time to change

She sat there sweating profusely, her temper matching the heat outside. Would this too turn out to be a failed attempt? The pressure from the officials had been mounting. New mouths to feed arrived at a steady pace every month, eating into her share of the allocated funds. Being the head of the orphanage was not a lucrative business any more. She was tired of pandering to the egos of higher ups and soliciting new clients for her husband's floundering real estate business at the same time. The dingy room saw less and less of her as days passed by.


 Rama Shankar* pushed his way through the wooden saloon doors, he didn't bother to knock. 
 If she hadn't been preoccupied, would have noticed the smug look that permeated his features these days. "The Pandeys called, Madamji."
"Again? Bringing her...Munni back?" Desperation reducing her voice to a hoarse croak.
"Who tells this poor man anything?" His voice always reminded her of grease scrapped from a steel plate.
 Must want to wash their hands off her. These religious, middle class ones are all the same, just empty talk. "What did you tell them?"
 "The usual, busy with inspection work." He seemed pleased with his lies. His eyes had a hazy quality to them. Had he been...? "How many times have I told you to stay off bhang during working hours?
"Do you want to lose this job too?"
With watering eyes, he quickly prostrated before her, "Have mercy on me, family man, my kids will starve to death." adding, "These kids are like my children, they need me."


He managed to convince her every time; she needed him to cover up her absence. She was about to give him another last warning when the noise outside distracted her. There was a flurry of running feet followed by steadier ones. Snippets of conversation in loud and soft voices could be heard. The rushing feet stopped at her door. Utter silence. The door swung wildly as burly policemen swooped into her space. 
 Two scared looking attendants along with a dozen children of different ages waited just outside the threshold. The Pandeys and a few other parents stood next to an important looking official. The collector and here? 
Munni? Why does she have a glum face?  Looking at the cowering ten year old who stood between her adoptive parents, a familiar sense of something amiss hit her. Something had happened, she was the one scared now. Putting on a brave face, hiding the tremor in her tone and turning to Baldev Singh, the inspector she recognised, "What is the meaning of this, Baldevji?"


Baldev turned to the collector who gave him an impatient nod.  He looked at her sadly. She was a decent woman and yet it had to be done. "Arrest warrants for you and this man here." pointing to the peon who was staring at Munni with a dazed look. 
"Arrest Warrant?" she repeated, bewildered.
"For the rape of Munni and four other minor girls adopted from the orphanage. There are also charges by some of the attendants," looking towards the door, "of being molested." 
"There must some mistake, surely, I would be aware of such happenings." 


"If you had been around and had bothered to notice the obvious signs." Pandeyji spoke for the first time. "We found blood stains on our daughter's clothes. She would't eat properly, woke up screaming every night, woudn't even let my brother hug her.
"One of my neighbours who is a child specialist felt that she had undergone recent trauma. A physical examination by an expert left us with no doubt. My daughter found the courage to tell us everything that happened to her here. So did the other girls." affectionately patting his daughter on her head. "Can we go home, daddy?" Munni asked softly.
"Come on, Baldev, take them into custody. We have to move the remaining children to a safer place, we haven't all day." The collector shook hands with the team and the parents before walking towards the other children.

lost dreams

Decadent thoughts blight

the once beautiful

Life's rewards for 

 the faithful's watch.

Floating on dark, gloomy

 waters of humanity

A constant struggle 

against the inevitable sinking.

Pressures, now stilled

rechanneled to naively targets

This bloated carnival

awaits the recycling order.

The Morning After

The blare of the horn sounded repeatedly, every fresh one making his ears ache. He heard voices; the nightmare has ceased he found himself muttering. The stings of cold water all over followed a rough jostle of the arms. He opened his left eye, the glare of the sun momentarily blinding him. A frowning face stared back, and yet the tiny pair of eyes sparkled with unmistakable humour as they travelled over his body. A high pitched chatter to his left and a wave of pain coursed through his head.

