Short Messages to Dad -

My A_Z journey ends here. I have been down with a heat related stomach infection for a couple of days. Having missed three posts in a row, it's only fair I quit. I will continue to post a-z tidbits when I get better.

A big thank you to Alex, Michelle and others who visited and tried to make me feel better.

Short Messages to Dad - Letter F

Letter F - Future

Image courtesy -InspirationBoost/quotes

Life goes on... Nothing's changed, snail paced at times and missing an important element - you.
Someone said,"You don't die with the dead". True enough. You can - you just don't. 

Mom is coping badly...Work keeps my grief at bay but for someone who made you the focus of her life, time has slowed down. 
Rifled through your clothes - found the birthday ones with shopping tags intact - planning to give them away.

All I need is a future plan to bring a smile on mom's face - one not dependent on your grand kids.  

Any ideas, dad? I am desperate. 

Short Messages to Dad - Letter B

 B - Beaches

The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach - waiting for a gift from the sea.Anne Morrow Lindbergh

You loved beaches. It was befitting your ashes were scattered at Elliot's Beach, a favorite spot in Chennai.

Hindu women aren't supposed to, but the priest (to my surprise) allowed me to accompany your son and nephews on this last leg of your earthly journey. I wasn't allowed to touch that small brass urn containing your ashes. Another feminist rant from me, but you've heard these and more for over 30 years, haven't you?

I stood on the short wall surrounding the beach. Teary-eyed, I watched three lonely figures wade into the water and release you from mortal confines.

Why does being Stuck in the Middle resemble Climbing the Mountain?

Time for RFW - Romatic Friday Writers and Saturday Centus weekend combo. The devilish part of me  loved meshing two meme prompts often, earlier. Time to pay attention to the curve-tailed me!

I put the book down, awaiting the phone call. Mom came in and handed me a cup of coffee. The author's mind reader had nothing on her, sipping the still hot beverage.

TRING...I spilled the contents of my cup, enough to feel the burning sensation through the thin cotton of my salwar. 

"Mohit..." "David here.”

"Sorry, I was expecting Mohit's. What did he say?"

He cleared his throat. I didn’t need his jumble of words to know. I hated romances for a good reason.

"Are you ok?" I wasn't, but had to be...she would need strong shoulders to cry on.

*Salwar - leggings of the traditional South Asian wear salwar kameez.

*edited piece from my short story, the Ring of Finality being the ending.

Wrong Timing?

After two months, back with my entry for Saturday Centus at Jenny Matlock's blog...any genre, P.G as far as possible, not to exceed 100 words plus the prompt in bold.. Check the other pleasure trips there.

The interview had held a lot of promise, one of the better ones she had given in recent times. Nevertheless, waiting for the elusive call was unnerving. She went about the everyday chores, no longer languorous. The meals were planned,  their calorie content checked, examined her closet, deeming most of the clothes as good enough for office wear. She checked her inbox a dozen times a day. The phone went everywhere she went. Today, at lunch, a beep was heard. She unlocked the screen in nervous excitement. The message read, “It is our pleasure to invite you to Exhale holiday homes, nature awaits.”

was the search over?

‘Magnolia virginiana’...was his search over? He twirled the dried flower in his hand, its whiteness showing signs of fading. The collection was strikingly similar to Rachel’s arrangement. His childhood memories were hazy at best, but some retained their clarity. The vanilla scent had soothed him through those difficult years and now seemed to waft around. Three years of devoted research had brought him to their doorstep. Their initial reluctance had faded under his passionate plea; he wasn’t one to give up easily. The foster parents had been kind enough to leave him alone, in, what might be his playmate’s room.

Waiting?

 The interview had held a lot of promise, one of the better ones she had given in recent times. Nevertheless, waiting for the elusive call was unnerving. She went about the everyday chores, no longer languorous. The meals were planned especially their calorie content checked, examined her closet, deeming most of the clothes as good enough for office wear. She checked her inbox a dozen times a day. The phone went everywhere she went. At lunch, a beep. Unlocked the screen in nervous excitement. The message read, “It’s our pleasure to invite you to Exhale holiday homes, nature awaits you.”

Thrill Or Trick - Part 1

"Some things never change around here." Simi poked around trying to fish out the harried souls.

The souls in question seeking solace from the stern elders, often alone or in groups of two and three by the lake.

'Sharing secrets inside the mansion walls was both embarrassing and dangerous' opined the teenagers.

This bunch was not smarter than the ones in the preceding years but used a different system of disguises. Hard to know if the portly, middle aged man she detected was indeed Shammi Uncle.

'Offending a senior member of the household meant hanging off a cliff like... Ria...
what the hell was that?'

