Compromises

'She wears my ring', the lingering smile on his face announced to all the attendees at the wedding reception.

His fidgety movements betrayed his impatience over her delayed appearance.

"Relax. These ladies always turn up late, must be busy with her makeover," said his cousin shrugging his shoulders casually.

His movements eased, but barely so. His relatives had echoed similar sentiments using different words at various stages of the wedding.

"Stop asking these silly questions. Brides are nervous on their wedding day."

His nosy aunt had stated, overhearing the words exchanged by him and the best mate.

"We, girls, are expected to be shy and modest, at least on such days." The sister had butted in with her wise tuppence patting his arm for added effect.

Maybe they were right, they were experienced after all. Her quiet, solemn look, her rare glancing his way could be explained thus, couldn't it?

His heartache lessened, and he went back to standing at the entrance to the lobby.

***

Through the final touches of makeup, she twirled the diamond engagement ring on her hand. As she glanced at the mirror in front of her, the black and gold beads among other jewellery on her neck glinted back, signalling her married status.

She touched them gingerly with her finger tips eliciting a gentle admonishing from the beautician.

"Madam, please keep your hands down, the nail paint will get blotchy."

Inspecting her fingernails, the young girl sighed, “See, I have to redo it.", looking around for a bottle of remover.

She apologised with a smile, and stared at the ring instead. Little joy rather the feel of it on her finger felt like a heavy weight on her soul. Her heart still beating for another. For the charming boy with the impish grin, who had wound his way around, only to break it into countless pieces years later.

Her husband was a good man, deserving more than she could offer. They were family friends, her parents adored him as his loved her. He had always encouraged her, made her laugh.

*** 

Her transfer would take time. This year of separation would turn out to be a blessing. Looking into his adoring eyes as he took her hand in his, she promised herself, he would never know that their marriage had begun as a compromise for her.

cwc 391 need 109 more

The Wee people

You glided in, in your emerald studded golden glass slippers. The swishing of the grass gown's train; a deliberate attempt at distraction.

 "Too much green." grumbled one the members seated on the semi circular table. Untrained eyes often mistook its multi coloured embellishment for a rainbow. He secretly wished he wasn't dating.

"Energetic, not our trait." the wee woman in a nasal snarl.

The wizened, hated head chuckled happily, gathering ominous stares from the others. He ignored them as was wont to, thrilled at the prospect of a female assistant. He had tired of the bushy eyebrows and matching beards that tortured his daily vision.

"Oh my! Exquisite shoes!"  the secretary with her hand on her heart.

You leaned closer and mouthed in her ear, "Like them?  My boyfriend's gift for St.George's day." .

"English!! Ya codding me? Wind your neck in, Colleen." the older woman cautioned.

You laughed happily, throwing back your blonde hair, and showing off your perfect square gold teeth.

You moved to where the impatient trio waited, pulled out a chair, and passed your green leather across the table.

Pale hands went through the embellished cards neatly stacked in chronological order. Accompanied by sighs and eyebrows lifted in disbelief, it was passed on to the older man .

He winked at you; you winked back with a conspiratorial smile.

"Impressive accomplishments, a talented family indeed." he added with a smug look. "King Midas?" barely with holding a snuffle.

"That would have been my great-great-great grandfather. Tricking him to touch his favourite daughter was so devious." 

The snarl turned into a smirk.

"Explain Julius Caesar." the soon to be single man.

"That would have been the sister, talented duo. As Cleopatra's bosom friend, she taught her all the womanly viles."

"Who is Silas Marner?" 

"Oh...that would be my morai...can I tell a secret?"

Wizened eyes sparkled, "She never told us."

You looked at your uncle with a warningly, "She was in love with him, Espie foiled her plans."

"Dubai shopping festival? 

"That would be Patrick, he loves his gold even the black one."

"What do you bring on board?"

"The Federal Reserve vaults. Three bars for every three plus three we give them."

A few minutes of hushed conversation,

"Let's inform the President of our newest portfolio manag..."

The secretary interrupted with an "It’s Lucifer on line..."

"Tell him, the 'Leprechaun Gold Inc' are greed investors not soul collectors."

wc 400

A memory

The quaint cafe had become my second home for a while now. Nothing much happens in this small town with people numbering few hundreds. And what does happen must pass this way. Sometimes a good thing, at other times not so nice for the individuals concerned. Everyone knows everyone else, the news travelling faster than those tweets I am now addicted to. At least when the ancient piece left behind by my cousin, whimpers to life.

"Hi, Sofia, how are you feeling today?" Dona never tires of asking me the same question.

"As good as ever."

My standard response never fails to elicit a warm smile from her and her friends, regulars who haunt the cozy corner just as often. Most ladies in the group lives by this side of the stream that divides this place into two...both parts of the town bearing distinct, diverse characters.

