A quick tale 107

One morning in January

You have to pee. And the teacher looks forbidding. So you slip out when she has her back turned to the class. The watchman at the gate is busy savouring the day's first bidi with his eyes closed that he barely notices you scrambling out of the school. It should be easy tracing your route back home. Or so you think. You've noticed things on your way to school each morning. There's the green tree with pink flowers, the lamp post with a donkey tied to it, the fishmongers with stalls of dried fish laid out, Nimmy's house, Pillayar temple, green tree with yellow flowers and then it should be home. You quickly shuffle past the landmarks one by one.

You see your house at a distance. You break into a run. This is it. You cannot hold on any longer. There. Another few steps. A second more. You've reached home. You run inside pushing past your mother. Sadly, you'll have to change your skirt. But that doesn't matter, you're home now. Mother's full of questions. Did you come home alone? Didn't they see you leaving? Is there no toilet at school? And then she grabs you, hugs you, kisses you and starts to cry. What if you had been run over by a car? Or a lorry? The way they drive! Oh my god! My child! What would have happened to you? She's practically wailing now. And you don't understand what the fuss is all about. It's not like you're a baby. You're nearly four.

I've started so you finish - Update 4

Maverick

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. 15 years later, her husband seems to be enjoying it.

Charukesi

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. Her mother despaired, "haven't I told you a million times not to exaggerate?"

I've started so you finish - Update 3

Rubic Cube

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. She owed it all to the small success that she achieved when she blasted the shop owner for selling such cheap stuff, those that would come apart after the first use. The Rs. 15 lipstick had damaged her school ID card in her small kitty purse. The shop owner gave her goods worth Rs. 100 to keep her from damaging his reputation. 13 years later, Sandhu is enjoying a year's worth of free calls on her cellphone network after threatening to sue the telecom company for potential breach of privacy - all that the customer service representative asked her to confirm her birthdate. Last year, she won a $500 shopping card from Walmart after she exaggerated the amount of emotional turmoil that she had to undergo when they stopped stocking her favourite Chapstick. Her neighbourhood dealers are joining hands to get an indemnity bond signed from her in their favour. Rumour has it that she is planning to move court against them. On what grounds? Racism. Knowing Sandhu, I know she would have her way. Infact, Sandhu may even strike a deal with them if they want to continue their business in this area. She claimed to know the Senator well enough to put them out of the business in the tristate area. Afterall, one would not want to lose millions of dollars in business for the sake of a few coupons worth 1000s of dollars. Would they? Sandhu would leverage that in her favor. I know! Ah, the economic power of exaggeration! Hmmm...

Boo

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. But she had the talent to keep quiet about certain things too. She never exaggerated let alone tell the truth about so many things that were actually happening in her life. She was afraid that the truth might sound like an exaggeration. And she didn't want to be called a liar. That was more important.

Ramya

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. To begin with, she decided to spell the word with eight Gs.

Chaitanya

She was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. Life became so much fun when exaggerated. All her friends were the best in the world, her school, neighborhood kids, her sister, her relatives, her house, everything was best in the world. All places she traveled were the best places in the world, all the things she got were the best in the world. Soon her college was the best in the world, so was her boyfriend and then husband, two kids best in the world, even her in-laws were best in the world. She is now 45 getting her elder daughter married, of course to the best son-in-law in the world. Yeah, life is really good with exaggeration.

I've started so you finish - Update 2

Karthik Ram

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. Exaggeration, in the words of her know-it-all friend and exaggeration-guru, a certain Ram, is embellishment of truth. The 'great' divide, a thin line between lying and exaggeration until that moment had remained elusive to her puny self. "Amma! I got the first mark in English", when there were at least ten students ahead of her was lying. And that is something she should never utter. In addition to the beatings/scoldings (depending on Appa's mood) there was always God's punishment to be afraid of. Her grandmother had told her many tales where Gods swooped down to earth in their winged vaahanas and blinded one with sharp instruments whenever they lied to their parents. I wonder why it took her all of 13 years to understand the difference between lying and exaggerating.

Aravind

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. Her eyes openedup to a whole new world infront of her. The chirping birds were telling thestories of the land they have flown over. The rainbow was the mastery of theunknown creator. Wind was now the carrierers of fragrance from the otherpart of the earth. Rain was the tears of the ultimate mother. She had forgotten her last 12 years in darkness as a nightmare.

Chaitanya

She was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. Life became so much fun when exaggerated. All her friends were the best in the world, her school, neighborhood kids, her sister, her relatives, her house, everything was best in the world. All places she traveled were the best places in the world, all the things she got were the best in the world. Soon her college was the best in the world, so was her boyfriend and then husband, two kids best in the world, even her in-laws were best in the world. She is now 45 getting her elder daughter married, of course to the best son-in-law in the world. Yeah, life is really good with exaggeration.

I've started so you finish - Update

Suguna

'Sandhu, come here' her mom shouted at the top of her voice. Sandhya's mom was very hard working. They were only two in their family. She did not know where her father lived. Her mom worked as a house maid in the nearby colony. Sandhya was sent to a convent. Her mom wanted Sandhya to be well educated. Sandhya said to her friends that her father lived abroad and her mom was a manager in a bank. She would demand for pocket money from her mother everyday just to get chocolates for her friends to make them understand that she was rich. She made sure her mom got a new pen every month. She would proudly say to her friends that her mom got her a pen just like that. She was 13 when she loved the joys of exaggeration. She never had interest in education and so quit her studies after her 12th grade. She is married now with 2 kids (twins) and a paralyzed husband and her mother still works for her and she now knows what it means to be a mother and to have a kid at the age of thirteen. Not one but two.

Karthik. M

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. She figured out that this was an easy way to become popular and most talked about in her little gang. So she started telling tall tales about how her family was rich and wealthy, how she always topped the exams with minimal of efforts, how all the boys in the neighborhood always winked when she walked by... As time flied by, Sandhu graduated and started searching for a job. As she was not the most technically gifted person, she faced rejection wherever she went.. That was when her friend Karthik suggested about auditioning for Television news reporter vacancies. The moment Sandhu walked into the world of 24/7 news reporting, she realized that this was what she was made for. All her exaggeration skills could be utilized to the full in this job. It was a match made in heaven !!

New Delhi
24/01/2005

The XYZ party had major internal bickering and the “Y” faction has broken away from the party. It is widely rumored that one of the reasons for the party split is the ‘sensational’ reporting of the differences in the last annual meeting by particular news channel headed by chief reporter “Sandhu”.

Sowmya

"Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. Though she went overboard at times her peers never saw through her tall tales and the adults excused her for her age. There were times when she had spotted UFOs and other times when she had sat next to the pilot during a flight!!! This kept going on until, she was 18, when things started getting serious - this time it was a stalker. He was a tall, handsome guy who followed her everywhere - sometimes she even heard him talking through her bedroom window......Her parents were not sure whether this was one of her tales or it was real - for none other than her had seen her stalker....They decided it was time to tell Sandhu to stop spinning tales since she had gone too far this time. But since she kept insisting they decided to bring her to me"

- Dr. Dhivyaa MD [Psychiatry]

Case report for Sandhvika [24], diagnosed Schizophrenic, presently undergoing treatment at National Institute for Mental Health.

I've started so you finish

Radhika

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration.
“Ma, did you know Sujit, who always scored the highest marks? He was crying in class today because he has no friends.”
“Really?” said the mother, I thought I saw him playing cricket this afternoon. “No ma, that was after he cried. To make him happy the class played with him.”
“Hmm.”
“Ma, when can I start to wear a bra? I know Reena is wearing one, and half the class, ma, all the girls. They said their mothers gift-wrapped it for them because it was their first one.”
“Concentrate on your homework Sandhu, you have three subjects to finish before you go to bed tonight.”
The next day she told her wide-eyed classmates about her cousin’s home. “Did you know they have four servants for each member of the family? One to cook, one to clean, and the other two to just make sure everything is in order around the room. My cousin told me secretly that one also does all the class homework for her!” Her father must be rich then, replied one of the girls. “Oh yes! He gets comics and all her clothes, even her new bra from Dubai!” she whispered. The girls giggled. “Take us to her home,” said one of them. Sandhu brought her hand to her mouth and shook her head. “No no, not me. and what will we do in that big house? With so many rooms and such a biiiig garden behind their home…did I tell you about the snake I saw in her garden the other day!? Thiiiis big,” she showed, stretching her arms wide as far as they could go. “The rich have really no peace of mind you know.”

Della

Sandhu was thirteen when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. She was
amazed at how the days span past, time seemed slick and thin when she had
something to occupy her mind. She whiled away her least favourite classes
plotting out what she would say to her friends. Carefully, almost lovingly
she worded these half-truths. To her, they were not lies. To her they were
not even tales....but threads reeling off the loosely-spun sweater sleeve
that was her child's sparkling mind. If you had looked closely, things
glittered when she opened her mouth.But her eagerness to embellish did not impress her family or peers. They mistook it for a need to impress. They mistook it for dishonesty.

Sandhu was twenty-five when she discovered some things are better without
the spin.

