The turbulence – Part 2

With a rapidly palpitating heart, Maya manages to shut the swaying window , hoping for familiar,  faraway smile on the other side of the window to shut out , too.

Maya is drenched in sweat and the choking feeling makes it impossible for her to even call out to her next door neighbor .

The unpremeditated visit to the beach with her friends and his accidental death flash in her mind like an ominous nightmare.

Struggling to catch her breath, she turns to her infant who had been wailing unattended through her mother’s horrified stupor.

Maya trembles as the thud on the door  intensifies the pronounced cues  on the impending danger.

“ I didn’t kill you ” Maya stutters, clutching her infant who is thankfully clueless about the tumultous storm or the frightening shadow of the past   .

This story was written for Six Sentence Stories at Zoe’s uncharted , the cue of the week being “cue”. Thanks to Zoe for hosting the challenge.

A new day

The villagers are ecstatic to see the excavator working its way though the site of “birth” of the new shopping center. The village headman , administrative and development officers are queued up around the foundation site. However, for the villagers , the most important person today, their venerated hero is , Mr. Seth.

A few months ago, the same equipment had caused semi-annihilation in the village. The construction of national highway had resulted in demolition of shops of small shopkeepers, the debris announcing loss of livelihood . Mr. Seth  has worked relentlessly to expedite the task of rehabilitation of the dispossessed villagers, using his connections in the media , negotiating with the local leaders and  bureaucrats , shaking the foundations of dormancy with his characteristic revolutionary zeal.

“Congratulations Mr. Seth .  So, you are never going to take up that job in the city, are you?”, asks his wife , standing next to him . “Still, some more agendas to work on . I am going to need your help in some of my projects “ replies Mr . Seth. After a brief pause, he adds ,“You like it here now , don’t you?”

This story was written for FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017 WEEK #21, where participants have to write a flash fiction piece under 200 words, inspired by the photo prompt for the given week.

Image courtesy : https://www.pexels.com/photo/orange-kliemt-excavator-on-brown-soil-162515/

Nemesis

My children have come home for their vacation. This is the one month , I really look forward to , the month when the house becomes a home .

It feels nice, when the children remain adorably recognizable through life’s metamorphosis. While they can’t visit every now and then , due to geographical barriers and myriad demands of life, they call everyday. Unfailingly .

Sudha , my wife, is inexplicably happy too . Only she cant express it . Last year, the doctors had diagnosed her unbearable coat of “permanent frost “ as locked-in syndrome – a steadfastly stagnant malady. Sudha was an amazing singer. Sometimes, I long for her to call my name or to sing that favourite song of ours in her uniquely melodious voice.

Rohit ,our younger son , embraces his mother seated in her wheelchair . I read Sudha’s silent happiness in her blinking eyes .

This short story was written based on this week’s photo prompt at Flash fiction for aspiring writers . Thanks to Priceless joy for hosting the challenge.

Image courtesy : loniangraphics. 

Ten things of thankful

The theme of the blog “Ten Things of Thankful “ takes me back to my school assembly where we would often sing the hymn “…just be thankful for the good things that you ‘ve got”. The song encourages gratitude as a fulfilling way of life and calls us to appreciate our many blessings as compared to so many  who are not as privileged . Yet, trapped in the mesh of fierce competitiveness and the rush to jostle through to the next day, it is easy to overlook the “good things “ we are blessed with that are for many “just a dream”. Thanks to dear Josie for this wonderful opportunity to pause and think and say it aloud .

1.I am thankful for the selfless, unconditional love of my parents . Not only are they great parents , they are wonderful human beings too who consider selfless service and reaching out to extended family members , friends and neighbours to be an essential part of living. I thank them for showing me  that compassion and empathy makes a human, most humane.

2.I am thankful for the privilege of experiencing the joy of being a mother and also for the pleasure of re-living my childhood all over again .

3.I am thankful for the special bond that I share with my lovely siblings and cousins.

4.I am thankful for the gift of life and that of sight , hearing and speech – the gifts that I often take for granted . 🙂

5.I am thankful for the gift of memory – the intangible time machine that adds so much more beauty and meaning to life .

6.I am thankful for a roof over my head and my daily bread , for, there are about 225 million people in my country who struggle for basic essentials.

7.I am thankful for my revered guru (teacher ) who leads me from darkness to light.

8.I am thankful for the education imparted by the good teachers of my school that has helped me to appreciate that real education is beyond alphabets and numbers or  learning facts and formulas by heart .