No longer look around for the owner's son Marco or the red haired girl to take my order. The food arrives at the table within ten minutes of my arrival, Cecelia's pastry for the day and milky tea. He personally serves my order every time, returning my smile with a sad grin of his. Savoring the food, wonder why an attractive guy like him is never seen with a girl.

I voiced my piqued interest to Aunt who doubles up as the land lady at my insistence, left me with unsatisfactory answers.

A cryptic reply, “He is waiting." leaves me irritated and a bit frustrated of late.

'This wait, for whom or what?' I ask the mirror which stares back.

 A glance at the worn watch tells me of the extended tea break. Need to buy a new one soon.

'Back to the shop then lest she explodes in her anxiety.'

 Temporarily, going through a slump in sale is our shop down the street, where we create bridal wear. The orders from the nearby towns have been steadily declining, blame the recession or in reality, the girls wanted designer ones. She is worried, this aunt of mine but pretends all is well and I do likewise. I been trying to get to her to explore other markets, maybe create our own online portfolio but she is strangely rigid and adamant. Not giving up yet, it’s time to pull in Roberto, her son who makes a decent living in Venice selling his photographs.

 Have learned not to leave a tip as I leave, it finds a way back into my pockets with a matching reprimand from Ceci. Wave my goodbyes to the other patrons, shuffle to the exit, when my attention is drawn to the two sets of red diner tables lying unoccupied. They remain empty even on those few evenings we come back here for dinner. Another puzzle that begs unraveling.

Walking down the cobbled square, think back to the conversation the other day. From the snatches overheard and persistently pestering Rob, gathered that the occupants of the tables were a group of teenagers from the village. A freak accident took away four of the lives while two girls survived. So badly traumatized by the incident, one has been in an institution ever since, the other having no memory of it. Agonize over the anguished families, being an orphan myself when the pain in the head starts. Funny it always occurs when I wonder about the girls.

Wc 565

foiled

She giggled...Neeta struggled to keep a straight face lest they draw attention to themselves.

Zack frowned, his irritation increasing with every passing minute. He could barely wait for the demo session to end.

Cathy, awaiting her turn, tried to catch their attention, her efforts only drawing puzzled looks from the twins seated behind them.

"Is something wrong with your eyes?" one asked 

When she didn’t respond “Trying to seduce my little brother, are we?"

'Little?' sizing up the boy who needed an entire bench to stretch his never ending limbs.

"That must be understatement of the century" with a quiet chuckle.

"Shut up jokers!" the other one hissed,

"I'll turn you both into bats if I get pulled up this time."

They glared at him, about to resort when she giggled again.

Zack got up in a huff only to freeze in place. Her warm hands pulling him back never failed to elicit the familiar response. Small, almost black eyes reprimanded him for breaking their contact abruptly.

Master had ignored them for a time, but was now forced to acknowledge the distraction from the eastern end of the chamber. He was aware of every thought, hushed whispers or otherwise. Faced with no other viable option,quashing the rumours that questioned his authority was a priority. The first step towards the goal demanded that they be punished.

Pity, the girls were his best friend's nieces. Reluctantly, he called the three of them over.

Zack wasn't sure he could keep himself from casting the 'bent back' hex on the girls, seeing their calm, detached expressions. He didn't want to, not her anyway. He was pleasantly surprised when Master handed them the after session chores.

Planting seeds, magical ones at that was boring but not hard.

The sulking part of him did not share in his relief. This is not we had planned. The reminder was dampener on his spirits. He had volunteered to be the telepathic medium for the girls with an ulterior motive...a desperate need to find a clue, a confirmation of her interest in him. And here they were, digging up the soil with dancing hands, where he could have been plotting his next move with the guys. He didn't find his love for the 'flying ducks' night suit funny, she obviously did.

383 cwc need 121 words more

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

Xanthippe Widow

Image courtesy Claude Renault

She stood in the doorway, a creased face, paan stained red lips and a perpetual frown on the face….

A scowl said that I was standing in her way….She grumbled at "today’s kids" and their lack of traditional values….Funny, she should consider a 30 something one…

My friend was irritated at the stooping old woman as she walked fast for her age, despite her cane.

We made our way to the temple, there she was, the one I bumped into…she reprimanded me for not covering my head… I laughed and informed her that in our community only widows of old wore them that way….

Her eyes watered and she slunk away without taking her evening meal, the free Prasadam offered to the devotees.

 I felt guilty, the price of having a nagging voice in the head that enjoyed lecturing to my discomfort.