Varun

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. "12 and a half, actually", she would say, if you asked her. "It was in June, just after school had started, and my birthday is in December". The discovery had nothing to do with a worn-out copy of the 'Hitchhkers guide to the galaxy'. lying forlonly in the almirah in her bedroom- atleast definitely not with the intricate Vogon poetry contained in it- ,nor was it related in any possible way to her new-found love for Visu's movies. It happened one afternoon - "in June", she reminds - just like that, while she was sitting on the floor beside the bed with a cup of tea, still in her school uniform, and her mother had tossed away the latest 'Ananda vikatan' contentedly and turned to her with: "So what did they teach you in the English class today?".
"Adventures of rapunzel", blurted Sandhu.
"Hmm...".
"Rapunzel is a small girl ma, only the size of my thumb. Nobody can even see her."
"Really?".
"Yes ma. Today we read only one story. Rapunzel wanders into a forest one day. There is a big lion in that forest ma..."
The next day, Sandhu's mother received a note from the English teacher informing her that Sandhu, along with several other girls, had been absent from 'yesterdays class'.
"Ah, The joys of exaggeration! Who cares about the beating!"

Venkat

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. Like when
she got her grandpa to escort her to and from school because "there
was a strange, bearded man trailing her". In truth, she just enjoyed
being chaperoned. Over time, she became bolder, and started lying
outrageously. Like the time when she made a lot of friends in college
talking about a week long vacation in Europe, when in reality she had
just gone to visit some distant relatives in rural Punjab. After
graduation, she inflated her academic achievements to get into a
top-notch consulting firm in California. Recently, she filed a false
sexual harassment lawsuit against a colleague. Wanting to avoid
unwanted publicity, her company paid her a half a million dollars and
let her go. Last I heard, she was back in India, telling people how
she won the California State Lottery. In a way, she did, I guess.

Boo

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. She got more friends in school, her parents gave her more attention and for once she got more listeners than her sister did. She was thrilled to be popular. Her trip to her native village during the summer holidays became a trip to Kerala when she told about it in school. Her consolation prize in essay competition at school became first prize with an Eagle diary (stolen from Dads cup board!) at home. She got a new cousin who sent her chocolates from America and a pen (boy) friend from Australia. Strange but true, she started believing what she said and the imaginary world she was creating to gain attention was very soon becoming her real world. It was hard to keep up with the lies and she spent lot of time thinking about new ones and not to get caught with the old ones. Sometimes she wondered if people knew what she was doing and were just playing along to keep her happy. The thought made her sad. But there was no stopping her. Nothing yet!

Gif

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. So after a whole 60 years of it, on an extremely ordinary day, which began like just any other day, with that cup of hot coffee in the morning with newspaper on her lap, bang, she decided to be bored of exaggeration and also decided to play it soft for the rest of her life. And so, an hour after dinner that evening, when she had this acute shooting pain all along her arms, she gently mentioned it to her daughter-in-law. Her daughter-in-law having given to her pains and illnesses, more than half her time, bang, decided at that very moment to not take it upon her anymore and proceeded with ignoring her acute shooting pain in the arm and what's more, she made a limerick of it all and sang it sweetly to her little baby son and put him to sleep.
.....
It's always paining and hurting and killing and drilling
A scratch is always a mountain of a molehill
It's never a nothing or even a trifle thing
Now it's an acute pain all along her arm,
But a little itch, I bet, is all that it is!
.....
So when they awoke the next morning, it was no ordinary day, Sandhu was dead of a massive heart attack and her grandson had had a very sound sleep and the daughter in law, she took upon herself to be blamed for ignoring it all and wailed aloud and we heard Sandhu's son telling her.... 'Oh stop exaggeratting, will you?'

Anon

Sindhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. She had fallen down from her cycle, her ego more bruised than body. She came home, told her Mom, and walked in to search for a BandAid just as her Mom was screaming into the phone " Come home now! The kid's HURT! There has been an accident!"

Mom smiled at her. It would their little secret. And it worked very well too : father came home early, and they went out for an early dinner followed by a movie. ("Just to get her mind off the hurt").

That started it all. "I have to have this cycle or I'll die…" . " Oh, my teacher loves me So, I am the most brilliant student!" One inflated line after the other, over the years. Till one day "It's either him or I walk out".

"Oh, we had the most brilliant day! We went out for dinner and I wore the dress he bought me and we had the bestest time ever!" , she enthused over the phone. The parents suitably pleased, she placed the phone back. On the other side of the bed, he lay snoring in a drunken stupor. They had gone a meal in the nearby restaurant, where each had tried to fill the yawning emptiness inside : she with too much food, he with too much drink.

She had learnt the joys of exaggeration at 13. And lived to regret it

Anon 2

She came back and started cleaning and tidying. She did the dishes and began scrubbing the tiny kitchen clean. The harsh bite of the brush as it abraded the already clean sink soothed her soul. She felt the accumulated debris of the day wash away with the waves of tiredness that came in increasing magnitude. Till it was time to go and crash into a dreamless sleep.

Sindhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggertion. It had been a old dusty volume of some magazine her father subscribed to, where she had read the line " Work is the anodyne to pain". And realized that it was meant for her. Through the pain of losing parents, through the pain of fending for herself in assorted relatives' houses as unwanted maidservant. Through the years of struggle to study, find a job.

She had relaxed when she had married. Just long enough for the luxury of being able to think, to dream, sink in and become an addiction. Till it all tumbled down in one fell swoop : his flight; the discovery of the missing funds, the affair with the woman he had run away with.

Never again, she vowed. Pain continually knocked at her mind. Occupy it every instant. The body was the only sacrifice that could protect her. And it was cheap at the price. Exaggertion. A term she had coined for exaggerated exertion. Prozac for the soul.

Tangent

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration.

PS: Actually she was only 10.

Ammani

Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration. The rest, as she would say, is world history.

How about this?

If I gave you an opening line, would you give me the rest of the story? Let's see how this goes. The story begins with the line 'Sandhu was 13 when she discovered the joys of exaggeration.' See if you can spin the rest of the story in about 200-300 words. More if you need it. Send it to ammania@ gmail.com
Will post the stories next week. Ta!

A quick tale 106

Lucky

She sits slumped in front of her telly, this woman whose name I forget, wondering why she has never won a prize. She casts her mind back to all the lottery and raffle tickets she has ever bought, all the coupons ever filled out and all the scratch cards ever scraped. And yet, she thinks to herself, the results have always been the same. Nothing. Better luck next time. Sorry. She sighs audibly, picks up the remote control and flips channels. Perhaps, it has something to do with my zodiac. May be it’s the star I was born under. Does one have to have a lucky mole or something? she wonders. Even Tracy next door told me that she won a fridge in a lucky draw. How come my name never gets drawn? she asks herself.

She changes channel once again. And lands on a show that is giving away a brand new car as a prize. To win, viewers need to call and answer a very simple question. She picks up the phone, dials the number and answers ‘America’ into the recording machine. She leaves her details and hangs up. She knows it’s the wrong answer. But what difference would it make?

Some days later, she sees Tracy driving a new car. She doesn’t want to know how she got it.

A quick tale 105

Yesterday, around tea time

A woman is reading a newspaper in a cafe. She has just come across a news item which claims that studies have revealed that 53% of all married men have thought about infidelity at some point in their marriage. Why, the woman realises with a start, that's nearly every other married man! Which means, she considers, it could be this man here, that one there and this chubby old man sitting across the room from me and staring at my boobs lustfully.

A quick tale 104

Coffee with strangers

She has gone out for coffee with some people she does not know very well. Talk turns to a popular author and his works. She has never heard of him nor read any of his books. They evidently love him and are analysing his style, content and the multiple layers his books work on.
One of them turns to her and wonders what she thinks of the author. She loves him, of course! However, she was a little flummoxed by the way his last book ended. Most unsatisfactory, she felt. They all nod in agreement. She looks at her watch and suddenly remembers that she has an appointment to keep. Will they excuse her please? She’s terribly sorry she can’t stay and continue with the discussion. Why, of course! She has their numbers and will definitely call. And then, she slips out hurriedly. If you saw her leaving, you'd think she really had an appointment to keep.

A quick tale 103

Nostalgia need not be exciting

It occurs to you like a bolt of lightning. You wish to call your sister and share the news with her straightaway. But she lives in a different country and it's an unsocial hour right now where she lives. Still, you quickly finish your shower, hastily get dressed, run down to the phone and dial the 15 digits that make up her telephone number.
'Hello...'' goes the other end.
"Hi, it's me. Do you remember this tune?', you ask, humming the melody that has been making its round in your head all night.
'...'
You hum some more. 'Remember?'
'...'
You repeat the hum. 'Now?'
'Yeah', she says finally, 'it's the opening music from that old radio show, no? What about it?'
'Nothing. I just wanted to see if you remembered it', you say slightly annoyed that she isn't half as excited as you were when you remembered an old tune from your childhood.

Guest Blog from Chinna Ammani

It's awards time and after extensive consultation with the industry experts, beloved Chinna Ammani and her jury of one (including herself) has come up with the first ever blog awards for the Tamil TV industry. A word of caution, if you don't watch Tamil TV, skip this one. But if you do, behold! Here come the Ammies!!



Best actors: Vijai Aadiraj and Chetan for their excessive over acting.

Best actresses: Devayani, Suganya and the Sati Savithris of Indiya Tollaikaatchi

Best dressed award:
1. All the வில்லிs with a thilagam as tall as LIC (not Narasimhan, the building) and ஜகஜக பட்டுப் புடவை walking down in பயங்கர வெயில் in their பங்களா lawn (only lawn because shooting INSIDE பங்களா is expensive, you see)
2. All lawyers perpetually in black coats and white collars. Even while at home. Even if you woke them up at midnight!