9.I am thankful for my friends who strengthen my faith in “bond beyond blood “and help me to treasure the fact that happiness multiplies and sorrows divide when we share them .

10.I am thankful for the good sense of starting this blog . I have had great fun so far , meeting some wonderful writers and bloggers and learning about new perspectives , new stories. After all , it’s the  convergence of the “different” that makes this space so interesting.

This was written for Ten Things of Thankful hosted by Josie.

My guiding light

Sometimes, I wonder what my daughter will say/write about her mother in that school essay or in that discussion with her friends. She is still young (just a little over 5) to articulate her feelings and thoughts and, in our home , we hardly say “I love you, dear daughter “ and vice versa . You could say it’s the surfacing of my “mom guilt “ at intervals that makes me wonder whether or how much she loves me . A peek into our most animated mother- daughter moments would show the mother talking at 100 decibels (:))during our tug-of-war at meal times , the daughter being an almost “food recluse “ . And then there are those long lectures on proper “brushing techniques”, conservation of water (the daughter being a water- games-in- the -washroom enthusiast), techniques to preserve eyesight i.e. less TV hours, more green veggies and the mother’s version of a nagging “early to bed , early to rise “ rhyme . To name a few, that is . And then of course, there are pleasant moments like the mother and daughter playing with their favorite Lego, reading the gorgeously  illustrated story books, watching Disney programmes like friends , coloring without the rulebook ,laughing away without a reason. Though pleasant “interludes “would be more apt here.

My moments with my daughter invariably take me to the one who has been the personification of affection and kind patience. She has hardly ever raised her voice at me, hardly ever imposed her wishes on me and has shown me that a mother’s heart doesn’t confine its frontiers to its child/children. She loves and gives to my cousins , my neighbours , the boy with the tattered clothes as generously as she does to me and my sisters . She encourages us to think about others and respect their way of life with her kind and thoughtful behavior/interactions . While in college , I would feel this temptation to “gel” with my mother over neighborhood gossips etc. , like some of my friends did. That was the one thing she was really strict about , her unwillingness to laugh at another’s expense . I have seen her sacrifice for the family with an open heart . She would be certainly displeased with the use of “sacrifice “, if she happens to read this post.What makes her the most beautiful is her manner of selfless giving , without expectations. She inspires me to be better , just by being the wonderful human being and mother that she is .

This post was written for Finish the Sentence Friday where the prompt is to finish the sentence “Oh mother….”. Thanks to Kristi and Lisa for hosting the challenge.

The house across the street

You see  that white house  across the street with the slender green tree , infront , that’s my friend Joyce’s . The house was formerly brick-red in colour, just like our apartment.

I had met Joyce in a bus , funny, isn’t it that we should be oblivious strangers in the same neighbourhood , only to befriend in a bus? She was knitting a cap , for a charity at our community library, the first time we had met . I was impressed with her knitting and her gentle heart . We became friends , waiting at the same bus stop , chatting all the way through , till de-boarding .

Joyce  would invite me over for tea . She had showed me pictures of her deceased husband Roger and her two lovely daughters who lived in far away states. She lived alone with her cat Una . She would recount stories from her past when “writing was vital as breathing “ and how“folk music was the language of her soul “. She was 87 , my dear friend Joyce. The house has been painted white now  , her green tree a testimony to continuation of life.

This story was written for FLASH FICTION FOR THE PURPOSEFUL PRACTITIONER- 2017 WEEK #20. where participants have to write a flash fiction piece under 200 words, inspired by the photo prompt for the given week.

Image credit : https://www.pexels.com/photo/white-wooden-side-by-side-window-frame-94336/

The turbulence

Maya had recently shifted to the quiet neighborhood by the creek with her 7-month-old infant.

The rumbles of what was likely to be a full-blown storm , shakes her from the meditative cradling of the baby in the dimly-lit bedroom.

In the darkness of the night , all she could sense was the whistling wind , the fanning trees and the eerie loneliness.

As Maya rushes to shut the swaying window , she notices a lone magically “live” lamppost , highlighting a silhouette in the dark .

Like a bright streak of lightning , Maya sees the silhouette suddenly turn, donning a familiar yet faraway smile, resurrecting images of a remote, obliterated past.

With a rapidly palpitating heart ,  Maya waits for a miraculous lull.

This story was written for Six Sentence Stories at  Zoe’s uncharted , the cue of the week being “shake”.  Thanks to Zoe for hosting the challenge.