His thoughts were dimly focusing on the something poking into his back, rather his skin. He sat up straight scaring the old lady who almost fell on her back. “Sorry, ma’am” the apology came naturally. What puzzled him were the hoots of laughter from the pavement. Pavement? What was he doing there? Looking down at himself, he wished he had never woken up.

The hoots grew louder until the old lady raised her palm. She was questioning him pointing to the other comatose body. Eddie! He found himself smiling. The tall, lanky boy looked downright silly in his boxers and socks. They hadn’t even spared them their shoes. Was that dried blood on his face? “No Chinese, someone around speak English?” The lady turned to a girl, pointing out to the adjacent door. In the ensuing silence, he tried to recollect the events of last night. They had had a light dinner, a few drinks when their new found friend had suggested hitting some of the moderate hotspots along Clarke Quay. The waitresses at Hooter had been a welcome sight. But man, expensive for a student like me. The food was different. Eddie was devouring it like no tomorrow, that yankee. Next stop had been some nightclub, nice spot, and those girls with that weird, coloured hair. Wigs. Come to think of it, they seemed less like girls and more like…

“Hello.” the accent hadn’t lost its British touch. He felt better despite the loss of his I.D and wallet, even his I phone.

“Nice pickle you’re in. Indian?”

“No, British-Pakistani” he bristled.

“That attitude isn’t going to help you. You guys look the same.” As an afterthought, “Maybe, I should let the local police handle this. No one here wants trouble.”

Abbas’s blood ran cold. Police meant questioning, calls to his relatives, the embassy, embarrassment even jailed for lack of papers …His elder brother would kill him if his uncle did not. How would he explain his drinking and hangouts?

“I apologise, wasn’t thinking straight. Please help us. We are good boys, international exchange students at the SMU.”

“Better get in unless you want to get toasted.”

He felt like punching the white guy’s face at his insolence but needed him for now. In what he hoped was a meek voice, he asked, “What about my friend?”

“Get him inside or leave him here, not my concern.”

 Abbas looked around. The crowd seemed to be drifting off. The old lady smiled at him kindly. He nodded, put his hands under Eddie’s shoulders, and dragged him along carefully. A couple of teens came to his aid. The three of them managed to pull his friend over the threshold of what seemed a reception area of a home office. They lay him across the nearest chair. Abbas turned to thank the boys. He had nothing to give them except words. They ran away laughing, no doubt eager to share the tale amongst their friends.

“Here, put these on.” handing over a set of clothes too long for his 5’8’’ frame. It was better than being half naked around that pretty looking girl from earlier who lingered around. Must work here, jumping in the pants in haste.

“What’s the deal? “

The deal. Going home with a believable story or tracking down the orange haired muggers. One night out and disaster struck, small mercy he had forgotten his passport in the dorm.

660 cwc   need to make it 713

My part of the tale

Silencing the beeper, Stewart stood undecided, his current state of mind not ideal for any form of surgery and he knew it.

The bodies had disappeared… Damn these visions! 

 He took a valium to calm his nerves. He needed to get his act together, retain some semblance of normalcy. Else the repercussions could prove fatal. He could not allow anyone to visit home till he had cleaned up the place. The staff from the agency was due for the maintenance visit in the weekend, which gave him just two days.

Angela…he missed her so much.

The investigation had begun, now that they had found Jake’s body; the attention had swung back to him. The detective, blast his name, had already called him twice as had the reporters. It had taken all his strength to answer the questions with composure, regret and anger in the right places.

He changed into fresh clothes while calling Malcolm, his friend from medical school. Malcolm had seen his share of emergencies, being a visiting surgeon at St.Vincent’s with a thriving practice of his own a few blocks away.

Luck on his side, Malcolm had already been contacted by the hospital staff. He was aware of the strain Stewart was under and promised to watch his back.

Next was Brendan, his loyal assistant whom he acknowledged with a “You will be joining Dr.Malcolm and Dr.Bakshi. I will be there as soon as I can.”