Google Image modified

For Saturday Centus at Jenny Matlock's blog...any genre, P.G as far as possible, not to exceed 100 plus the prompt in bold. Based on the literary device of a cliffhanger...that is, the second part next week will complete the story.. Check the others hanging ons there.

That Fateful Day

This small space had become a second home…better than the broken, crumbling walls in the remote village he had spend 20 long years in.

Cramped behind the old walls hid his famous face. The reconstructed interiors which once were the home of nationalists, was now his lair…hopefully for a long time.

 He never enjoyed these rare interactions with the kafirs* or those who professed to follow his religion… the paper rustled in his neighbour’s hands.

What stumped him however, was one of his brethren’s question "Would you like fries with that?"... on reading aloud the headlines on the front page ‘High Court upholds Kasab’s* death sentence.’

A Story Grows

For Saturday Centus at Jenny Matlock's blog.. any genre, p.g as far as possible, not to exceed 100 words using the prompt in bold to create a story on the picture this time around....
Water the other saplings there.

I saw him there, busy with his axe slicing through the branch he was seated at the edge of. I screamed almost,  ‘you will fall down, you dolt!!’ The watch could only let me stay not change. 

Countless retelling didn’t prepare me for gravity’s working. He fell; branch, the weapon and all.

Could he be the Master, history proclaimed him to be? The language he choose, as classical as his imaginative works.

Were they even his? Didn’t the skeptics say The Bard too was a fake?

I would prove them wrong. I planted a little story seed and out sprouted "Of Shakuntala recognised by a token"*.

* It was among the first Sanskrit works to be translated into English . Written by Kalidasa,  believed to have lived around 4th century CE and sometimes referred to as the "Shakespeare of India".

Whispers.....

 100 words using the Sensory Details Literary Device (the five senses) 


I ambled along on this weather beaten path to god knows where. The tourist brochure had looked enticing enough to pour non existent savings on a well deserved vacation, a last chance to mend the rift between us.

He bungled up as was he was wont to, not laziness but sheer indifference.

The cottage looked more like a haunt for lost ghosts.

An accidental touch of the wall sent chilling tingles down my spine.

The stench of despair was everywhere inside.

Whispering voices rang the death knell all night long.

I tasted the bitterness of defeat long before the end.

Child's Play

*Tried an Acrostic after a long time.....using each succeeding alphabet of the prompt as the first letter of the lines of the verse.

“Surprise!!  I’m pregnant”

From photobucket

Said the report; the Gynec, sad frown

Utter silence across the table

Reminiscent; ashen faces, of cremation grounds

People once friendly,

Rendered snickering gossips

Infatuation at 12, paid bitter price

School authorities bid nasty goodbye

“Egg rotten, spoils the entire set”, they proclaimed.

Insensitive relatives advise,

Admonished parents, for letting things slide,

Mother calls her a harlot now....

Ponder how a child is begotten,

Remember it takes two to tango...

Ensure censure for other’s fault

Given leeway, playing the field

New victim to warm his worn bed

Allowing him to deny

Not justice decreed

Tonight she sleeps...tomorrow....

*based on a news heard....12 yrs old should be enjoying childhood...but T.V, movies make them

indulge in reckless behaviour....

* My heart goes out to the 12 year old, especially with no schooling for now, living in a traditional society she has a tough life ahead.

Would you like to see this as a poem or as a 100 word story?

An Interview With A .....

Tonight we meet the reclusive authoress of 'If I die Young'.
"Welcome. Can you tell us what inspired the book and the thrilling storyline?"

Rasping in a soft voice, unblinking gaze, “Readers would know that it is based on out of body experiences, my own."

Red faced for a quick second before plunging forward, 
"Can you elaborate for the ones who haven't been able to grab a copy yet?"

 A maniacal gleam in the eye that turns the tomato hues to purple, a euphorical, "the young, such noble sacrifice...so soft and delicate, wonderful shades too. The best picks are the ones between 18 and 22...skin begging to be turned robes, an artist's delight. For a guy, yours is pretty soft too!!"

Reaching for the purse on the table, eyes on a particular man in the audience who nods his compliance.

"Someone call the cops" the last screams heard, before the studio turns dark and quiet...

*The title has been borrowed from "An interview with a vampire", lest poor me gets charged for copyright violation.

*Modern reality shows with emphasis on questionable, inappropriate behaviour, spouting corrupt role models and our infatuation with this disturbing phenomena prompted this piece.

*I have tried to keep it PG...apologise if it offends any one's sensibilities.

My Story

S

miled again, rather

Grimaces in pain

The spotlight never her thing.

Millions of eyes, ears,

mouths and hands

Dissecting the enigma

On the canvas.



