Category: fiction

Who was she after all?

Maya, long flowing hair, a saree wrapped more inviting than covering, her teaching music seemed just an excuse to flaunt her sensuous voice, her toenails painted red and the sound of anklet was mesmerizingly beautiful.

I had seen her sometimes amused, smiling, talking to herself or in deep thought, sometimes glum, she did look at me many a times from the opposite window and gestured me to come home.

It was that stormy evening when I got down my stairs to meet her and know her more,  as I stood under her apartment knocking at the door of anxiety, ecstasy when Narang babu startled me by pulling me back.

“No one stays there, who did you see? Maya, don’t fall for that ploy Somerbabu, it’s nothing but Maya, a maze,” I was lost in melancholy, was it my imagination or her ploy? Who was she after all?

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M? – hmmmm, mytified he jumped, I was like nooooo!! I said misunderstood and he gave me such a predictable look that I was choosing to be pissed or irritate and announced “Melancholy”. Am sure a super post on melancholy awaits us at Shashank’s blog here.

He walked into his inherited maternal grand mom’s house almost after 30 years; the family feud had kept him away.

Nostalgia stuck to his every pore same as the dust of the dilapidated house, smell of freshly made butter that still lingered or the ripe mangoes that he climbed the tree in the backyard to pick.

Strolling through every room he lifted the copper box that his grand mom never let him touch saying he would get it when the right time arrives, his keenness that he held for so many years gave way.

After opening it with much struggle he found a key to a locked cupboard, his emotions knew no bounds when he found pictures of his childhood, his clothes neatly stacked, his toys, his birthday gifts still wrapped for the years he stopped coming and along with it was his future a letter mentioning property and jewellery that he had inherited.

The letter dropped off his hand as he sat down opening his birthday gifts.

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After a super holiday and break on Sunday, I am back to the challenge. This time I haven’t even asked and I know I will invite trouble if I don’t for L 🙂 So am all keen to know what Shashank is writing on Keenness, to read be keen here .

The elite Kapoors’ decided a lunch at Taj to meet and finalize on their to be daughter in law for their only London returned son.

The tables were laid, both families seated, the Pinot Noir along will lavish lunch served.

Mrs. Kapoor kept on staring from the corner of her eye Mr. Gowda wrestle tangdi chicken in his plate when out of nowhere it flew and fell right in from of Mr. Kapoor’s plate.

His eyes widened in embarrassment and his face turned pale, Mrs. Kapoor gulped the entire morsel in a jiffy.

That’s when son Kapoor picked up his plate and sat next to Mr. Gowda kept his fork and knife away and started eating with hands; Mr. Gowda smiled and joined in biting of his left over chicken with his hands too.

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So a delight of being remembered as a good person, well who doesn’t want that isn’t it? E it was and I wanted a very different emotion so chose Embarrassed. A smile guaranteed in the end for both our posts, you start with mine and extend the smile with Shashank’s take on Embarrassment here .