A nervous, agitated voice responded, “It seems like a routine accident case, drunken driving…but…”

The hesitancy prompted Stewart to ask “Did you ID the patient?”

“Nothing on him, detectives are swarming the floor and a couple of government officials have turned up.”

‘Must be a local politician or high ranking official, a potential cause of embarrassment’ mused Stewart as Brendan’s voice came back on line.

“I only got a look at him; they are keeping things pretty hush hush…” “Doc, Gotta go…”

He hurriedly parked his car and took the basement elevator to the second floor. The scene that greeted him was one straight from the movies…what caught his eye however, were the two officials standing apart from the others. There was something familiar about the muscular men.

  Nurse Lee, ever competently helped him sterilise, as he tried to keep him mind alert and focused. As he pushed his body through the side door, his colleagues greeted him with somber looks. As they updated him, it was obvious that with a head injury and a puncture to his left lung, the patient’s chances of survival were rather slim. They worked in silence, in perfect tandem for the next three hours till they were relieved by a newer set of surgeons brought in.

One of the muscular men stopped them outside the sterilising room with a curt “We need him alive.”

“Who is he?” queried Malcolm.

“What we say stays here, is that understand?”

The three nodded…“He is ex CIA agent, Alex Sonneberg.”

Stewart collapsed on the floor…

mine was the 15th episode of a 22 episode story on a website

My hidden view

The rod barely missed my shoulder. We stood still like the dead rocks scattered on the grounds below. I sense much hatred and anger, through the constricting alcove, suffocating me. I long for the fresh, pure air of our homeland.

‘Fiaz’, wonder what they have in store for him?

 ‘A true warrior never denies his adversaries a chance at peace,’ he often said. Despite the respect and admiration we bestow, I don’t quite agree with him.

Some are not meant to be forgiven, those that have betrayed him to this dungeon. Our minds may be powerful, but our bodies no match for these vampire guards.

Eliza tugs at my arms, signaling our need to leave. My leaden feet refuse to cross the distance that takes us away from my brother and friends held hostage in the stinking chamber. The spiked chair to the right makes the devious intentions obvious. ‘Stand together but live to fight another day.’ If only, he hadn’t made us swear the blood oath before the journey commenced, I would be sharing the iron chains that bound them or dead by his feet.

The screams were unnerving, voices from the inner cell assaulting us. Inhuman moans, the incessant muttering of the slowly drained. One look at her and I knew, we would have to sneak out soon. For a novice mage, she was holding up well, but it wouldn’t be long before she lost control. The spell weakens, even as I touch her shoulder, careful not to betray my fears as our eyes meet.

The Ghals’s magic is simpler and limited. They can’t sense the invisibility shield. It protects and keeps our presence secret as we seek the point of entry. We had hardly walked a few paces when an agonised scream pierced through our tense thoughts.

My blood runs cold, her eyes water. Now, it’s me who pulls her along. We need reinforcements, and fast, lest our men end up as the next meal.

Wc 328

The Dance - New beginnings

"Dya*, hurry. They are coming." I panted through the half open door. My ribs ached with every short breath taken.  

Had never run so fast, doing 5 miles without a pause. The silence from within caused strange sensations in my stomach. The hinges creaked in annoyance as I pushed the obstruction away. The room was in disarray, everything upturned. From the centre of the hall I could see that none of the adjoining areas had been spared. There were wet, muddy shoe and foot prints overlapping as though jostling for valuable space. Three clear sets led me to the bottom of the stairs, to the bedrooms above. I crept up slowly unsure of what lay in wait, the pocket knife transferred from the back pocket to my trembling hands.  

I wouldn't wish the scene before my eyes on Stefanek, the village bully. The four bodies lay in crumbled and heaped postures, unsuccessful in fending off the killers, now gone. I vomited my morning meal on the dirtied carpet under my feet. A low moan from the nearest figure brought to life my fledging courage. Wiping away the hot, furious tears I stumbled forward, she was breathing still. The book was safely hidden for now. I covered the shredded remains of her dress with a blanket, lifted her as tenderly as I could in my arms and fled through the back door.