Best நானும் இருக்கேன், நானும் இருக்கேன் industry-இல் award : LIC Narasimhan

Best dialogue - jointly awarded to "சிறுக்க்க்க்க்க்க்க்க்க்க்க்க்க்கீஈஈஇ..." and "Keep trying, keep on trying.. better luck next time too" (from Pepsi Ungal Choice).

Please note : The opening lines of all DD dramas "பார்வதீ,பார்வதி...
(கௌசல்யா சுப்ரஜா ராம பூர்வா playing in the background)
நம்ம பொண்ணு சீதாவ இன்னிக்கு சாயங்காலம் பொண்ணு பாக்க வர்றாங்க..."
came close but took voluntary retirement this year since this dialogue has been winning for years now.

Best signoff line(s): SUNTV Top 10 : for its innovative சம்பந்தா சம்பந்தமில்லாத "மஜா-கூஜா","கஜினி-காலி நீ", "சந்திரமுகி-சந்திரமண்டலம்","mumbai express - late arrival"

Best dubbing artiste - Jeya Geetha for not making a single attempt in changing her tone and thus maintaining the same voice for Kowsalya, Deivayani , Metti Oli Gayathri and others...with the same dialogue "வாழ்க்கைங்கிற சக்கரத்துக்கு மனைவி ஒரு அச்சாணி மாதிரி" in all serials.

Jeya geetha's aunt Anuradha (who dubs for Khushboo) came very close but her engleees language (like the tamizhised "veee vill go to the meetings tomaaroow") was tooo good that we couldn't categorize it under tamizh awards

Best art direction - jointly awarded to DD drama Props team for having cane sofa sets in mythological dramas and National award winner Thotta Tharani for using the same house, same office , same file, same flover vaas, same poo , same scenery foto frame for all AVM serials.

Best (continuing) life time irritation - all of K. Balachander's heroines who wink or widen their eyes in innocence or oodufy a stray strand of hair from their forehead. It's supposed to endear them to us but ஆனால் உவவே.....

Best cookery show - SAAPIDA VAANGA - for presenter Vasanth's (of Vasanth & Co) killer opening line "வாங்கம்மா முளகா பஜ்ஜி...வாங்கம்மா உருளைக்கிழங்கு பாயிஸம்..."

Best life time achievement - Kalthoon Tilakji and Shanmugasundaram (for their continuous and sincere efforts in imitating Sivaji Ganesan in their dialaak delivery , baadi language etc)

Best re-re-re-runner : All of Vijay TV's films / serials/ shows which enjoy a silver jubilee run on Vijay TV alone

Best imitator : Maggaalakshmi on Jaya tv's live request show trying to do a Pepsi Uma by saying things like"உங்களுக்கு ரெண்டு வயசுல குழந்தை இருக்கா? ச்சோஓஓஓஒ ச்ச்ச்ச்ச்வீட்...அப்ப்றம் Sunday எல்லாம் எப்படி போயிண்டிருக்கு?"

Update

Best loyalty award : Kavithalaya Krishnan - 25 years of குண்டு சட்டியில் குதிர ஓட்டfying

Best name : 'Telephone Mani' , 'Typist Gopu' ,'Vellai Subbaiya' and 'Karuppu Subaiya' were among the several nominees but none came close to KALAIMAMANI PASI SATHYA - she not just added her debut film before her name but also the coveted (!) Kalaimamani award before that. We've (by 'we' I mean I) learnt from reliable sources that Omakucchi Narasimhan has made his umpteenth trip to Poes Garden, lobbying for the prestigious award but has returned disappointed

Chinnathirai Chitra award : Runner up is Revathy Sankaran who sings at the drop of a tumbler on her cookery show with சம்பந்தா சம்பந்தமில்லாத lines like "ஹே பொண்ணே பல்லாங்குழி ஆட வாரியா?"

But the clear winner as voted by the puliya mara panchayat was Paravai Munimma. She sings even while boiling water. Here's a sample from her cookery show.

தண்ணி தளைக்கயில
துளசி-இலய போட்டேனே
ஆறிப் போன தண்ணீர
அம்புட்டும் குடிச்ச ஆச மச்சான்

Needless to say, we're (by 'we', I mean I) still reeling under the attack!

A contest

This could be fun. Play the audio clip below and try to identify the tamil song my son's singing. It's a recent hit song and if you listen closely, you'll hear me mention it at the start of the clip. Go on, give it a go.

That Michael Jackson-like 'oww!' after the first line is his own improvisation. Okay, I may have had a hand in that. But full credit for teaching him the song goes to someone else. You know who you are. Thanks-di!

A quick tale 102

A real story

You see him at a distance. Running to catch the bus that you're sitting in and peering out of. His strides are long and he is holding up his hand to signal to the driver to wait for him. The bus driver hasn't noticed him and gets ready to move out of the bus stop. He checks his rear view mirror and then his side mirror and gently slides into first gear. The noise reminds you of a singer clearing his throat before launching into a song. But this is no time for ornamental similies. You look out at the buscatcher again. He has picked up speed and is hurtling towards the bus. At this rate, you estimate, he should be able to make it. But just about.

The driver is now checking the road to see if he can pull out. A car is blocking his path. This should give the runner precious seconds he so badly needs, you think. C'mon lad, you mentally cheer, you can do it! There's not far to go! The runner puts in all his effort for one final burst. You pray to the Gods, invoking their powers to impel him towards his destination. But the bus has started moving now leaving its wannabe passenger behind. Stop, you want to cry, there's a man who wants to board the bus. Instead you sit glued to the seat with guilt, staring at your feet. The bus has now picked up speed and is well on its course. You lift your head and look out of the window. You see him at the bus stop, bent down, hands resting on knees and panting heavily. He looks up and smiles at you. It wasn't my fault, you try to tell him. It's alright, he seems to say, I didn't want to get on the bus anyway.

A quick tale 101

Detail

People thought of him as a pain in the ass (if you will excuse my language). He fixed his meetings at 8.23 ams and 11.56 ams, expected his lunch at 1.48 pm every day, slept for exactly 8 hours and 3 minutes each night and had 2 and 2/3rds of a spoon of sugar in his cup of tea. If ever you made the mistake of asking him for his age, he would kill you with detail. How many years, days, hours, seconds, that kind of thing. He needed his change back, nothing rounded off. If you had to share a bill with him, he would divide the bill by the number of people around the table and pay exactly his share. Don’t get him wrong. He just loves to be precise.
I know he makes a great character on paper. But he was hell to live with. And I just couldn’t take it after 4 years, 18 days and 12 minutes. So I left him.

A quick tale 100

Confessions of a cook

Have you ever wondered what goes into your dosai? I wish you did. Because I see you waiting at the counter now, drumming your fingers impatiently for that ghee roast you have ordered. And I suddenly remember the fight I had with my wife this morning. I will not tell you what I am about to do next but tomorrow morning you will wake up complaining of stomach pain. And you will blame it on the water, which your wife has not been boiling enough before filling up the bottles. You will come back again for your afternoon fix and by then I will have patched up with my dearest. Tomorrow I will be extra nice to you. Today, enjoy your dosai, saar.

A quick tale 99

At the 3.15 showing of King Kong

You walk into the movie theatre alone, stand in queue and ask for one ticket for the next show of King Kong. Well actually, you whisper ‘one ticket, please’ because you don’t want others to see that you’re there to watch the movie on your own. ‘Single, adult…that would be…’ rattles the ticket assistant loudly while proceeding to issue you your ticket. You slink quickly into the unlit hall, find your seat and settle down even though it’s a good 25 minutes before the show is due to start.

Some time later, a family of four slips into your row. The father sees you sitting alone and wonders if the seat next to you is taken. No, you shake your head, while still looking at the blank screen. He asks you again, just to confirm. What’s the matter with these people? you wonder. Why must every activity be undertaken in convivial togetherness? Besides what’s the point of taking someone along when all you’re ever going to be doing is staring at a screen in a darkened room? Still, the man has just asked you a question and is waiting for you to answer. No, you say. A little too loudly. He waits for a second and then sits two seats away from you. Suddenly you wish you had brought someone along. If only to hold hands with when King Kong tosses aside New York cabs like you would a tooth pick.

A personal note

Going away on holiday to India. It may be some time before new posts are up. Please excuse delay. Thank you.

A quick tale 98

One busy morning at the railway station

He is charging down the platform, weaving through the crowd that has gathered to see loved ones off. His legs, unaccustomed to such frenzied aerobic activity, are doing their best to carry his bulk towards the train that is gradually pulling out of the station. One final burst and he's nearly there. He grabs hold of the cold metal handle of the train carriage, drops his suitcase inside and heaves his body up the steps. Pausing to catch his breath, he turns around to wave to the fast-receding throng of bye-sayers. It is nice to pretend that some of them were there for him. That some of them were crying into their handkerchieves, unable to look up and see him go. That some of them were wiping their eyes for the tears made it hard to see. That they wanted to keep waving and keep looking at him until he became a tiny speck in the distance. That some of them wanted to come running along with the moving train as far as the platform would allow, for his sake. That they kept repeating their goodbyes and their promises to keep in touch with him until it became a meaningless chant. He likes to think they played out the drama, all for his benefit.

For, wouldn't it be sad that he was going away and not one friend or relative or neighbour or neighbour's dog could come to see him off and tell him how much they were going to miss him? He turns around to look at others in the carriage. And smiles the smile of one who was given a fond farewell.

