice.

Aquamarine-
The shine of
her sheer liquid eyes.


As in bliss
as my mind may be,

Singing out, of
forgotten you;

A pity it is-

It also forgot-
Even for the ecstasy of forgetting you;
It needs you-

You; my love.

An angel lost
eons past.

Rest In Peace – A short story.

The Snap-



Even the most daring of the prostitutes, avoided that alley, not because that it did not have customers with deep pockets and weird fantasies to be fulfilled but because it was a bad omen. In better words, a suicide wish. Death was blatantly splashed across the walls like cheap paint peeling away at it's frayed corners. Life just decayed there, breathing into the environment it's remains, dark, damp, putrid smell of rotting soul. A better stage could not have been asked for, for the drama that was about to happen.

It was inhumanly cold like the silence that cloaked and drank the alley in it's darkness. The three men stood there staring at each other, daring the others to make a move. One of them, a dull red shirt was the first one to make the move. He rushed at the other two with his knife, eyes full of murderous intent, no wonder he missed the misgivings of the ground below him. He tripped and fell down with a dull thud. He laid there on the bare lifeless gravel, with his own life slowly ebbing out of him along with the blood dripping out of his broken forehead.

The other two looked at each other and exchanged a smirk. “What a shmuck!!!”. Fucking died; without even putting up a decent fight. One of the standing two, the sadistic leader slowly came forward, with measured steps, eying the red shirt for any last signs of life. After all they will have to confirm the kill but what really is the fun in rushing things. After all, the fun has just started. Hasn't it?? .

He tried arousing the dying man with his feet, which answered with no response. “Shit!!” He thought. He never got his arousals until he heard them cry and beg for mercy, to just finish them off and when people went out without that last cry of anguish, it enraged him. He kicked with his heavy soles into the abdomen, the victim cried out in the bliss of the pain. 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 the face of his partner and beckoned him to join the fun.

It was then that fate started to cast it's own dice. He felt pain, sudden succumbing pain. A knife stuck into his shin was so hard, it ruptured a few veins that blood didn’t just ooze out but slowly flowed to paint the alley road a dense dark crimson. Instinct took over all his senses and be simply bended over holding his leg. A mistake and just as he realized that the knife was all the way through his left eye, tearing apart the softer tissues of the brain. He fell down dead.

Exhausted with his vengeance with the knife, the dull red shirt laid there panting and fighting for air in the cesspool of blood. The third guy now shivering and white faced enough to term him a corpse slowly edged towards them; dead and the nearly dead, and stood there twitching in fear not knowing what to do. Must have been a bit of a gutsy guy for his first murder, he slowly knelt down to check on his comrade and just then, it happened. The red shirt in his attempt to breath through all the gathering blood opened his mouth and started to choke in his own bloody mess. He died, giving gave away his last breath;A ghoulish guttural.

That low haunting sound broke whatever remaining guts, the third guy had. He started to run as if he was possessed. Not just out of the alley but he ran until every single muscle in his soul was totally exhausted. His fear washed away with the remnants of his sweat. He did not want to be there. He wished he did not see what he just saw. He did not want to stop running. He just ran.People, when they fighting death after putting up what they think it is their final struggle, simply surrender themselves to it without even trying. Maybe that was why, when the third guy realized that he had stopped running in front of a speeding truck, he didn’t even try to dodge. He became one of those hit and run casualties, dead even before hitting the ground.

The sky slowly darkened in mourning and the sound of the rain drops mixed with the sirens of the ambulance and resonated all along the alley as distant echoes.

Three were dead. There was no relation or any similarities that were found between them in investigation except of course in the burial ceremony, where all the three were said to be the children of god who were pure in soul and though good in character, had been corrupted and forgiveness was asked, for the almighty is all forgiving and benevolent.


And the dead could rest in peace. For after all, the dead rarely lament.





Amen.



Author's note-

I have always loved dark stories & I think that this is just my own version of a very short murder story. I wrote this a while ago. I just thought it would be apt for posting after editing a few parts of it. Hope you guys like it.


I am a bit busy traveling and may not visit your blogs regularly. Please do bear with me. I will catch up with you guys soon.


Cheers...

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.

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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. :)

The lost emotions of love: - A short story.

He was dull. That’s it. You simply could not think anything else about him. Even roadside tramps might have had an once in a while happy face to wear and prance about but not he. May be the color grey was defined after seeing his face or after his face. Such was the bleakness that soaked and dripped from the ridges of his face. There just wasn’t any other expression, any other expression other than his nonchalant sigh, a sigh that seemed to be his answer to all the questions that might have lost their way and found him.