***

I have been standing for more than an hour on the hillock watching with tired eyes and limbs, the devastation below. Half glad Aishe* wasn't with me, conjured a mental image of the agonised screams of the dying. Her kind heart would have never permitted this. The other half of me was willing to give up the world to see her awake and smiling. The swirling, blackish grey waters mirrored the stain on my soul. Large carcasses of their livestock and pieces of wood, the remnants of their mighty houses and boats floated idly along. Pity, a couple of young trees had to give way.

The flood waters would take at least a week to recede, competently destroying whatever stood in their way including the fresh harvest.

This had been the most exhilarating dance I have ever attempted. The river, my companion and slave mimicked my movements as she spread over the accursed village. I played the Kristora* sparing the villages that didn't harm us. The memories gushed back, uninvited. My father's pleas of innocence falling on deaf, hateful ears. His last words before they staked him. "Make them pay."

They stole our land, our home, murdered my mother, and violated the older sister beyond human endurance. She sleeps the sleep of the living dead. 

A tiny hand tugs at my shirt sleeve, whining, “Let's go. It’s cold here."

I pull him into the warmth of my arms reluctantly, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins screaming 'Enemy'. We control the elements, a gift passed from mother to her daughters and first born son. Grandma refused to let him die, so he lives to see the death of his unknown fathers with his eyes. My father had been the youngest of six, as powerless as the ones who accused him of black magic.

I stood silent for a few minutes more before trudging back to the trees, the tall pines already casting their needles on the floor.

Harman* loves the rustling sounds around. He turns back and forth in jerky movements causing my shoulders to ache some more. The clan believes that the winter winds are less harsh since his birth. We live deep in the forest. The ignorant folks in the valley below think it is enchanted and evil and refuse to enter. Sometimes, blind faith can be a blessing. We planted the stories.

The ancient book says that our ancestors came from the East, from the land of seven rivers. One day, we will journey back, beyond the narrow confines of our adopted homeland. Harman and me.

We live in tents now, easier to assemble and dismantle in times of danger. Grandma is waiting by ours with a scowling face. She knows, always does. 

"Where have you been wandering about at this hour?"

"Nowhere. Just attending to some unfinished business." as he jumps out of my hold and scampers off to the dinner fires.

Wc 718


*Dya - Mother, Kristora - the judges.
* The words used are Romani - the language of the Romas, the gypsies of Europe whose ancestors are said to have migrated  from northern and central India around 1000 years ago.
Linguistic and genetic studies prove with reasonable accuracy that they belong to existing Indian tribes of travelling musicians.
* I wanted to give the dancing aspect a magical touch.

A stinker

She followed after him into the lobby, the report held firmly in her hands. The company’s fortunes were on the upswing and yet her job hadn’t been made permanent. The day couldn’t end soon enough for her to tackle him again. He would be off on a foreign trip in a week’s time. This time it would be for an entire month.

Was he trying to avoid her? Need to find out if Susie is going to accompany him. So far, no one had a clue, nothing unusual rather his style of working.

 Last night he had come to her apartment after nearly a month. An argument had ensued.

“Is there something going on between you and Susan?”

 He got up to the small drink bar she had set up just for him. Pouring himself a glass of scotch, barely able to contain his irritation in his voice, “She is my assistant, a new hand, you know that very well.”

Taking a swig, gestured wildly at her” Stop your nagging woman, what are you? My wife?”

 Wouldn’t want to open a can of worms, not would we? “That doesn’t answer my question?”

“Does no answer it?”

“Why was she all over you at the party?”

“”Just harmless flirting, like Dev does with you.” winking at her “Do I scream and interrogate?”

“He is different, he knows I am taken.”

 “Taken?” his head shooting up from the lower shelf of the fridge, banging it against the open door in the process.