A quick tale 97

I must tell you something

You and I go back a long time. So I think I can tell you. Do you remember that day when you tripped in front of the news stand and hoped that no one saw you? I was there. I was watching as you picked yourself up and dusted your behind and check your shoes to see if your heels were still in place. It was pretty funny, actually. I hope I can keep a straight face when I meet you next time. But pardon me if a little smirk escapes. If you ask me why, I'll tell you it's that hilarious joke I heard on Jonathan Ross last night. But to be honest, it'll be the sight of you, sprawled out, on your back, in front of the news stand the other day that I will be recalling. How angry you were when someone asked you if you were alright! Of course, you were. And how brave of you to walk without wincing. How is your ankle now, my dear? Do apply an ice pack to reduce the swelling and stay away from 4 inch heels and King's Cross station for a few weeks.

A quick tale 96

Heard the one about Kumar?

I had to do away with him. He was getting unmanageable.

Previously...

'Yes, Kumar likes the movie too'
'Kumar? Who Kumar?', they cried in unison as if it were a chorus in a song.
'My boyfriend...', I mumbled looking down at the ground.
'YOUR boyfriend? Your BOYFRIEND?', screamed my best friend Bubbs stressing different parts of the sentence for effect.
'How long has this been going on? Why didn't you tell us?', quizzed Nimmy, her best friend.
I shrugged in response.

They wanted to know all about him. So I told them as fast as I could make up the details. He was 21, an Engineering graduate. I wanted him to have a sensitive side, so I made him work with an NGO for orphaned kids. He was 6 ft 2, slim-built and wore glasses. He coached poor kids football and organised morchas to protest the demolition of slums in his spare time ('awwww', they cooed).

They wanted to meet him. So I sent him away to Brussels to attend an international conference on child development organised by UNICEF. From time to time, I would slink away in full view of my friends to talk to 'Kumar' on the phone. I'd come back giggling and tell my friends how naughty Kumar was. They'd blush and I'd act all coy.

Couldn't they at least see his photo? No, I said, Kumar was camera-shy and hated having his photo taken. What about talking to him? Couldn't Bubbs and Nimmy say hello to him over the phone? Oh no, Kumar was very busy fundraising. As a matter of fact, he was meeting the Ambani brothers to discuss corporate funding that very day. He wouldn't like to be disturbed.

That shut them up for a while before they started again. So I gave him chicken pox, broke his leg, killed his grandmother, drowned him in work and once, I even drained his mobile phone batteries. They were persistent, those bitches! They wanted to meet him at any cost. Unless I could manufacture a boyfriend at a short notice, I was quickly running out of excuses. Which is when mother nature gave me a hand. A train in Andhra was washed away by flash floods and guess who was on the ill-fated train? Kumar was on his way home after organising donations for victims of a cyclone in Rayalseema when the tragedy happened.

I went into mourning for a few days. But secretly, I was preening. I had officially had a boyfriend and lost him. Score: me - 1, the bitches - 0. Ha!

A quick tale 95

The day you lost faith

She sits across the café from you, in the same spot, day after day. And her order never changes. A chocolate doughnut, large fries, cheeseburger and a caffe latte with cream. How she manages to stay a size 8 on that diet remains a mystery to you. You watch her devour her lunch as you cautiously pick at your salad because you read somewhere that eating slowly makes you eat less. You could chew on one leaf of lettuce for an entire lunch hour.

Looking at her, you console yourself that she’s probably a bimbette. In fact, you’re certain that she is a brainless twat, a 23-year old infant with boobs. The next day, you see her reading something about Ergonomics and solving Kakuro simultaneously while stirring her fourth sugar cube into the coffee cup. So what, you tell yourself, she’s probably got a lousy personal life. You’re convinced she’s been jilted a thousand times. Actually, you’re sure that she gets just one Christmas card each year. From her credit card company. The following day, you see her lunching with the neighbourhood George Clooney. Ha, you say to yourself, bet she’s a non-starter in the career department. She probably works for a pharmaceutical company testing new drugs on herself. Or in a factory making little cocktail umbrellas wearing a thimble all day. You certainly weren’t expecting her to interview you for your new job. And that was the day, 23rd of February 2005 that you lost all faith in god.

A quick tale 94

One or the other

Is that a silk saree you’re wearing? Lovely colour. It reminds me of a story. Yes, I’ll make it quick. Sit down. How’s the back? Good. Then let me begin.

A woman (it was hard to tell her age) was stirring sugar into her cup of tea while looking out at her garden. It’s strange, she thought, there are no butterflies. At this time of the year, the air is usually full of fluttering wings. Where have they gone, she wondered. Perhaps they have all been captured while they were still worms and dropped into hot water to make silk, she panicked. For, the lady mistakenly believed that silkworms left to live then go on to become garden butterflies. This led her to think that it was either butterflies or silk. Everything was a choice, she concluded. Satisfied that she had reduced all of life’s dilemmas to a simple aphorism, she took a noisy sip from her mug.

A quick tale 93

Rough draft of a quick story

She decided to write another story. Her 93rd. This one would be a short one. Just like the rest.

It'd be about a woman. A middle-aged woman. No, it would be about a man. She wouldn't give him a name. She was rubbish at names.

It'd be about a man who would be thinking about red hair. How it wasn't red at all. More like orange. Pale orange. Because red was a Sunday, granny's loose skin on the back of her palm, last day of summer holidays, 17th birthday, first bicycle, Sweta, Deepavali of 1983 kind of a colour. And not a hair sort of a colour. Just like how he was not brown. More like dark pale cream. Brown was a Wednesday, dull ache, afternoon 3 pm, weather report, heavy metal kind of a colour. Not a colour you'd associate with people.

That, would be her story. And the anonymous commenter would say how much he liked her earlier stories.

A quick tale 92

Why some people should be banned

There are several things in the world he cannot tolerate. Like those who say 'at the end of the world' and use the word 'literally' when it is not end of the world or literal. He will not stand for anyone who grinds their teeth. Or blows their nose loudly. He absolutely abhors anyone that casually mentions their trips abroad, totally out of context.

He: Would you like a drink?
Abhorable he/she: I was in Australia recently

There are other minor irritants like those who look over his shoulder while he's reading a newspaper. Those who sing along with a song in a movie hall. Anyone who cracks knuckles or writes poetry or describes themselves 'unique, complicated, bundle of contradiction' in their blog profile. But the worst, the undoubted worst, has got to be one who reads the Reader's Digest.

A quick tale 91

A man and what he thought of women

A man who was feted as the most creative person in the world was attending a conference. Like many people who work in advertising, Mr. French (for that was his name, not his nationality) believed his words made the world go around, stopped global warming and helped Middle East peace process. When in fact, it did little more than help sell cigarettes and vodka. Anyway, this man had had a particularly large bit of steak for lunch and was feeling rather sluggish. So to amuse himself, he mumbled something aloud about women being crap at their jobs. Immediately, there was a collective gasp in the room. And everyone pretended to be shocked at his opinion. But of course, they always knew what he thought of women.

Soon his quote was all over the media. And suddenly Mr. French became the most-hated man in the world. Second only to George Bush. For a middle-aged man like Mr. French this was as good as it could get. And he just loved the attention. He had to resign afterwards but, so what? At least he didn't have to sit through another boring session on 'Creativity in the Global market'.

Now, Mr. French felt more powerful than ever. If he could decide that women were crap, he could make dogs romantic and chairs athletic. He felt like God. He is currently working on more important pronouncements. These will change the course of humanity, he is sure. And after that, it will be Mars. Unlimited powers to him.

A quick tale 90

About Nilakantan

He was named for the blue-throated Lord Shiva. He's 34, married with 2 kids, fantasises about top-heavy movie actresses and sometimes gets confused between his left and right. He once threw up on his father's shoes and dumped them in the bin. Some years ago, he lied about having read a famous book just to impress a girl. Likely to sing when drunk. Thinks he can write much better poetry than some of what he reads. AB positive. Gemini. Gets startled easily like when people sneeze loudly. Is acutely embarrassed of his English and often begins emails with 'my english isnt very good so pls xcuse...'. Was thrilled when Amit Varma referred to one of his comments on Indiauncut last week. Mole on wrist. Scar on eyebrow from playing cricket. IQ 108.

But of course she wouldn't know any of that. To her, he'd be the one who gave her her first glimpse of human insides as he lay sprawled in his own murky puddle of blood in the middle of the road. And the one she quickly averted her eyes from when she realised what she was looking at.

for varna.

A quick tale 89

Treat for the TV people

This happened about 22 years ago. So please don't leave comments in the comment box that such a thing cannot happen today and so on. Of course, it cannot happen today. Because we're talking about a time when there was only one channel on TV, which was a black & white set and there was only 4 hours of transmission everyday between 6 and 10 pm.

In those days, you were a little boy who had been told that tiny, palm-sized people lived inside the winding cables and that they appeared every evening at the appointed hour to entertain you.

Concerned for their welfare, you secretly laid out a glass of milk and some biscuits by the set at nights. These, to your delight, always managed to disappear in the morning. Until one day when your father commented about how one of the presenters was growing fat as if she had been feasting on milk and butter. So you did not leave anything out that night and you thought you heard the presenter stumble while making an announcement the next day. When you did not leave anything out again the following day, you thought she had grown dark circle under her eyes. A third day without milk and biscuits and she looked positively gaunt to you. Even your father remarked upon it.

It was sometime then that you were given your first bicycle and you quickly forgot all about the nightly treats for the TV people. These days you pretend to know all about transmitters and antenna and cable and how we get moving images inside the television set. But you still want to believe that for those 3 weeks in 1983, small people lived inside a little electronic box in your living room. And that you kept them well-fed.

