Showing posts with label Droubbles(200words). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Droubbles(200words). Show all posts
April 06, 2014

Short Messages to Dad - Letter E


Letter E - Ethics


Ethics is knowing the difference between what you have a right to do and what is right to do - Potter Stewart

You could have been a rich man with luxurious apartments and fancy cars. You were surrounded by ones who build personal fortunes through devious means and never got caught. You worked in the banking industry - loans and advances - and held a position that offered such opportunities. You never took those bribes and commissions for breaking rules - never gave it a second thought.

Money was important but not enough to discard professional ethics. You watched bosses, colleagues and juniors take hefty cuts from businessmen. Those bundles of money never swayed you. 

This was your greatest asset that you passed on to me and bro. You considered us your assets - your wealth. 

 My greatest joy - honest, hardworking parents who scrimped and sacrificed to give us the best they could. My greatest regret - my inability to fulfill those professional dreams you had, for me. Where I failed, your son made you proud. He truly deserved to hold your remains - your ashes.

I try to follow your footsteps. You know I don't write false web copy or blog reviews for harmful products, and have never written fake book reviews for monetary compensation. 

Were you proud of me, dad? 
April 04, 2014

Short Messages to Dad - Letter C and D

* The auto posting failed and I failed to notice. I have edited it to add letters C and D in today's post. *


Letter C - Crab

Anyone who's lost someone to the crab will say this, that you have to struggle to try to remember the person before the diagnosis happened, because they really do change - as anyone would change - Mindy Kaling

I've met my share of crabs in my short life. Most of these have been the homo-sapien kind, although I encountered a couple of eight-legged ones on the beach. 

Some become close friends - one of them, 20 years older than me, still is - you know who I am talking about, don't you dad? You liked her too, as did any everyone who met Aunt. 
Other crabs were nice, shy, weird or rude. They were friendly and reserved; moody and talkative - much like me. 

And then - there were three - possessing all the negative traits of this sun sign and more - they made my life miserable, and yours by extension.

I believed all crabs were made equal. I was so wrong.

The worst of the lot was the invisible one - the villain who attacks innocents by pretending to make perfect cellular copies of them. It doesn't discriminate - age, colour, religion, sex, race, language, education, wealth, and country - doesn't matter.

This black monster chose you as his next victim - started off as benign and curable - weakened you -  an everyday viral infection killed you. No symptoms except constant back pain - brushed off as old age and worn out bones - could we have saved you?


Letter D - D Day

It doesn't matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was - Anne SextonAmerican poet 
Today is the fourth day of the four month of this year. 
It's been a month since I last heard your voice. Come to think of it, I haven't heard your voice for longer than that, ever since they shifted you to the C.C.U. 
Four was my lucky number - my birth number, but now, I will forever associate it with the day you moved on to another realm - we will argue about these realms some other day.

You made promises - you broke them. I made promises - I broke them. You died early in the morning, in your sleep - in a coma.  A gentleman till the end -  making sure your children didn't have to run around getting things arranged. You gave loved ones enough time to make it to the funeral site. I called up two banker friends from Mumbai, who kept in touch with you, post retirement. Other cried over the phone but I had to hold back my tears, for later. 

Every one whose company you enjoyed turned up - some by the first available flight and some by road. It was a small group of 30 odd relatives that gathered around us, giving us strength and comfort. 

March 08, 2012

The Tryst - Second Campaign Challenge

Using four of the prompts, doing a flash fiction, a pitch or logline,  an inspired poem.
Additionally, 
attempting three of the  activities tied by a common theme,
in a genre never before attempted,
and requesting a critique.


Flash Fiction

All that was left was to wait it out.
He stared at her, elegant looking despite the wet hair from the drizzle that caught them unprepared. Shooing away the starving kids at the garbage dumps hadn’t been easy, grim remainders of his past. He shifted his leg stump away from the jetting rails of what had once been the bridge of Bridgewater town. The pain would resurface soon making travel a nightmare.
The message had been delivered, the bird in his trap, dawn bringing the well earned reward. He day dreamed of the golden patterns, enjoyable side effects of the pain killing serum.


In a happier time reflected in her grandfather’s picture in the burlap, the sneak would have a name not just a number. The one who had foreseen the rise of Stonia, now something evoking fear and despondency was long dead but the movement he co-founded was alive in the hidden depths. She often wondered what had turned the still beautiful woman into the epitome of sadism.
Eric, she felt an ache at the very sound... this pathetic human staring at her brought her closer to the goal, the mission’s success hanging on his ignorance.

wc 198

Pitch/Logline


 In a world bereft of most natural resources, the International Council rules with an iron fist. The  self labelled high priestess and sadist Stonia, the true wielder of power ruthlessly mows any opposition. But the MOB, an underground resistance plots her demise, their reluctant assassin, the unassuming Charlotte, granddaughter of one of the founders,
A simple plan that needs only an image and the medical skills of the widow of the previous leader, finds her embroiled in a moral conflict that could sabotage the mission and destroy the movement...

Wc 89

Poem - Form 'Ode'


Grey cloaks the land,
Where once walked the green maiden
Lovely and captivating visions she spun.
The birds sang, the river hummed
the mad wind whistled in passing.
Happy faces, laughing eyes, scampering feet
were not yet yellowing postcard smiles.