“Damn you woman, won’t let a man drink in peace.” He grunted, rubbing the tender spot.

“Let me see that, does it hurt? Could be a concussion”  “Go and sit down, I‘ll get the salad.”

“Get some ice too.”

“Where did you buy these?” looking at the two corked champagne bottles.

 “The usual, Uncle gifted them to Pa, you know, he can’t drink anymore after the heart attack.”

“Mom gave it to me to throw away.”

He eyed her speculatively, “And you brought them over. Smart girl.”

“Not smart as your Susie” she pouted, his one word question from earlier rankling her.

Was he trying to deny their two year relationship? Jealous and anger reared their ugly heads again.

He has a way with women and knew from her expression, the situation had to be salvaged,

Pulling her over, murmuring the usual trite words, she so loved to hear, he managed to improve her mood. It was enough to be allowed to spend the night on her bed.

She was easy to manipulate, that’s why he kept her around.

As he dressed up the next morning, Susan curvy body flashed before his eyes.

The thrill of a new conquest was what he lived for, but this one was shrewd and self confident to fall for his silken webs. He needed to plan; the trip would be the ideal way to connect. He had carefully kept everyone out of the loop except Susan. As he looked in the kitchen where Mouly was preparing their breakfast, he knew he had to keep her satisfied, just in case…

cwc 515 unfinished

Destiny foretold

Amir fidgeted.

The dwelling talks disturbed him, increasing with Sagina’s worried looks.

He was loath to leave their only home, the world outside baffled his simple mind.

‘Did he have a choice? He had sworn to the tree spirits to protect his sisters with his life.’

‘Go check on her. Keep your tongue coiled.”

Sagina frowned; silent words betrayed her open mouth. She was a Bora woman, never speaking their minds.

He was ashamed of the leaders, all save his father.

She had been a barter of risk for the expensive, useful gifts her father sent every full moon. Two such moons had passed. The gifts didn’t arrive nor word from the river clan. They debated sending her back or selling her off to another tribe.

 He unsheathed his new scimitar, slicing it through invisible enemies. They hadn’t made much headway with her lessons. Mastering the letters had seemed fair exchange for self defense techniques, sadly turning out as one way assimilation.

The sounds of running feet had him colliding with his sister and servant as he lifted the flap.

“Can’t find her anywhere…she’s gone.’

“Get a grip, search thoroughly.”

“No one's seen her at the breakfast langar, master.”

“Must be with the children.”

“Hasn’t visited them in the last three days.”

“Ready my horse. I leave immediately.”

“Where to?”

“The forest, she wanders into.”

“Pack our bags before we return, a long journey awaits us.”

“And mine, brother?”

“No, your place is here.”

The lonely figure trudged its way into the forest. The footfalls unwittingly leaving a trail behind. She had been abandoned twice. The memories of her biological family a blip, that of her foster home painfully fresh.

‘An orphan's life would have been better.’

The overhead words rebounded among the strange looking trees.

‘Was it true? It’s obvious; I am no tribeswoman but a clan member…’

Her curiosity had her following impressionable Sagina last night. Suspecting a lover’s tryst, she had chosen to gather proof Amir would need before he believed her. The soft, jingling steps ahead, falling on the gravel in front of the green columns of men’s tents intrigued and scared her.

 The poisonous sentences lent weight to her recurrent doubts. Her world turned on itself.

Born to the clan whose magic resided in the names of the children, the one written in the runes cast, made her dangerous. Her father and the seer had tried in vain to protect her secret. A betraying uncle, three raids on the outpost had the council scurrying to get rid of the abomination.

She was sent off to live as a six year old with the Boras, the warrior tribe that lived on the fringes of the old forest. They treated her better than their women. She had a tutor.

‘Must have been the gifts.’

The Boras never ventured into the forest, beyond defined limits. The tree spirits they worshipped lived deep inside. The feared Maitri, the mages of the wild made it their abode.