Silly, I know. But try telling that to you .

A quick tale 88

A question of choice

You're the guy holding up the queue unable to decide what you want for lunch. You've tried numbers 13, 18 and 19 on the menu. You're a vegetarian and so that rules out number 1 to 8 and 28 to 45. You hate cauliflower and you're allergic to brinjal and mushroom. Number 23 is alright except that it gives you a bad case of flatulence and with a client meeting scheduled later that afternoon, you cannot risk it. That only leaves you with the three you've already had several times this week.

Someone behind you grumbles about how long it's taking you to decide. You panic. What'll it be? Should I go with number 18 again?, you wonder. It's not bad but it does make you feel a bit funny afterwards. Number 13? Nah, bad breathe. Number 19 then. Darn! But you had it just yesterday.

You hold up three fingers to the cashier. One for each dish. You ask him to choose. He picks your ring finger. Number 13.
'Can I have a plate of number 19, please?'

A quick tale 87

Reason for being late

A young man is getting ready for work. It’s a quarter to nine in the morning and he should have left for office a good 20 minutes ago. He has yet to finish tying his tie, slip into his shoes and take a last minute leak. He may not wash his hands afterwards if he is in a rush. But right now, he’s busy planning his excuses for coming late to work. Traffic, he reckons. That would be the most obvious. Lousy traffic, he would say, one side of the road closed for road works and it was jammed for almost 2 miles in either direction. But what if someone asked which road. No, it had to be something else, he reasons. Headache. Yes, that sounded reasonable. Or was it too common a lie? Besides, he would have to keep up the act for the rest of the morning. No, it had to be something more genuine-sounding.

His elderly neighbour slipped and broke her ankle this morning. He had to phone the ambulance and wait till she was in safe hands. How about that? Winner. That’s got to sound sincere. A 68-year old neighbour who lived all alone. She would have been climbing down the stairs that morning when she missed the last step. She would have had a hip operation only recently. Such a lovely lady who never forgot his birthday. So kind, almost a mother to him. Who would help her if he didn’t?

He couldn’t wait to get to office and give his reason for being late. They would click their tongues in sympathy for the neighbour he did not have, he was sure. Now, if only the traffic would start moving and stop delaying him further.

A quick tale 86

Moral of the story

Your shirt is creased badly. Again. Whoever ironed it hasn’t bothered to do it properly and you now have three crease lines running parallel to each other from shoulder to wrist. Today is also the day when your socks decide to lose their elasticity and slump listlessly around your ankles. And I hate to add this, just this morning you discovered a small bald patch on your crown.

In short, it has been a miserable start to the day and while sitting in your car, waiting for the traffic lights to turn green, you remember that you’ve left some important papers behind at home and you’re already running late. So you curse some more. Precisely at that moment, a little boy comes up to your car window and points to his mouth and stomach and begs for your kindness. A few coins please, saab. I haven’t had food in three days, saab, he pleads. He’s not lying, you can tell. The caved-in stomach and sunken eyes and scrawny legs and the strong smell of poverty he reeks support his claim.

You know this the point in the story when you’re supposed to feel grateful for the shirt on your back and the coins that jangle in your pocket and quit moaning and make peace with your life and be misty-eyed and remorseful and all that. But no. You don’t feel anything. And to be honest, you’re still pissed off about your shirt.

Three today!!

Must read

It is not often that I come across writing that is this powerful. This simple. And this moving. Ramya Nageswaran writes about her grandmother in 'Paatikku oru anjali' (tamizh).

A quick tale 85

Hero

She was the head girl in your school. Some years your senior, she was the one that every other girl in school admired, emulated and secretly loved. Your classmates would even have a bet about how she would wear her hair that day. You usually won because you knew her style. You were confident that she would become really famous some day. Like an astronaut or a scientist or a novelist. She was destined for greatness, you believed.

You would never have thought that one day she would walk into the supermarket where you now worked. And ask you where you stocked coconut oil. You want to tell her how much she meant to you in your school days. How much you adored and worshipped her. That she hasn’t changed one bit in nearly two decades. That she should have stuck to the fringe she sported back then. Instead, you lead her to the shelf where coconut oil bottles are stacked. And then you lean over and whisper conspiratorially ‘but they are cheaper in the rival supermarket’.

A quick tale 84

Regime

The box was locked and the keys jangled from a string that hung around the old one’s neck. The box was marked ‘culture’ and the only one authorised to open it was the Honorable Mr. Vulture. Its contents were ancient, sacred and could not be tampered with. For they contained the rules that the citizens of the land to live by.

No climbing doors. Must jump 32 times every second Tuesday of the month. Every dog must be accompanied by a piano on 2 legs. Never, repeat, never ask a crow where he is headed. Yogurt to be consumed standing up always. Like I said, the culture box had diktats that decided how one must live.

Of course there were groups of people, mostly young, who rebelled, asked questions, got together in secret and broke the rules. Like not wearing a balloon on their heads on Fridays. And talking with their eyes open. But when the authorities came down on them, their clandestine activities were exposed and the guilty shamed. The public were warned to uphold the culture rules otherwise they would suffer a similar fate.

Every now and then, a new rule would be added to the already confounding mass of regulations. No one knew who came up with it. There would be a ban on the word ‘it’ on the 1st of each month. And people had to remember to point but not say the word. But everyone agreed this was their great culture and you must never mess about your legacy.

note: I wink and nod at George Orwell

A quick tale 83

Some day, some time

‘You never know when we’ll need it. Don’t throw it away’, said the mother.
‘When would you ever need an old umbrella held together by a string and safety pins?’, asked her young daughter who had launched herself into cleaning their home on a Sunday morning.
‘What if we had a sudden downpour?’
‘Amma, we’ve not had seasonal rains in three years. Forget sudden downpours.’
‘But what if it rained suddenly and I had to go out to buy some food?’
‘We’d just order food by telephone’
‘But what if the rains brought down a big tree and it fell on our telephone lines and our telephones went dead?’
‘Then we’d just borrow some from our neighbours’
‘But what if they had run out of food and cannot spare us any?’
‘Then we’d just get wet going out to buy some food. Now throw away the umbrella, will you?’

The mother nodded but put it away behind her sarees in the cupboard. So when it did rain one unusual March morning and there was nothing left in the fridge and the neighbours were away on holiday, she went out to the market. The tattered old umbrella tucked under her arm.

Projectwhy Short Story Competition Entries

Click here to read all entries to the Projectwhy Short Story Competition. Please vote for the winner. Thank you.

A quick tale 82

Earlier this evening

Right now only one person is alive. In flashback however, both of us started crossing the busy road.


Written for the Caferati Weekly Flash Fiction Competition. Theme for week 4 - flashback

A quick tale 81

Footwear blues

Do you remember that day when you walked out of the temple and found your slippers missing from where you had left them? At first, it was a feeling of utter incomprehension. Then came denial. No, it couldn't have happened. Not to me. But who would want to take my worn-at-soles slippers, you wondered. And gradually, you realised that they were gone for good. Your favourite pair was now bearing the weight of a different owner. You felt angry. Not just at the person who stole it. But at your slippers. How could they just leave me? I should never have spent good money getting them repaired. Wretched ungratefuls! Finally, you accepted it. And started looking for a pair that fit you from among the dozens left outside the temple.

A quick tale 80

Death of a friend

You've just found out that your classmate from school was one of those killed in the attack on World trade Centre some years ago. You rack your brains to remember every detail about her. She was dark, thin, of average height. Did she wear glasses? Probably. You do recall her voice. Nasal. Nothing singularly remarkable to deserve such a high-profile death, you think. But the next time September 11th events are mentioned, you say 'I used to know someone who died in the attacks. We were such good friends'.

A quick tale 79

A certain woman makes up her mind

She is sitting at her table, this middle-aged woman who has decided to set right her life on a Thursday evening. She is making a list of people she has had to please in the past year. 293 people on the list. Including the man from that call centre who called so many times that she simply had to buy broadband connection from him. And that disabled man who sat at the entrance to the supermarket with sad eyes and a collection box. And her colleague who had offered carrot cake last week. One which she said she loved although she finds the idea of carrot in a cake revolting. And that librarian who recommended a truly awful book to read on her holiday.

Starting this very minute, she resolves, she would no longer do anything to please anyone. No matter what they thought of her. No more Thai food for friends’ sake. Or staying back late to help colleagues with their projects. And no way could she be persuaded to renew her gym membership again. This is a new me, she thinks. The phone rings. It’s her landlady calling to say that she is forced to raise the rent because she’s strapped for cash. She finds herself agreeing and understanding and saying an awful lot of ‘ofcourses’.

But from tomorrow...

A quick tale 78

Serves her right

They raised their eyebrows in shock and clicked their tongues in sympathy when a terrible mishap befell her. Secretly though, they rubbed their hands in glee. She really had no right to be so beautiful, successful, rich. Or young.

A quick tale 77

Bird

They spotted it one morning. Lying on its back with feet up in the air. As if riding a bicycle upside down.

'Is it sleeping, ma?'
'I don't think so'

She did not know if her son understood what death meant. She did not wish to lie to him. Nor did she want to tell him about god, heaven, hell and after life because she was not sure where she stood on such issues.

'I think the bird is dead'

The little boy nodded as if he knew.

A quick tale 76

On dumping her

'You're too good for me', he said.
One look at his pathetic face and she agreed.