People never knew what he did for a living; let alone did he do anything at all? - Was a question that was seldom speculated because people rarely knew he existed.




Days passed into months and years and one day he too passed away like they all do one day or the other. Fate always has its mockery in the weirdest ways. He died in a spectacular road accident. So spectacular was the accident, So much huge was the traffic pile up caused by it, So much effort and time it took to clear the impaired traffic, that everyone was amazed to learn that he was the one and only fatal victim of the event.

The publicity generated by the single victim carnage was so enormous that the authorities thought that it would be a bit of a promotional material to find his living relatives and hand them over his remains. The authorities as it can be guessed found no living relations, friends or any living soul who in the least knew him. This baffled them and when the media got to know it, they made a bit of a circus out of it.





“Can someone be in such isolation in today’s crowd of a society?”

“Don’t people need other people to enjoy life and to cherish the thought of living?”

“Even in today’s age of nanotechnology and robotics, can the spontaneity of joy in other people’s company be replaced?”

“If not for love, what’s the purpose of keeping on living?”



----Excerpts from the Digital edition of the magazine - Life dated 12-10-3078-----


Experts in human emotional evolution say that this incident in a very odd way has become an eye opener for the people who have simply lost their touch with the human feelings of isolation, loneliness and forlornness. In an attempt to capture the public opinion, on the spot questions were put to the passerby on a busy street.


--College student: Let me tell me tell you something man. After I got my hand fit with the molecular mobile, you know the kind that uses your own bio- energy and your thought process for its other functions like dialing and other things; I am 24*7 in contact with my friends man. It even has inbuilt MP3 music. But you know what’s kind a funny. Nowadays I rarely take time to visit my friends or to greet my fellow passengers on the fly bus. My grand father used to say that his grand father told that these things were cool creating real human bond. But anyways man like him, I too never tried it.


--Doctor: May be I should have mastered in psychology. Those Psychologists get more patients calling than me, a diabetic expert. Patients nowadays simply send me their digital urinal imprint via mail and ask me to mail their medicines. Totally ridiculous. With total physical care supplied by the corporations who ensure you with 80 years of healthy life, what can doctors like me who are practicing alone accomplish?


--Rushing share market expert: Pardon, Oh sorry I have no time for any comments.



--Retired psychologist: I think that people are a bit more preoccupied for something so spontaneous like love to be expressed and to be expressed to in our present society. Totally preoccupied with how to run life that it’s simply easy to forget the simple things that really matter like perhaps to kiss your child good night.


--Road side tramp: Yeah, as I always say to my friends, the worlds gonna end my boy, the worlds gonna end. For sure. You can trust me. No not nuclear war or anything. Just humanlessness. Let me repeat - just humanlessness. Yeah I discovered that word “humanlessness”. When was the last time you went and saw someone just because you felt like it? Answer me you young man?


--A twelve year old on the way to school: The guy was dead and there were no relations or friends to cry over him!! I……..I am really sorry for him.


The responses that were obtained on the street were varied and gave considerable insight into the subject in a rather subtle manner. The technological leap in the past century may have made our life easier but what the humans in an emotional level need may not always be the easy way through says the EQ (emotional quotient) Expert of our magazine. Having a work book idea for almost everything single problem, not only provides an immediate remedy but also isolates people. In fact too much technology eliminates the need for other people.

So next time, you are about to take your digi dog out for a walk do consider buying yourself a natural dog. Of course it pees on the couch but it can also surprise you with an unexpected loving lick on your face.



----Book beforehand for your next edition and get to know the ideas our magazine doctor suggests to find your lost emotions of love. All the ideas have been tested and the experimental results have also been established. Zero chances of random events happening.


---The End---




Author's note -

Guys, I jus arrived from Coimbatore. I cleared the GD and I think that I did the PI reasonably well(the results will be announced in 20 days.). Thank you guys for all your wishes. They made my day. And a lot of really interesting stuff happened at the PI. Will blog about it in my next post.


And this is the first story that I wrote so it may have a lot of holes in the plot. And I am happy guys, happy 2 know that I have really come a long way from writing a poat and praying to god that someone would read and comment on it. Thanks to the inspiration that you guys have always been, I love to write 4 you. :)



until the next post.

cheers then.

muthu