She began to catch the change in landscape; scarred, broken trees like her spirit filled her vision. Seductive voices whispered and pulled her to the clearing. Before her was a stone dwelling with three chairs in stone carved with human bones, a red stool near one.

“Turn back child.” a voice warned.

“Fear not, little one. Join us, embrace your destiny.” crooned one of the earlier ones.

She stood still, while the voices battled until one was silenced forever.

Amir galloping fast, reached, only to watch in horror as ghostly, gnarled hands nudged her forward.

“Stop, come with me.”

“Leave now; the Boras will live to see another day.”

“Not without her.”

 He rushed forward, to be thrown back by the magical barriers.

“Kali, listen to me. They are dangerous, they are the Maitri.”

She turned around, awakening from a dream. Stared at the grey figures, then at him. Sad eyes appealed to him.

“Go, brother, before they hurt you.”

“Before I truly become – Kali the destroyer.”

 He inched forward, unheeding, hacking at the invisible walls. Only to find; an empty square and earth scorched to the darkest black.

‘He wouldn’t rest. Would search the ends of the world till he found her.’

The clan would be the first stop. Despite his contempt, he needed them.

Forgotten Tales Series 1

A short Summary : This is a series of stories on "the ordinary women" whose lives are/were interconnected, some more - some less....they are based on one or more events that affected/changed their lives...

The stories are true as far as the basic plot  goes....the rest of the wordplay is the author's portrayal....

Apologies to any one who finds her story here....

A Blow From The Past 

She stood on the long corridor undecided, a vacant stare at nothing in particular. Totally oblivious to the glances of the ladies passing her by which, would have on any other day infuriated her.....not even the activities on the busy street below caught her attention. It was the fourth day of her stay here and she was already regretting it. The impulsive act that had led her to her current situation...standing outside dingy, dim rooms and surrounded by noisy, nosy neighbours.

Home seemed bigger all of a sudden....She would be sipping her tumbler of flavoured milk before beginning her late afternoon chores. Her duties varied from day to day, most days involved drying clothes in the backyard before going to school, folding them neatly on returning, pestle and mortar grinding of coffee powder and other ingredients needed for the meal in the evening. On other days helping the ladies of the house take stock of and arrange the groceries in the store room, baby sitting her younger siblings and cousins. Though the work was monotonous and tiring, she took pride in a job well done. Home that meant siblings and cousins who lived under the same roof with whom she shared many happy moments, who would miss her. Chatting and sharing a laugh with friends who walked the 3 kms to school and back with her. Tears rolled down silently at the thought of not seeing them again, defeated, she blew her nose noisily and went back to staring.

Whilst lost in these thoughts she spied the figures approaching the chawl (a large tenement house) that seemed hauntingly familiar...One of them with drooping shoulders and a dazed gait, walking at some distance behind the others was the one she was well acquainted with. The two who comprised the middle of the little group wore gritty expressions. They were led by a scowling policeman in mufti (without the uniform), instantly recognisable. He had, after all, been her neighbour for the past few days. He must have been the one who had gotten in touch with them. He had displayed scepticism at the story on her sudden appearance at Vivek’s place.

He had turned up at dinner on her second day there. Vivek told her that it was his usual routine when his sister was around. The orphans looked on him as their father figure with their maternal uncle away for more than six months in a year, on the merchant ship that he worked in. He had mistaken her for Vivek’s sister as her back was turned to the flimsy curtain that hung on the doorway. She was busy, preparing the meagre meal in the square that served as the kitchen... when he called out.

“Sureka, when did you come?”
She had turned, startled by the sudden voice, almost dropping the ladle. Vivek had come out running of the small room on the right that served as the bedroom.
“Who is she, haven’t seen her before?” Constable Vel asked curiously.
“A distant relative, her parents are in the village, she wanted to see one of the film shooting here.”
“A runaway or did her parents really give her permission?”
“They were tired of her constant pestering and sent her hoping her curiosity will be satisfied.” He tried to sound convincing, lying not really his forte.
While Vivek kept silent throughout the meal. Vel subtly asked her questions on her life, which she tried to answer based on her annual vacation to her ancestral village.