If portraits could

Speak their minds

As do in Hogwarts...
My face would

Mesmerise no longer.

The long hours,

Aching limbs,

Stretched endurance

Worth the while.

Few stolen moments ,

A valid excuse,

Bought at heavy price

Of heartache and heart break.



Throw a curve ball

That proclaimed

The furrowed brows,

Pigment stained fingers

Dipping onto the palette

Belonged to the one

My secret love.

The man belonging

with the world but

never with any one.



Do you Like this as a poem or a 100 word story?

A Classical Saturday Trip...

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

Added to Saturday Centus . Check other builders at Jenny Matlock's meme
...her blog off on my tangent. The prompt by Jeff and back to a story of 

any genre in 100 words excluding the prompt in bold. Hope I am forgiven 
for continuing to combine two challenges into one.

 My take on the arrogant and proud Mr. Darcy

The music echoed, the soft sounds of rain drowning in

the cacophony of piano notes Mary created…The sisters

looked on in embarrassment while the rest sniggered;

some openly, some quietly.

 One stood singeing in annoyance and anguish…

paradoxical results of mind and heart. He considered

his presence a worthy gift lost on the country

bumpkins; yet, would regret missing out on those

intelligent, dark eyes which barely spared him so much

as even an angry glance.

Feelings unspoken, unexpressed “…within the stone..."

invisible walls he was forced by social status to strengthen

…her's by sheltered life and misplaced faith in other’s

coloured impressions.

This is the Seventh part of the 30 day book challenge created by Polo

at her blog Acotation Al Margen.

 For reades and writers alike.

Older and newer entries here.

Entranced

She watched the dusty plains....the journey drawing to a close. The destination soared ahead...even from the distance, amidst the hillocks; the silent sentinels stood, as they had for centuries past.  The group broke up, wandering around the place. Pieces of history were scattered everywhere, some in ruins while others as sturdy as the day the work was finally completed.

She marvelled at the painstaking effort involved, the sheer mastery commanded, the talent and creativity showcased.

As they clicked pictures which would never do justice; touched the columns in awe, "The legacy of heroes..."  transported them to a bygone era of kings and their townships.

(based on Hampi- one of the many architectural marvels of India)

Image Courtesy Tourism India Today

Just Another Ordinary Day

The heat seeped in...Sweaty faces everywhere.... patient, stressed, desolate odds...

The lunch break took forever....

The child in the cramped corner bawled incessantly hearing the loud, aggressive voices.

Hush little baby, don't you cry...she whispered to the scared, sleepy child.... the distraught mother who was from a poorer background soothed with kind words of hope...

The bells clanged in the red bricked building, a living testimony of the British Raj....the crowds dissipating into the rooms in the corridor.

They waited silently.....the pronouncement was as expected. Minutes later, handing her the cheque; asking her to use wisely not just the money but the chance at a meaningful life...

Dedicated to Ms. Rajalaksmi, my firebrand divorce lawyer who won an election in my home state last week and has become a Member of the State Legislature...she had hinted at our last meeting of a role in politics but this was unexpected....I hope she uses her new powers for the betterment of women, especially victims of domestic violence.

Torturous Days

Life is never straight nor calm, tragic

when he turns on that so called charm

Not a funny bone in the body

and yet speak of comic timing.

 The party is on in full swing

wishing you have a shift to still be in.

The stunned silence isn't quite adulation

the life of this one?, funny thought.

Costume themed? definitely not.

 Bet, you purposely forget.

 Blue velveteen and floppy ears

stands out among jeans and T shirts

This to mock me, I know

Easter bunny stunt pulled out,

just means, "now is time"

to give you the marching lines...

Added To Saturday Centus

Insipid Interview ??

April showers bring May flowers...

The words kept echoing in her mind....nervous to the point of sweaty palms, this wasn’t doing her any  good.

The sheer number of ties and jackets in her peripheral vision sounded the death knell in her guts....what was she thinking, turning up?...the entire city had landed up here, well all graduates from the top colleges at least.

The interview surpassed her expectations, the panel of seven did intimidate her but fumbled across to the finishing line....

Until  asked how soon she could join...blurted out without a second thought, “April”. Blushing at the puzzled faces , realised it was almost September.

The Divination

The curtain parted...

She gulped....not him again. She gestured for him to take a seat.

He never looked around to notice the tiny alterations that were now possible .

Ever since he become her biggest client.

He gazed with such intensity that she was sure her tiny room would combust.

No longer asked the question...he had only one thing on his mind...

Closed her eyes, muttered the ancient words and looked....

Time for the usual lie....somehow they were easier, the truth choking her vocal chords .

He smiled at her answer,  paid and left her staring at his daughter’s death in her crystal.