Monthly Archives: June 2011


Flash Fiction 14 – Word Prompt – Score

She hated the beginning of monsoon season. People were always in a huge hurry, less generous and more likely to trample her.
She always gave up going to the station for a week while the monsoon made up its mind about whether it wanted in now or a week later. People invariably forgot umbrellas, wore expensive shoes or clothes and then ran helter-skelter to preserve their precious belongings. Of course, it was a pointless exercise. The rain was faster than them all. And more importantly, had more staying power. How long could you run? But it could rain forever.

She shifted on her mat, folding one leg in half and curling the other around it. This way, she ended up sitting on one half of one buttock. And as anyone could tell you, one numb half buttock was much better than one full one. She pulled the cloth of her saree over her head. It wasn’t cold, but it was good to look like you were shivering.

The tap-tap-tap of the rain had reduced from the torrent it was. She licked her lips, tasting the tang of the coming monsoon on them.
Time for her yearly holiday. She wouldn’t come here for a week now. She’d sit at home, in her shack and her neighbour would give her two cups of tea a day. Her son would feed her a roti a night. It wasn’t a bad deal.

She jangled the tin at her feet and felt for the thin sheet of plastic on which she sat. Around her people walked down the stairs, hurrying to the trains, which then hurried them to wherever else.
She shook the tin at hurrying footsteps. After so many years of begging in the station, she could keep score of how many coins were in her tin by the sound. A good thing too, considering she was blind anyway.

She rattled her tin and raised her cupped hand to the heavens. God might not be listening, but some sap on his way home definitely would.

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Posted by on June 22, 2011 in Fiction




Flash Fiction 13 – Word Prompt – Gates

She woke in bed with a start. Her grandfather’s voice saying her name seemed to echo in the house.
She looked around. This was as far from home as it could get. Despite the air conditioning, she was sweating. She lay back. And tried to sleep. And couldn’t shake the shiver down her spine.

She woke up. The neighbours were playing bhajans again. An ode to Ganpati floated through the air.
She showered. And walked back into the bedroom, rubbing her hair. A bhajan crept into the room.
Her head turned to listen. And she stood rooted to the spot, the water dripping from her hair and puddling on the floor.
Om Sai Namo Namah. Sri Sai Namo Namah. Jai Jai Sai Namo Namah. Satguru Sai Namo Namah.
Tears coursed towards the puddle in the floor. Her throat was tight.
She’d sung this song for days after her grandfather’s stroke. Sitting down on the puddle, she continued to cry.

Thank God it wasn’t raining. Picking up her wallet, she strode out of the office and towards the mall.
Unlocking her phone, she dialed her mother’s number. Till she reached the mall, she talked.
The challenge was to not blurt out that she was hunting for her mom’s perfect birthday gift. Or that she was coming home for the big day. For just the weekend, but what the hell. A trip home was a trip home.
She reached the mall, went through the useless security check. And started to look at watches. One particularly glittery one caught her eye. Holding her breath, she tried it on.
And noticed that her emerald ring was gone. Twenty minutes of searching around the store, and fifteen more on the road later, she started walking back to work.
She called her mom. “Oh. I’m sorry honey,” Mom said tiredly. “I can’t talk for too long, I have to go put juice through Thatha’s feed tube. Was this the ring he bought you last year?”
Quietly, she said “yes” and told her mom she’d talk later. She stood on the street corner, outside the gates of her office building, numbly watching the cars roar by. And gazed up into the sky as the rain started to bullet down.

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Posted by on June 7, 2011 in Fiction