A quick tale 75

A man who mispronounced

He was 44, a director in a big company and someone who played golf on Saturday mornings. He also mispronounced the word 'embarrass'. He would say 'embrace' instead. When he was younger, whenever he said 'God, that is so embracing', people laughed it off. They thought he was being funny. Like when people deliberately mispronounce words such as 'foreign' or 'America' because they get the laughs.

As he grew older, he continued saying 'embrace' and was never corrected. By now he was in a senior position and heading million-dollar projects. Now, unless you want to lose your job, you don't go around telling your director how to pronounce. So if you ever heard a middle-aged man saying that he was so embraced, please laugh it off. But do tell him if his fly zip is open.

A quick tale 74

The reason she was crying

A young woman was crying all the way from Churchgate to Borivili. Which, if you don’t know Mumbai, is quite some distance. Now most people who saw her, saw a pretty, young, affluent woman and assumed that the reason she was crying was ‘man’ problem. She must have had a fight with her boyfriend. Or she must’ve been dumped, they guessed. When really, if you had asked her why she was crying, she would’ve told you that her dog been run over in quick tale 71. And that she was feeling incredibly guilty. Because while her dog lay dead all she could think about was how gorgeous the guy who had run her over was.

A quick tale 73

Fan

A girl whose name is the same as your sister’s used to be a fan of the Hindi film actress Kajol. She used to watch every movie that featured Kajol at least three times. She knew the usual fine details about her idol. Like when she was born and what her favourite colour is and whom she would like to be born again as. And when Kajol married an actor, that lanky Hindi actor whose name escapes me, the young fan was quite upset. Because she believed they were ill-matched. And the day she read that Kajol had decided to cut down on her movie assignments to concentrate on raising a family, she was devastated. She went for a long walk to let the information sink in and skipped dinner that evening. Later that night she pulled down posters of Kajol from her bedroom wall and put up Sachin Tendulkar’s instead.

Not a story at all

Two sisters - Lovely and Jubbly came by this way. But when they found that people in these stories had no names, they went back.

A quick tale 72

Habit

It was a bit like writing the old year in the date column in the first few days of the new year. Or still calling him your boyfriend months after you married him. Or brushing the non-existent hair off your shoulder the day after you chopped it. Or blowing into your mug of coffee to cool it long after it has turned lukewarm. She still referred to him in the present tense. And included him when she made dinner for four.

A quick tale 71

Death of a dog and other issues

You have just run over a dog. You could have sped on. But you are a decent person and so you stop and get out of the car. As you walk towards the bloody mess you wish you hadn’t. She’s a young woman of about 25 and there’s a look of utter incomprehension on her face. She’s staring at the recently squashed remains of her pet as if to make sure that what she is seeing is real. This will soon turn to anger and it will be directed towards you. ‘I’m sorry’, you say. She nods silently. You stand around the dead dog awkwardly not knowing what to do next.
‘I was taking her to the vet. She had an infection and has not eaten in two days’
‘I’m sorry’, you repeat, ‘Is there anything I can do?’
The woman, now crying freely in front of a stranger, shakes her head as if to say no.
You feel terrible. Even though it was not your fault. You feel wretched because you had two glasses of wine at lunch. You were confident nothing would happen. And now a dog lies with its innards exposed.
You want to hug her and tell her how truly sorry you are. And that you would never ever drink and drive again. But you find yourself asking if her dog was insured.

A quick tale 70

Sometime soon

A man who has your name is walking down the parking lot towards his car. He even looks like you and shares your taste in music and women. But he drives a burgundy Ford fiesta which I know is different from what’s sitting in your garage. As he gets into his car your namesake is thinking about his unborn child, tax returns which are due to be filed and England winning the Ashes. What he does not know is that he has just won a hundred dollars in a raffle drawn in a country several seas away. He will find out later that day and let out a whoop which will bring his 7-months pregnant wife from the kitchen to enquire. But for now he is waiting in the queue for the cars in front of him to move and drumming his fingers on the wheel.

Two to tango

The wonderful Ideamani has come up with a fantastic fundraising idea. Over to him for the details.

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http://projectwhy.org/justonerupee.htm. Kindly mention your full names and email ids in the additional notes section when you complete transaction in paypal. You will then receive your random lucky draw number via email. Additional donations can also be directed to the same paypal account.Please help us help those less fortunate.

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Please encourage your friends to participate and I would really appreciate if you could mention it in your blog. Thank you.

A quick tale 69

When you had guests over for dinner

It is a familiar dance. You will offer some more. They will say they have had enough. No, no, you will insist, do have some more. Oh, but I’m stuffed already, they will plead. Why? Was it not to your liking? you will query faking anxiety. It was delicious really, they will answer to appease. But you ate so little, you will say in mock anger. I had three helpings, they will cry. Then another spoonful at least, you will add. And they will oblige.

Except last night. When they said no the first time. You didn’t ply them with more food. And they went home a little hungry.

A personal request

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My friend Anouradha Bakshi writes...

Project Why is in the s**** house as we really have no funds beyond this month.http://herewego.wikispaces.org/whyOnerupee

The above explains why.. and more whys.The thing is that till date we have been working on oxygen that yours truly keep bringing, now we need lungs, and the major one is the one rupee.

My friend Sophie, a volunteer and lovely lady, said it would need 4 people to get 3 and 3 only 6 times. Now I hate chain letters and pyramid marketing but can you think of a way to put this across.

Let me confess something, I am not a great believer and yet I believe and the last few days I have been seeking help from the invisible forces.. now maybe you are just one of them!

The thing is that if I do not get the act together, many will lose their hope in life. Now, we normally pour scorn on chain letters too, and have physically removed a pyramid marketer from the premises once upon a when. But we do believe in invisible forces.

-

Please visit Projectwhy to find out how you can donate. Surely we can spare one rupee a day. Thank you.

A quick tale 68

Last Tuesday around the same time as a quick tale 67

You look at your watch and it's midday already. You don't want to be late for the meeting with your consultant. You park the car and walk briskly towards the office when you see her. She tries to hide but not quickly enough.

How can you forget the face from your school years? She was your closest rival. The one who lost to you every time. The one who was always at your heels, breathing down your neck. Egging you to do better.

You walk over to say hello. She enquires about your life. You say something innocuous about marriage and kids and putting a hold on career. You leave out the flourishing real estate business and the gorgeous children and the incredible husband and the disastrous first marriage.

And what about her, you ask. She talks excitedly about her job, busy life and her lack of time for relationships. She sounds happy. You exchange telephone numbers and promise to stay in touch.

You turn around and wave to her as she enters a posh restaurant. You remember a cheque you have to drop off at a charity shop. You can still make it in time for the meeting, you hope.

A quick tale 67

One lunch time last week

It’s Tuesday and you step out for a bite during lunch hour. You see her first. You recognise the face as one from your school years. Your rival. The one you lost to each time. In maths exams. In spelling competitions. In lemon-and-spoon races. Yes, the ONE.

You think of hiding but it's too late. She spots you and comes over to greet. So how have you been, you enquire. Oh the usual, she answers, marriage, babies, career-on-hold, things like that. Huge mortgage, crippling debt and a philandering husband, you add mentally.

And what have you been up to, she asks. Great job, fantastic prospects, frequent trips abroad, hectic partying, no time to settle down, you reply. Making it all sound unnecessarily glamorous.

Then you pull out your fancy mobile and note down her number. You promise to stay in touch and head for the restaurant. She turns around, waves and steps into a charity shop. I'll treat myself to a glass of wine today, you tell yourself.

A quick tale 66

Blame

She was sorry his coffee was not hot enough. She regretted that their food was so cold. She apologised for the weather not being good. Wasn’t she sad that their car had broken down. Surely it was her fault that their son had not passed the exam. How terrible she felt that the bank had not approved their loan. She took responsibility for the trains being late. And the baby being born early. And the government bans and the traffic jams. It was all down to her. It’s my mistake, it’s my mistake, it’s all my mistake, she admitted. When really, she couldn’t give a damn. A rat’s ass. Or a row of pins.

A quick tale 65

Sometime during the 4th round

‘What is the capital of Burundi?’ boomed the quizmaster.

Who cares? he thought. No, strike that. Who the bleeding fuck cares? What purpose does the capital of Burundi serve apart from making occasional appearances in corporate quizzes like this one? Have you ever met anyone that has been to Burundi? Or visited its questionable capital city? Who comes up with these questions? What is the point of this quiz? Why are we here? What is the reason for life?

He had a sudden, overwhelming urge to pull his pants down, haul his shirt over his head and run around the stage deranged shouting ‘Burundi! Burundi!’

‘Bujumbura’, answered team C.

A quick tale 64

One hot afternoon

You are sitting in a café alone. All by yourself. Feeling terribly sorry. That you have to pour your own tea, stir milk into it. With no one to offer sugar and for you to say ‘no sugar. Thank you’. You are sipping the hot brew when the waiter catches your eye. So you make a bet with yourself. If he walks over to your table and asks ‘anything else, sir?’ you will get a girl in the next six months. But if he does not, you are condemned to a life of solitude. He ambles along, stopping to smoothen a tablecloth. Then he clears a recently vacated table. Come over and ask me, you mentally beckon him. Mustering all the psychic powers inside you. He does not seem to get the message and starts to walk back to the kitchen. You start to panic. May be you are going to be condemned to a life of bachelorhood. No girlfriend, no wife and certainly no counselling to save your 8-year marriage. You are going to be drinking tea on your own with no one to offer sugar. ‘Garçon!’ you call out.