As she recollected that fateful day, instead of fear, she felt relieved on seeing the two grim faced men she had known for as long as she could remember. She would have shuddered in their presence in normal circumstances. She felt a pang of guilt and remorse at the sad face that lagged behind. But the 16 year old have enough of the adventure ....she wanted to go home....”Would they take her back or not?” she wondered pensively. Her Uncle was the one to approach her, her father having stayed back with Vel.....terse words uttered with a curt glance in her direction "Gather your belongings and come down in 10 minutes!" She looked around the room, nothing much to pack except her old school bag and uniform. The clothes that she wore had been bought by him. Quickly putting together everything, she ran down the steps three at a time....halted momentarily at the first landing when she saw Vivek’s forlorn gaze.

He worked it the bookstore near her school to fund his college education and had found her crying outside the shop one day. She had lost the money given to buy a new notebook and had been afraid of being scolded by the teacher and her father alike. He had taken pity on her, having seen her pass by almost every day for the past two years. He bought her a book out of his account, which she accepted gratefully. She promised to pay back when she had enough pocket money saved. A few casual conversations turned into a tentative friendship. She stopped by the shop every now and then as there were very few customers at that particular time, the owner turning up only in the mornings. Her two best friends waited patiently, often teasing her on the journey back home.

She started lying to family members, telling them she was out visiting friends when she met him secretly in the nearby unused building that no one visited. He would talk about his dreams for himself and his sister, about their idyllic life when his parents, small landowners in the nearby village were still alive. They had died in bus accident while returning from a wedding. He had been 12 and had to mature overnight. She spoke of her family, the restrictions, her lack of interest in studies, her skill at painting which was largely overlooked as a frivolous pastime. He encouraged her to continue painting on seeing a few watercolours, introduced her to a whole new world of modern music and books while she admired his quiet intelligence and his endurance. Time flew by when they were together as they discussed their dreams and aspirations

She had often felt isolated; a lonely, eldest child. He had befriended her, made her feel wanted, worthy. But she realised it was not enough....running away had been a necessity then....yet another failed test result meant beatings and punishment. He had been there then, bringing her to his home, sheltering her from her father’s caning. She would never forget his kindness... But she had to go...make him understand.

“We belong to two different worlds, it is best we don’t leave it this way and part as friends.
When he protested vehemently, “Don’t try to contact me, it will only hurt more.” she said, choosing a white lie.
She didn't love him; she had been in love with the idea. She realised it had been more for him but chose to ignore the hurt and pain he was sure to feel at her abrupt abandonment.

Back to where her heart belonged she was in a state of bliss. But the momentary happiness evaporated when she felt a chill in the air that hadn't been there before...no one said anything to her, her mother and aunt glad to see her alive and safe. But she felt eyes behind her back, hushed whispers of neighbours and relatives...School was a place out of bounds, her father had spoken to her just that once to convey his negative reply at her pleading, The one refuge she could escape the stifling restrictions of home to, was forever lost to her.

She wondered why she was reminiscing now, after decades of blissful forgetfulness.....married off to the first alliance possible the very next year, once the scandal was deemed to have become old news...life had never gotten easy for the recently turned the grandmother of three...she had paid for that youthful mistake in more ways than countable, her husband iron handed behaviour proof that he had an essential knowledge of her infamous escapade...and yet had been content with the little joys that surprised her now and then, her two sons and a daughter who made live worth living.