She stood there, straight backed yet unsure,
taking in the detail,
stilling the mind and heart
with the skilled hands of years past.
The expectations weighed
heavy on her chest.
The spirit never truly waned nor wavered
until she met her,
The mother who could have been hers.

For the Rach Writes' Second Campaigner Challenge

Prompt 1: 
Two people are sitting together under the remains of a concrete bridge. Their backs are against a rusted bridge support. One person’s leg is cut. The other person has wet hair. 

Four picture prompts.

Do one or more of the following:
  1. Write a pitch/logline for a book based on the prompts (less than 100 words)
  2. Write a short story/flash fiction piece of less than 200 words based on the prompts
  3. Write a poem with a twist using the prompts as inspiration (in less than 200 words)
  4. Write a story/poem in five sentences, each sentence based on one of the prompts
  5. Write a poem/flash fiction piece (in less than 200 words) about the water pear *without* using the words “pear”, “spoon”, or “droplet”.
For added difficulty/challenge:
  • Complete at least three of the above activities and tie them all together with a common theme (feel free to either state the theme in your post or leave us to guess what it might be)
  • Write in a genre that is not your own
  • Ask Challenge entrants to critique your writing.
February 20, 2012

Painting At Night

Shadows crept across the wall. Lights from the opposite building through the thin curtains and the night lamp added to the effects…so quiet, she could hear her palpitating  heart.  Taking a deep breath, she picked up the thin brush, mixed the three  colours and carefully painted the petals.
‘Bitchy Prostitute’* the voice echoed, stronger than it had all week. She barely managed to pull away the shaking brush. The leaf was now shaded orange.
‘Damn!  Get a grip.’ 'It kinda looked nice’,  she noted…autumn leaves on the blouse would stand out indeed. She glanced at the clock on the wall, 12.45 a.m…half an hour more before  sweet talking  the mistress of dreams.
Lost in the swirling colours , she barely heard him till he stepped close. Laughed at her efforts,”Well, Picasso, get back to bed.”
“ A few minutes” the pleading voice.
“You know who’s up at this time?”
“Not that word, I will definitely leave this time.”
“Really? Poor Mrs Virgin, pity your face didn’t find any takers in college. We both know, your parents will send you right back.” walking away.
Ignoring the rolling tears, blurred eyes sought the brush… clutching it tightly, in its strength everything faded.

* the closest translation of the cuss word in English

WC 200 with the word 'orange' , the end words 'everything faded' and in my usual genre of  Realistic+ Contemporary Women fiction.

( Scene from my WIP on domestic violence  Scarred ....modified)



     At Rach Writes,  First Campaigner Challenge, woot!!! The Challenge is:

Write a flash fiction story in 200 words or less, excluding the title. It can be in any format, including a poem. Begin the story with the words, “Shadows crept across the wall”. These five words will be included in the word count. 
If you want to give yourself an added challenge (optional), do one or more of these:
  • end the story with the words: "everything faded." (also included in the word count)
  • include the word "orange" in the story
  • write in the same genre you normally write
  • make your story 200 words exactly!

Check other entries there. 
September 22, 2011

An Ancient Story Retold


The Snake Charmer, Henri Rousseau, 1907
Image Courtesy Magpie Tales

She lay by the lakeside; in the moonlight casting no perceptible shadow  against the glistening waters.  Strangely restless and content, weaving and unweaving  her matted coils…some stangled and twisted to hideous effect or laid as they were. Dark, tangled strings that reflected the  surrounding gloom.
He had escaped far too often, she had let him live the ignorant dream…. his scent deadly yet irrestible …his high notes ripping her apart…
 Letting him believe to be the victor in this ancient game she had perfected into an art. The night was their timeless friend, eternal enemy; bewitching , betraying, bespoken….rendering them puppets to mutual desire and hatred.
A secret dance,  feverish  glance lacking tenderness….wine and viper, stillness and motion,  beast and prey circling  in vanity and pride.
Soft footfalls, shodden grass groaning under the slight strain….picture perfect. They waited, glinting eyes and forked tongue for the sweet song to soothe and succumb to, for a little while.
 Medusa and the nightly visitor, her  lover and foe, evenly matched but tonight one would fall , the other would savour a shallow victory…..as he played his magical notes, the coils unravelled….inhabiting every inch of the tiny meadow that was their’s alone to claim.

Added to Magpie Tales 83

April 26, 2011

Valiant Spirit

"Akshay" meaning
 'Eternal, immortal, indestructable
 a short post on my nephew  akshay who celebrated his  first birthday last week…he is just one of the thousands of babies born everyday, you might say…but he is special not just because he is my Brother’s kid but because of the fact that he is a fighter to the core…

He was born too early, almost two months before time…a premature baby whose first home after his mother’s comforting womb was the incubator….he was not alone, more than enough company but that doesn’t take away the pain, the fear, the worry, the heartache watching a tiny baby with more tubes than his tender body could hold, more medicines than an adult can withstand….
The thrill of hearing him cry, the joy of seeing the relief on his parents' face when he was certified as healthy enough to be taken home, the satisfaction at seeing him grow slowly, millimetre by millimetre, Grams by grams is something one can only experience…
The picture at the side belies the trauma this sweet angel of ours underwent at a nascent stage of his hopefully long, healthy, happy life. His smile, mischievous ways, tantrums belies the struggles, making them a distant memory best carpeted…
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