Back at the cottage I questioned the caretaker about her as she swept the verandah…

Married off at 12, send to live with her in-laws and absentee husband at 14, widowed at 17, the childless, now, 70 year old thrown out of her marital home a year later for being unlucky…Vrindavan had been her haven for the past five decades…

Doing odd jobs, eating at temples, spending the night at the cottage premises…she had it lucky than many others out in the temple town or other places…

Time and people had made her what she was today….and yet she blamed no one but her bad karma for a life without a husband… ironic that mine was alive and yet not a part of my life anymore and nobody seemed (well who am I kidding) bothered by it.

Life for a poor widow in rural India is often a nightmare…the woman’s life marked by the father, husband and then son…she on her own had no voice, no freedom, no rights, no dreams, no hopes…

Long after I boarded the train back to the safety of my home…her face and her story haunted my thoughts….till today…hopefully, the voice won’t nag me about her anymore….

*Xanthippe : nagging, peevish, ill - tempered woman

 344 words to be made into 500

Dutiful Daughter And Wife

She seemed out of spirits...the normally bouncy 24 yr old wore a pensive look. Even her favourite niece’s antics couldn’t erase the sadness etched on her face.

She didn’t pry, not her nature but sensed something amiss. She would ensure that these two weeks brought her sister’s old self back. Sure enough, by the end of the fortnight Kaveri seemed reluctant to go back....

The sisters had been close in childhood but the last 3 years had seen them drift apart.

Marriage, motherhood and living far away had made her unaware of certain things back home, not totally oblivious.

 Shifting back to childhood city seemed perfect at the moment. The first few days went in settling her children into a new environment, summer holidays and half a dozen cousins scampering around made things easier. She and her husband had just picked out a small but beautiful apartment...the advance paid, he was awaiting the loan clearance from the bank he worked in, they would be moving into their dream home within a month or two. Her happiness overshadowed by the vibes around the family dinner.

She questioned her elder sisters.....the answers saddened her and her husband deeply. So much had happened in the time they had been away. Her father’s ancestral home was heavily mortgaged. His brothers withdrawing their capital from their small wholesale firm, competition, manufacturers’ misgivings and rising debts meant he would soon be bankrupt. Unable to sell the ancient home to modern buyers, Kaveri’s marriage alliances drying up as a result.

They mulled over it for a month....the loan approval bringing little joy. Her husband loved her father to the point of adoration, losing his own at a tender age may have had something to do with it. He wanted to help but how....until Kalpana had a brainwave. They decided to postpone their dream and pay for the wedding instead (Indian weddings being costly affairs hosted by the bride’s family)...

The only glitch, her mother would never agree....Suresh decided on something better, buy off the ancestral home where they could live together with her parents and his mother. He wanted a big house of his own, having been at the mercy of relatives for the first 15 years of his life. She was reluctant as the aging home was more trouble than worth, feeling the first option to be the best, besides her brother’s wife was a vile woman she preferred to stay away from....

His mind made, nothing she said would sway him...the home changed hands, the marriage happened as planned.....things were bad from day one...crumbling interiors and exteriors that ate all their savings and a sister in law who made live hell in their own home. She never thought of making her brother leave, she loved him too much, his handicap rendering his earning capacity limited.

 Two year later when her husband got transferred, relief coursed through her veins...in a new city, another rented home, watching her nine and seven year old sleep...often she wondered if her notion of love and duty hadn’t stolen their dreams away.

 Count 512

Achievers - The Conference

She would be the only one missing. Her achievements, an inspiration for countless girls with stars in their eyes. Though this hasn’t been her home for decades now, it was proud of her. Her parents recalled the last phone call, excitement in her voice at her dream turning reality. The thrill of a journey into space would never be negated by the stark fact that it was a one way trip, a fiery end despite the glory.

The reports were very encouraging, the schedule hectic. Time wasn’t always available, it had to be created. The humble beginnings seemed like eons ago. Her biotech company growing rapidly over the years, profits exponential. Many considered her a strict task master but there were no room for mistakes in their field. Her USP still was nurturing talented women and rewarding them generously with stocks for their efforts. She looked forward to rubbing shoulders with like minded women.

The dance academy was chock a block with new and old students. It had taken 30years of dedication, lack of funding, bottlenecks before the doors had opened. She had revived the classical dance form that had faced the threat of extinction. The danger still existed with the younger generations shunning it. For now, the light at the end of the tunnel looked bright enough to plod on. She smiled at her assistant – her sister who had been around for most of her journey....they would most definitely be there to share their incredible journey.

The medal stood out in the tiny room. The visitors still trickled along from nearby areas. The spotlight was something her family was getting used to. Her father, a cab driver had never understood her obsession with rifle shooting. His income barely enough to feed the family of 6. For a small town, traditional man, he never stopped her, a gift in itself. Her mother encouraged her to never give up, specially, when she ran out of generous friends who helped her along the way. She had been lucky, a politician's wife had happened to visit her training ground. And seeing her talent, decided to take her under her wings. The rest was history...as she glanced at the card while the official explained about the meeting; she knew that hard work had paid off.