Projectwhy Short Story Competition

.

It's really quite simple. You mail me a short story of maximum 200 words, send your entry fee of just Rs.100 (or its equivalent) to Projectwhy and you could win £10 gift voucher from Amazon! If you're in the UK, you could win a £10 voucher from M&S.

The theme for the competition is 'childhood' and the last date for submission is 30th of September 2005. I'll put up the 3 short-listed stories on this blog and you get to decide the winner. You can send however many entries you want. If you cannot pay the entry fee, then any small sum will do.

This is your chance to become world famous. Okay, okay, famous among a handful of people. So get cracking and send your stories to ammania@gmail.com

Thank you.

A quick tale 63

Did anyone see?

A brush, a comb, half-eaten pack of Mintos, a loyalty card from that Bagel store, a picture of Luz Pillayar, a packet of kungumam from Anjaneyar temple, a folded pamphlet for Medieval Jousting with the telephone number of someone named Andrea scribbled at the back, a telephone card, two paper clips, two 2p coins, green crayon, red crayon, black pen cap, that particularly nice shade of lipstick from Bodyshop, a knitting needle, a sanitary pad, a bill for £3.83 from Marks and Spencer all housed inside a brown bag which I forgot to take with me as I got down from the train.

A quick tale 62

No suspense here

I'm going to tell you straight away what's going to happen to them. No twist at the end of the tale. Sixty three years from now, she'll succumb to pneumonia. Three months later, he will pass away in his sleep. Presumably from grief. But for now, they are looking at each other. He is wondering what a girl like her is doing in a place like this. And she is thinking what a guy like him is doing looking at a girl like her in a place like this.

A quick tale 61

One interesting lunch time

He was a 43-year old working at the cash till at McDonald’s. She had come to buy her lunch. What does a middle-aged man working in a place like this tell himself when he wakes up to go to work in the morning, she thought to herself. May be he was made redundant and he is working here to pay off his mortgage. And to pay for child support. And telephone bills, obviously. May be he is doing this job because he lost a bet. May be he is really an architect and is working at McDonald’s because he believes in their philosophy of making the world fat. May be he is just working there because he was. She was determined to find out what.
‘Next please!’
‘One Big Mac with fries, please’
‘Anything to drink?’
‘A diet coke. And can I ask you something?’

A quick tale 60

When hell freezes over or something like that

A pig was flying. And everyone who said that they would do something when pigs flew had to do it. Confirmed bachelors got married. High school drop-outs re-enrolled. Gym memberships soared. People were busy sorting out old promises that no one paid much attention to the airborne pig. Who was only carrying out a vow he had made to his father as he was being dragged away by the butcher. He had sworn that he would fly before papa pig became Sunday roast. And it was Saturday already.

A quick tale 59

Passing thoughts

What can you think about on a very long journey? Many things. Like she was doing at the moment. The weather. How godawfullystifling hot it was. The leaking nose. Of the child sitting in front. Why can’t his mother wipe it before it slides southbound to his mouth like it has just now? Passing villages. What do people in such far away villages do for a living? Where do they go if they want to fix a cycle tyre puncture? 40-year old male co-passenger. Can someone really have hair coming out of their ears and not do anything about it? And so on.
It would be another 7 hours before the train reached its destination. But she had plenty of thoughts to keep her company. And if she ran out of things to think about, there was the best seller that lay open on her lap.

Quick tales for charity - next

Continuing from here, here and here

A. Noname Moose's words 'love, eternity, contentment'. Inspired by ANM's comment here

"A story with love, contentment, eternity. $30 for 30 words. I won't count articles or pronouns. For every word less than 30, I'll add a dollar"

She was a word prostitute.

“That’s $31, sir”

Quick tales for charity - more

Continuing from here and here

Lokesh's words 'filthy, funny, flawed'

'Filthy, funny, flawed…' he whispered before trailing off to death.
The disciple who sat by his bed repeated them verbatim to others who
had gathered to find out what the great man's last words were. The
words were quoted and quoted again and before long, it had become a mantra. Filthy, funny, flawed, filthyfunnyflawed, filyfnnyfawd. They were said to
contain the meaning of life, universe and everything else. The answer
to eternal questions. The essence of cosmic mysteries. Those that
chanted it confessed to a new inner peace. Soon, the 3 fs became a
global phenomenon. T-shirts carried their message, sms jokes were made
about them and songwriters struggled to find words that rhymed (healthy, cunning, fraud?).

But if the master had lived a little longer, he would have added
'gorgeous' to the three words. His life was flashing before his
dying eyes. And he was describing the girl he was in love with many
moons ago.

Quick tales for charity - continued

Continuing from here...

Give me three random words and I'll write you a quick tale using those words. If you're happy with it, you send a nice little amount to projectwhy based on what you think the story is worth. You can send them a cheque anyway. But this way, it's more fun.

For details on how to contribute, please visit projectwhy.org
To read about their work, please visit their blog.

Please send your three words to ammania@gmail.com

Kaajukatli's words 'supercilious, more, train'

He loved words. Long, multi-syllabled, tongue-twisters he just couldn’t get enough of. Ignominious, fractious, bilious, opprobrious…he could use them all in one sentence. He also found that girls just fell for big words. Much like how guys adored big…well, never mind.
So one day, our hero boards a train and is adventitious enough to get a seat opposite a pulchritudinous young woman.
‘It’s a resplendent day, isn’t it?’
‘Can’t you see I’m sedulously working?’, she replied superciliously returning to the paper on hand.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to exacerbate you’
‘Thank God for my forbearance’, she muttered.
I wish I could tell you more. But it was my station to alight and I left the tautologous couple to get on with the journey.

*

Vinu's words 'love, pity, ego'

The guard was waving his green flag. The train was ready to depart. Goodbyes and ‘I love you’s were said. Promises to stay in touch were made. Tears were shed, hands were shook, kisses exchanged, egos bruised, pitiful looks cast. The usual drama was enacted. Everyone expected the train to move but it remained rooted. A routine had been played out and a cue had been missed. They hummed and hawed in uncomfortable silence. Seconds turned into prolonged minutes. Their earlier regret at the train leaving now turning into a desire to see it budge. And it did, finally. Phew!

*

Musten Jiruwala's words 'life after death'

The world was going to end on the 23rd of August 2003. It was a Saturday and was convenient for everyone. Those who believed in life after death, packed carefully. Toothpastes, brushes (you don’t want yellowing teeth in the nether world), American Express (don’t leave home without) and some light reading (like Harry Potter). When it didn’t happen, they consulted their diaries, checked the calendar and blamed the government for the world not ending. The next End Of The World is scheduled for the 15th of November this year. Which is a Tuesday. Bother!

*

AF's words 'cauliflower, ant, stapler'

"What calls itself a flower but isn't one?"
"I don't know"
"Cauliflower. What calls itself an ant but isn't one?"
"I've no idea"
"Elephant. Where would you find a stapler?"
"I'm terrible at these riddles. Go on, give me the answer"
"That wasn't a riddle. Where have you kept the stapler? I have a bunch
of papers that need stapling."

Quick tales for charity

-

If I were a singer, I'd have raised money using my voice. If I were a painter...okay, you get the idea.

The point is, my rather negligible talent lies in telling stories and they seem to've found an audience in you. And I want you to pay for it.

Wait! Don't run! It's to raise money for projectwhy.

Here's what I thought I'd do. Give me three random words and I'll write you a quick tale using those words. If you're happy with it, you send a nice little amount to projectwhy based on what you think the story is worth. You can send them a cheque anyway. But this way, it's more fun.

Come on, let's write a story with a happy ending.

Please send your 3 words to ammania@gmail.com

*
Vel Dhingaravel's words 'a happy ending'

She was determined to write a story with a happy ending. She opened her pen, smoothed out a paper and stained it with her words. In her story, a little boy runs away from home only to be kidnapped, maimed and sold to a rich Arab sheikh who used him to race camels. Where's the happy ending, you ask. Well, the Sheikh was a very happy man when the little boy won the race.

*

Balakrishnan's words 'spirituality, agnosticism, happiness'

.

"And what do your suitcases look like?" asked the airline officer.

"One's white and the other a little grey. They're marked...er...'spirituality'and 'agnosticism' ", she replied.

He looked up to see if she was joking.

"Sorry about the mix up", said the officer with no hint of apology,"give us your address and we'll trace your suitcases as soon as we can."

As she left the airport, minus her baggage, she felt strangely light. An odd kind of happiness. It must be the coffee, she told herself.

.

*

The ramblings of a shoe fiend's words 'Serendipity, banana, rather'

‘Give me 3 random words and I’ll tell you a story using them.’
‘Okay, how about serendipity, rather and…’ she looked around and added curiously ‘banana’.
‘Alright. There was this guy called Serendipity. His parents named him so to remind themselves of the happy accident that led to his conception. One day he was walking down the road when he slipped on a banana skin and was rushed to the hospital with a broken ankle. That’s where he met and fell in love with a nurse and later married her. When they had a baby, Serendipity remembered not to call his child banana.’
‘That’s such a bad story’
‘I agree’, said the storyteller, ‘but what would you rather be doing? Going out for a walk?’
It would be 3 hours and 18 really bad stories before the friends would be rescued from their lift.

*

Sridharandv's words 'dahl in kerala'

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"And finally, stir the karela into your dal," said the chef as he added fried pieces of bitter gourd to the simmering pot of lentils.

