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Showing posts from January, 2015

Bedtime.

Mother,

               The day is over and the night is here, with her velvety blanket, coaxing me to rest my tired   being; but,the blanket lacks the warmth, Ma, the warmth of your embrace.

               As I lie down, the pillow cradles my head in its softness; but, I miss the softness that I felt in your lap, the softness that took the strain off my mind, and nudged my eyelids to rest for the day.

              As bedtime nears, I pine for  those nights of my childhood, when you lay by my side, patting my forehead, as you tucked me in bed; humming those soothing lullabies, or, taking me far away, to the distant lands of the kings and the queens -- a fantasy world, I could lose myself in.

              Ma, the world seems dark, and life, so cruel; there is a hollowness in my heart, and fear in my soul -- it does get lonely, you know, without you.

             If growing up meant being torn away from you, I would have asked for a lifetime of childhood, just so that I could spend it with …

Freedom.

Her hand slipped out of his, as soon as he fell asleep. The evening episode still fresh in her mind, she flinched, as she  felt the bruises on her soft hands.  He had complained about the rice being undercooked. Yet again. She stifled a sob as  she lay there, still as a statue,  scared she might waken him.   She turned slowly to look at him in the faint light that streamed through the slit in the heavy curtains. The slender beam of light failed to soften his harsh features.  
               Four years, and she still had been unable to come to terms with this life. With what had become of her life.  Marriage with this misogynist tyrant of a man -- all for her father's honour -- had robbed her of her very essence. Every time she looked at her reflection in the mirror,  she failed to recognise the sickly pale skeleton of a woman, who looked back at her.
             But, life changed. It had to. Wasn't that the rule of this world? 
              The eerie looking mask and the sword …

Hope not.

"I asked mother if I needed to add some sugar to it; I knew she was watching over my shoulder. How could I go wrong with her favourite recipe? So, I added a bit of sugar, and some more salt, and tasted it. And, it had turned out perfect! I was over the moon!  I prepared it for the first time in my life, and I got it right! Just the way it turned out, when she made it last!"

"Why do you underrate your culinary skills? I always told you, you were good!"

                  "I am not good. I am 'okay'. But, these last few days, since I have begun preparing mother's specialities -- with a lot of trepidation, mind you -- and, since they have been turning out pretty good. my confidence seems to be returning. And, I make it a point to ask her if I have missed out on anything, or, if something needs to be added."

"What is it that you are trying to say, now?"

                  "All I am trying to say is, that mother is here. She is somewhere a…

To believe or not to believe...

Her fingers danced rhythmically on the keyboard, as she typed away furiously, rushing to finish her article. With the family fast asleep, this was the only time she could devote for her passion. The day passed by in a mad rush; getting the kids ready for school, packing lunch for her husband, clearing up after they all left, completing the daily chores. She hardly had a moment to pause. But, nights -- now, there was no time like the night -- with the world snoring away peacefully, she could think straight, think clear.

               For a moment, she stopped to think. The article was on paranormal activities, and whether people believed in them. A lot of  research had gone into it, and now she had to give it the finishing touches. She took in a deep breath as she massaged her tired shoulders. The question she intended to ask at the end was, if people really believed in the supernatural. Watching horror movies and then allowing the mind to play tricks was a differen…

Labour of love.

I happened to come across an article on housewives in today's newspaper.  It said that, " a recent High Court judgement has fixed the price of a homemaker's life at Rs 5,000  a month."   I read it aloud to ensure it fell on  hubby's ears. It did fall, unlike other trivial issues, that generally fall on deaf ears. However, the outcome was not very impressive. Hubby, who was in my domain, toasting bread slices for his rumbling tummy, quickly appeared with a plate of two tanned slices, topped with melting cheese, prepared specially  for me. 
           I was pretty stunned! But, before I could form the question, he answered, "This one is for you, my dear, so that you don't ask me to deposit 5,000 bucks into your bank account from the next month." Yes, hubby has been accorded with the gift of the gab, which makes sure my witty retorts stay with me, till death do us part.  Now, there are many out there, who will find this gesture extremely loving, and oh,…

Hope and faith.

"I am  sorry, honey. I'll  be home soon. Promise," Val apologised, as she left for work.  Scott was dispirited.

               It was two years since they met, and now, he wanted to propose.

               Shrugging off his misery, he set the table ready with her favourite food and  red wine.

                                                **********

            He stood waiting by the window.  For Val.  For her dazzling smile.

           His mind knew it, but his heart  refused to give up. It had been three years since that fateful day, when an oncoming car had left her comatose.


                                    **********

Mother always said, "Faith can move mountains."

                                                **********



95 words.
This post is part of FRIDAY FICTIONEERS by ROCHELLEWISOFF.

Just chillin'...

The alarm goes off at 6:30 am. I scramble to shut the croaking machine before it awakens the husband. Groggily, I squint at the window, which seems to be welcoming the daylight as happily as a wife welcoming her out-stationed husband.  Shucks! Its morning already! But, I just slept a few hours ago! My mind gets into the grumbling mode. Well, can't blame it. Who won't grumble on having to wake up in the wee hours during the best season of the year?
                I go back to sleep -- to catch a precious few winks -- when the dog begins to whine. I again scramble to shut the whining machine by patting his head and pulling him in my blanket, with no luck. This whining machine comes with a sharp brain and a stubborn resolve. I have no choice but to shrug my blankie and step out of my warm cocoon.  Its time for his walk. 

              The cold hits me as I step outdoors, all bundled up in my woollens. I still shiver as we brave the wind,  and think about the  day ahead. The mind …

A battle ends.

In a languid state, breathing her last few breaths, she looks at peace -- a blessing -- after a lifelong struggle with the devil, that resided  in her mind.  
         Living  a  life on drugs,  that held her together, but sapped her of every ounce of her energy,  death is a welcome release. 

 Word Prompt: Together.       
Words: 50

Linking Up with the Fiction Challenge ‘From 15 to 50′

The rainbow.

Little Kevin lay on his back as he stared at the rain that drummed on the skylight in a soft pitter-patter. The story that dad had been narrating, had long since been falling on deaf ears. He seemed riveted by the changing hues of the monsoon sky as it went from a dull grey to a pale blue  as the sun peeped out from behind the  dark clouds causing a faint rainbow to appear.
"Dada, didn't you once tell me about that little boy, who climbed the rainbow and went across it  to find his mother, who had gone to heaven?" the question slipped out of his innocent lips, as dad stared open-mouthed.
         He turned over and lay on his tummy as his  beady eyes bore into his dad's. 
          "Do you think I can climb over that rainbow and go across it to bring mum back?"  the quivering voice asked.

152 words.
Word Prompt: Rainbow.

*Written for Wordy Wednesday.

Chef's special.

A  day spent with  the girl friends, indulging in some much-needed gossip-therapy (and some retail-therapy),  leaves me feeling buoyant and renewed as never before, when realisation strikes, like lightning.
                 My domain has been under the husband's care for an entire day and I begin to imagine the scene that will welcome me at home; the house  in a complete mess,  clothes changed a hundred times lying around, awaiting their turn to be dumped in the laundry basket,  the towel drying on the bed, newspapers  flying around in the drawing room, and the kitchen -- MY kitchen --  a war zone! 
              What did he cook for lunch? I wonder, remembering his words, "Don't you worry about my meals, darling. You go, enjoy your time with the girls!"  
             All the joy that I amassed during those precious moments seems to be retreating in the shadows, as the mound of chores awaiting me begins appearing in front of my eyes like an apparition, sucking the win…