The day passed in a blur...two complicated operations successfully completed, three infertility procedures undertaken...a dozen appointments awaiting her at the clinic. Late lunch again but she was not complaining. The joy of seeing red faced howling newborns, the glow on faces of women who had finally got the chance to be mothers made her job so much more rewarding. A brilliant student; still a student she considered herself. Watching her father and aunt at work, she had known where her destiny lay and toiled single mindedly. Marriage having been pushed off the agenda but she never regretted her singledom. The conference would be a welcome break indeed. 
 wc 487

The Final Goodbye

   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 plot or gist of the matter go....the wordplay is the author's portrayal....

Apologies to any one who finds her story here.... Unfortunately, this one is mine....

She paused at the doorstep...looking back at the room  once more. Everything was as she had left it  two months ago....the curtains, the dining table she begged and begged for months and finally got, her favourite couch rich blue with silver trimmings, a favourite with the only three neighbours who passed his test (well most of the time at least).


          The light blue sofa still stood, a mute majestic witness to the torment sessions, mental and emotional, countless endured to the point of a breakdown, the humiliations, the constant put downs that still sent cold shivers down her spine.
         His high pitched voice with a maniac quality echoed in her brain, cold swept all over her, the heart pounding at an inhuman rate...the well recognised  signs of a panic attack. She took deep breathes the way her doctor has taught her, clutched a chair for support and moved to gather her few precious belongings, a culmination of six wasted years.
          Every piece of cloth, a book here, a C.D there, remainders of the few happy moments she had managed to gather and salvage from the wreck that was her marriage. Her bags packed, she glanced at the house for one last time ....
        The house she had tried in vain to make a home but dimly realised now was never hers to begin with. The house now stood for only loss : loss of innocence, loss of her unborn child, loss of hope, loss of dignity, loss of self worth and the greatest loss, one that would haunt her for years to come, loss of the will to live.
       The lift stopped , her and bags deposited to the ground floor, the safety zone...as she turned to hug and wave at her few friends, the only ones that would miss her...never him, never him..
       She saw at last in the afternoon sun....behind her stood the skyscraper tall, looming and lonely ....before her stood her mother and the cab, her ticket to freedom bought at a bitter price.

         She walked with a spring in her step, a tiny smile, a smile none the less that threatened to break out of the gloom, knowing that though the road ahead was not easy, too many battles still to be fought.... He could never hurt her again.....



Wc 383 to add a 100 odd words.

She Was My Friend

    


  Tears roll down her cheeks as she checks the obituaries...sure enough that smiling face she can never forget staring back at her, sadly accusing,"you never visited". Proof in her hand of the grim reaper and his sadistic taste for young lives...


    The breakfast turns cold, untouched as was dinner the previous night. Her mind taking her to a nostalgic journey more than a decade old. She had just graduated when they met for the first time as interns at their auditing firm.


    She liked her on sight...Nita as she softly remembered.. Nita was different : ambitious, intelligent with no qualms in flaunting it, a dreamer, eccentric even. Maybe that was the reason for the contempt that the other girls held for her. It was part jealousy and part groupism - the odd ones always ignored or mocked.


   Nita spoke of her family, her work, her dreams, her fears...she was just a sweet girl trying to make a mark on the world but when have narrow minds seen a person for what they truly are?


   Audits with her were never boring, intelligent conversation, work, fun, sharing filled the days. Nita was a reflection for all that she stood for and may be that's why they got along so well. When others in the office would ask how she could bear to be seen as friendly with the "weirdo", she simply smiled and replied "Birds of a feather flock together".


   As time went by, as it has for aeons, she moved to other projects, other jobs...they still kept in touch, met occasionally but not as before. Life went on, job, marriage, problems, responsibilities but she still thought of her . They met a few times more, at her marriage as Nita's parents was friends with her in-laws (small world, she had thought back then) and a couple of family functions....and then for quite some years they lost touch completely...


   She looked at the damp paper, thinking of the bear hug and the huge infectious grin with which Nita greeted her(the surprise element at her wedding) and between guilt ridden sobs wished she had reached out to her when Nita had been on dialysis (she had never known, the secret kept till her last days), when Nita had got her promotions and had few genuine friends to celebrate it with, when a speeding car knocked her dead as she crossed the highway to her office a week after her 31St birthday.


  .......Its been five years since Nita moved on to a painless, hopefully better place but the sadness and the ache of regret still lingers as fresh as ever...you see, this story is close to my heart, for Nita was my "weirdo" friend and a small part of me wishes that I had, had a chance to say my goodbyes.....




wc 467



(Real names changed to protect those left behind and respect the ones who have moved on.)