'Add kerala in dahl' she wrote in her notebook. Spelling was never her strong point.

.

*

Daniella Robertson-Glenn's words 'snagged, lithe, cloudy'

.

What is...

snagged - caught while snogging

lithe - as in 'pleath sith while the lamp is lithe'

cloudy - a rowdy clown

.

*

Shyam's words 'printer, itch, chocolate'

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He was a printer
She was a chocolatiere
He proof read
She scooped and stirred
His words were nutty brown
Her chocolates were inky black
It was a perfect match
One itched, the other scratched.

.

*

The last blogger's words 'a little faith'

.

Small boat sails

In a sea of despair

A little faith

.

(Gosh! How I love sounding pseudo-deep, intellectual and abstract ;))

A real story

This is a personal appeal on behalf of my friend Anuradha Bakshi. I'd really appreciate your help with regards to a young mother-of-four who is to undergo a life-saving operation. You can read her story here

If you live in London or in the South east of England and if you have any fundraising ideas, please write to me. Thank you.

A quick tale 58

Blogworld

Edit-me! Edit-me! screamed the links from the side bar. Like horny women.

A quick tale 57

Untitled

When she was down, every poem was written for her. Every line told her story. When she was happy, she only needed a cup of tea.

A quick tale 56

Weight-loss program

48, 47, 46...She struggled to shed the last one kilo. Starvation, colonic irrigation, laxatives, smoking, vomiting. Nothing worked. She stood solid at 46 kilos. So tantalisingly close to her target and yet, so bloody hard. Her bulk just refused to come off any further. That's when she came up with the idea. A kitchen knife in hand, she stood on the scales. Drip, drip, drip...and the weight started sliding. 50 gms, 200 gms, half-a-kilo and finally! There! The needle settled on the magic number - 45. Plop! Her fingers fell to the floor and she swooned.

A quick tale 55

A contest

They competed with each other to show off who had read more books. I have 500 books, said one. I have 5000, said another. An entire library, said the third. Have you read Sartre? Marquez? Kafka? Hemingway? What about Baudelaire? Poetry, fiction, science, theology. They quoted from rare books, unheard-of works. It was an intellectual beauty parade. Much like how a lesser man (or woman) would have boasted lovers. The bookworms jostled for the best-read crown. To them it was more important to be seen reading. It didn’t matter what they had learned. Only what they had read.

A quick tale 54

Wishlist

‘I won’t be a burden on any of you. One morning you will wake up and find me gone’ he used to say to his family. But that was when he was younger and healthier and was only in the early stages of dementia. He slid down the slope rapidly in the following years and lost control of his life along with that of his bowels. They took him to expensive hospitals, put him on imported medication and employed someone to clean up after him. They even celebrated his 80th birthday with great fanfare. By then he could no longer remember his resolve to die painlessly.

A quick tale 52

Maintenance

8 glasses of water a day. 7 hours of sleep. Vitamins for a healthy body. Calcium for strong nails, bones and teeth. Atkin's, South Beach, Grapefruit, Macrobiotic. Facials for smooth skin. Creams and scrubs to polish and buff. Surgery for laughter lines. Pluck, tweeze, thread, wax, shave. Sit ups for abs. Push ups for arms. Aerobics for the heart. Weight training for firming and toning. Stretches for love handles. Protein serum for bouncy hair. Detox every month. Botox every six weeks. Spinach and broccoli juice for breakfast. Miso soup for lunch. Sunflower seeds and pine nuts to snack. Fruits for dessert. Then one day she dropped everything. And let it all hang out. No one noticed the difference.

A quick tale 51

After all this time

He was the one she was in love with many years ago. She could recognise that voice anywhere in the world. She turned around to see him. His once-lean frame now sagged under prosperity. The firm jaw had gone a little soft. Now peppered with a day-old stubble. Hunger had left his eyes. The tight curls on his head had lost their spring and were mild-mannered waves now. She quickly looked away before he could recognise her. There were still traces of love lining her eyes. Which she didn’t want him to see.

A quick tale 50

Claim to fame

Her marital status was mentioned unfailingly each time her name came up in discussion. Much like how it’d be said of a certain monument. That it was one of the seven wonders of the world. Or how a certain entertainer was always the King of pop. Or how such-and-such actress was the most beautiful woman in the world. Similarly, she was not the one who wrote free verse or climbed the steps on an escalator or had infinite patience or cried at the plight of children or gave away money unflinchingly or ran a business ruthlessly or had a weak knee or suffered frequent insomnia. She was always the one who had not married.

How to tell...

Honeymooners

They stick to each other like there is no space. In an empty carriage.

A quick tale 49

Loo story

She hated going on buses. Where there were no toilets and she would have to sit tight until her destination. She envied the way men relieved themselves in any corner. Not caring for what people thought. Not bothering to hide as they went about their business. How could women act like we never visited a toilet before, she wondered. For, not once did she see a woman get out of the bus to take a leak. On one particular journey however, the pressure on her bladder grew so bad that she went blue in the face. She asked the driver to stop and hurried behind the bushes. And everyone complained that she was delaying the journey.

A quick tale 48

Specifics

‘Modern with traditional values’ – he would write in the matrimonial column, about the wife he wants. Ask him what he means by that and he’d say ‘She should wear jeans but not shorts. Should pour me a drink but not have a sip herself. Should know cooking. Using a microwave. Can have short hair but not too short. Should go to work but not in a demanding career.’ Roughly, this would be his answer. And he will get a wife who meets his criteria.

A quick tale 47

Pseudonym

He wrote under his wife’s name. So they called him Mr. Wifesname. Funny, considering his wife was referred to as Mrs. Husbandsname.

A quick tale 46

Silver lining

She was pulled into a last-minute meeting at work. And was further delayed by an important phone call. Then she missed her bus. When she boarded one, it did not stop where she wanted to get off. So she had to walk back. When her shoe strap broke. Which slowed her even more. And there was a sudden downpour. So she had to wait till it stopped. Finally, drenched and limping, she arrived late for the movie. And while getting to her seat, she accidentally stamped on her ex-boyfriend’s toes. Which was rather nice.

A quick tale 45

All about me

She was the kind of person one did not want to be stuck next to on a long train journey. She would go on about her thyroid, the increasing cholesterol level, painful arthritis, the mystery fever that struck last month. She could give detailed description of each to anyone who’d listen. Or not.

How she has garlic pills to control cholesterol, how they make her feel bloated and make her fart and burp at all times, how she has lost appetite, and can no longer smell or feel the tip of her fingers. Has she told them about the diabetes scare she had in February? And the time she fell down the stairs and twisted her ankles? Surely they don’t know about how they nearly removed her uterus? Yes, she’d like some coffee. With two sugars, please. But do they know that she can no longer tell between green and yellow? May be she’s going colour blind. She’s due for an eye-check up anyway. And what was that scar on the elbow? Oh, she has a similar one from when she spilt boiling milk on her arm.

Then one day she was run over by a truck and was killed instantly. It was exactly the kind of accident she would have loved to talk about.

A quick tale 44

A forgotten lesson

It was a call from her best friend that woke her up. ‘Quick, turn on the telly! There’ve been explosions all over London'. She watched in horror as her beloved city was plunged into chaos. Bodies were retrieved, places cordoned off and a deep sense of shock had taken over. The events made her realise how flimsy life was. ‘I will start living for the day’, she resolved. She would live her dreams, chuck the job she hated so much, get a tattoo, go on a round-the-world trip, have all the sex she could and eat all the ice cream there was. For she may be dead tomorrow. Six months later, she was still in the same job. With a home loan that would take 20 years to pay off.

A quick tale 43

A letter in love


My dearest,

I told a bank clerk about us today. Her eyes widened when I told her that we were married for 33 years. But what can a mere number reveal? How can it ever capture the sight of you standing in our doorway, cutting the sunlight in your shape as you dried your hair? Or how you used to refuse to cook on Sundays because you were ‘cooked-out’? Or how you’d rest your legs on my lap and ask me to massage your feet? Do you remember how you cried when Kanna was born? Because you really wanted a daughter. You cried again when Kunjamma was born. Because she didn’t look anything like you. If only you could see her now!

And when you were diagnosed, how brave you were. Though I knew you were crumbling inside. You became a scared little girl afraid of the dark. And for the first time in all those years, I saw the light die from your eyes. Slowly, you started putting the toys away and began preparing for the next game. You arranged everything, even picking out a name for Kunjamma’s unborn child. Our grandchild was born yesterday. She’s got your beguiling, almond eyes. And when I call out to her, I will be calling your name. For I know you’ve come back to me.

Yours always,

Me

Not a quick tale

Hello Reader,

I am the man from Quick tales. My name is...well, it doesn’t matter what my name is. I’m always ‘her husband’ or ‘her boyfriend’ or the ‘one who became her password’. The author portrays me as a chauvinistic, abusive slime ball. Well, guess what? I’m not. That’s that.

Regards,

Me

Rules for her

She had to be like a piece of wood. Who must not feel sensual or sexy. Or erotic. Or have dreams. Or fantasies. Nothing allowed. She was to remain dormant. Her legs shut tight. Her mind padlocked.
Until her husband touched her awake.
And rolled on top of her. Never asking what she wanted. Only doing. For she must not feel sensual or sexy or erotic. No, not allowed.

A quick tale 42

Ambition 2

As a child if she had been asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, would she have answered ‘founder of an NGO for street children’? She was pretty sure she would have.

For my friend, Anu