The name in the magazine she was browsing through had triggered the journey into the past. A past that had been locked safe for long in the hearts of elders, her younger cousin who had never judged her, rather commiserated, his and her own...his name, she had once deemed as melodious as his voice was all that she thought she remembered of him. Yet the picture of the professor who had been awarded the community prize for his contribution to the education of women had to be his. She was glad that life had been kinder to him, a first in many years, noting sadly that it made no mention of any family other than his sister’s. She gently, absentmindedly retraced his face on the paper while the garlanded portrait of her husband watched on from the wall behind. She quickly put away the magazine into the bedside drawer as the voice of her elder son returning from his trip pulled her back to the present, the mask back in place.

 word count 1550

Amazon Reviews And Self/Indie Publishing - IWSG

 The first Wednesday of every month is officially Insecure Writer’s Support Group day for participating blog owners who may be professional or amateur writers. (All you need is the passion and output, published or not). Started by Alex Cavanaugh the author of the sci-fi space opera CassaStar and sequel CassaFire, it is a means for writers to talk about their fears big and small. It is also an opportunity to connect to other writers who may have conquered these or are sailing in the same insecure boat as you.

No cribbing about cranky muse (after all, she is a part of me), no tears and nose cleaning noises over rejections...because something else piqued my interest and well enough to grace this post :
The syndrome called Amazon Book Reviews.

By songsnwords | View this Toon at ToonDoo | Create your own Toon

Every writer knows the value of reviews either in the form of critique or comments. And the indie press and self published authors especially first timers value its weight in platinum. 
From my observations over the last couple of months...there are three categories of people involved.
1. The real ones read book lovers who may be bloggers or otherwise whose 2/3/4 and occasional 1 and 5 stars are genuine as are their words.
2. The ones with no real names and a couple of reviews all of which are 1 stars with really nasty comments, blatantly calling indie/self published as crap and demolishing the story as a middle grader's attempt. Some subtly accuse the author of purchasing four and five stars...you know what, that's the trick used by many to get a top review rank as more buyers vote these comments as useful.
3. Unfortunately, the second group is not entirely wrong. A technique of paying people for glowing reviews polished into an art by a self publisher and many more like him...check out these links to know more. They viciously attack the first group when 1 or 2 stars are given by the latter.
Don’t Trust Amazon Reviews: They’re Fake

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/20/technology/finding-fake-reviews-online and a downloadable report by Cornell University researchers on it.

So, where does it leave us as writers, readers and genuine reviewers?
Will the tirade against "not from Big 6 stable" and shoddy, typos ridden work uploaded hurt good indie authors in the long run?
Even the free samples quite often disguise an ebook not worth the money (Trust me, I have seen my screen seethe in agony, I wouldn't review them here since this isn't a book blog, and because of a self imposed rule of showcasing 3 stars and above books.)  Should a reader avoid Amazon reviews and rely on word of mouth or book bloggers to find new authors, try only bloggers' books or stick to reliable paperbacks?
Does a reviewer like me refrain from posting on Amazon since my 4 and 5 stars may be overlooked or considered fixed more so in case of free books received for review?

If the cartoon didn't make you laugh, these should:
1. Random Rejection Generator which has 7 rejections letters delivered to your email to develop thick skin.
I choose the nastiest option, here goes...
Dear Writer,

If we had the budget, we would hire one of the crews that cleans up toxic. Super fund sites to visit your office and expunge all evidence of your attempts at writing. Perhaps we will apply for a federal grant. We’ll let you know.

Regards,
The Editors

2. A Tshirt for writers:

Book Releases
Today is the official release date of Fighting Gravity, book two of the Gravity series - science fiction romance by a blogger friend Cherie Reich (check sidebar).
To purchase: Amazon  Amazon UK  Amazon DE  Amazon FR Amazon IT  Amazon ES  Smashwords 

If you join her author newsletter, you can receive a coupon from Smashwords to download Fighting Gravity for free!

To celebrate Fighting Gravity's release date, Defying Gravity, book one of the Gravity trilogy, is now free through May 4th. So if you haven't snagged a copy, then please do.

I am reading Defying Gravity and enjoying it so far. 

While you are at it, don't forget M.Pax's book release party for the first book of her science fiction series The Backworlds from May
7-10 (check the sidebar once again).