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A quick tale 157

At around the same time as a quick tale 156

I wonder, she thought as she lay on her back, whatever happened to that guy who lived across the street from us. The one I briefly had a crush on before I found him in a pink polyester shirt one morning. And what about that girl, the one who would walk with me to school every morning. Where could she be? And the old headmistress, she thought letting out a sigh, I wonder what became of her. I can still remember her words the day I left school. Would she be disappointed if she saw me today? Or would she be proud? Would she even remember me? Is she still alive? I must search for her on the internet tomorrow, she resolved when she felt him stir beside her. He turned to his side and put his arm across her in a hug. Damn these coffees, she thought, keeping me awake all night. I won't drink a single drop tomorrow, she swore as she closed her eyes and hoped to fall sleep.


Anonymous said…
The Visitor said…
Goes well with AQT-156. :)
Hip Grandma said…
At least she is better!
Madura said…
//And what about that girl, the one who would walk with me to school every morning.//
So many days, so many nights, so many random moments, I have munched this line in my mind.
Dear M.Subha are you reading this from somewhere?! :) ... I have dreamt of you a zillion times!
n said…
I bet she had more coffee the next day, to keep her up through the work day. And sleep didn't come easy, again. The two tales work well together. People can be together yes in their heads so apart. Not necessarily a bad thing. Even in rships there shud be place for the individual.
itchingtowrite said…
well blended tales.. 1 can never guess what goes on in the theatre of the other's mind!! cool of u to imagine & portray
?! said…
Oops, she did it again!

Lovely writing, but more, searing insight. Well done.
Balakumar said…
Another pearl! :)
Anonymous said…
i am getting old too
coffee keeps me awake :-(
me who used to almost ritualistically drink a cold coffee before going to sleep

fire eater
None said…
deja vu!

Balaji S Rajan said…
Super... quite interesting. Short and sweet. Keep going.
Anonymous said…
i have one sincere advise to you..stop writing!!
dinesh said…
Lol at the pink polyester shirt !

And to those people who want you to stop writing...criticizing is fine. But why criticize when you're hiding behind an "anonymous" screen. Come out and say what you want.
Shirsha said…
Can ya answer this.. how much of 'you' manages to seep out in the characters you write about in your fiction?

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Married for 31 years, 2 months and 17 days
Six cups coffee a day, brewed everyday of marriage
Three meals a day,
At least two dishes cooked, each meal-time
One snack for every Sunday
Big basket of clothes ironed every Tuesday
Average 18 items of clothing washed per day
Three children
1 miscarriage
One mother-in-law suffered
900 sq metre of floor space mopped, once a day
One caesarean endured
3 chicken poxes, 2 measles, 2 fractures, 8 diarrhoeas, depression, conjunctivitis every summer, 1 tonsilitis and countless common colds and flues
1 job held for 29 years
6 hours slept every night
Sex tolerated every 2nd week
Religious rituals everyone of them, carried out
Not one of them, believed in
Lived 52 years and some
Died exhausted

Overheard, “At least she had the satisfaction of having lived for her family”

The Saturday Poem

Found this in yesterday's paper. Again, I wish I'd written it.


Now and Then

"Now that I'm fifty-seven",
My mother used to say,
"Why should I waste a minute?
Why should I waste a day

Doing the things I ought to
Simply because I should?
Now that I'm fifty-seven
I'm done with that for good."

But now and then I'd catch her
Trapped in some thankless chore
Just as she might have been at
Fifty-three or fifty-four

And I would say to her
(And I have to bite my tongue)
That if you mean to learn a skill
It's well worth starting young

And so, to make sure I'm in time
For fifty, I've begun
To do exactly as I please
Now that I'm thirty-one.

-Sophie Hannah

Lost in Post

To a little boy

It cannot be easy being you. A follow-up act to your more devilishly charming, flamboyant older brother. Before you were born, I was convinced that no child could ever take the special place your brother had come to occupy in my life. I used to argue with your father you would always be a second-born. A runner-up. A bridesmaid (or a best-man, as you turned out to be). That you could never be the prized, cherished, celebrated apple of my eye that my firstborn child was. But how easily you tore down my flimsy little conviction. The minute I saw you, I knew I was gone. What was worse, I succumbed willingly.

My fears that you would be overshadowed by your brother have proven unfounded. Over the past year, you have come into your own as a person. Your brother demands and challenges our love and attention. You, on the other hand, are much more accepting of our distractions with him. It is almost as if you understand that he is used to being the star of the show for much of his…

I ask, you write

Okay, here's the idea. I ask you a question and you write a short story explaining it. Let me give you an example.

What happened when young Padmavathi was drawing water from the well to wash her clothes, early one Margazhi morning?

Annon's story

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After marrying Padmavathi, he is inviting all of you to a water drawing ceremony at the new well they dug in their house.

Jai Ragothaman Iyengar! Jai Padmavathi! Come one, Come all!


Here's a question for you.

What happened that made young Meenakshi change her mind about the parrot green saree she had originally chosen and go for a …