Roles We Play #FlashFiction

Niru was accompanying him to one of his creative workshops. She was no resource person or anything but just to travel with him, hear him speak. Yes, she was completely smitten by Hiten.

The venue was abuzz with the participants, all young people, some fairly attractive and there he was the cynosure of all eyes, the muse, the mentor , the artist.

Hiten was punctual, he started the workshop in time. Niru was still busy observing people, one young man in particular, reminded her of Hiten years ago, paint on his shirt, pencils scattered before him, completely lost in his creation.

Almost instinctively Niru walked up to him, put her hand on his shoulder and in a confident voice that surprised even herself , she said, " Please be careful about the intensity of your strokes, they define your depth. I am Niru , your Hiten sir's trainer years ago, now wife!"

Hiten just smiled. Niru had finally succumbed to her seven year itch and was back to painting.

This post is part of a blogathon/ BarAthon at Blogarhythm

Fame #FlashFiction

Shyamu sold cigarettes, matches, and tit-bits near a busy crossing in Delhi. He had been here since a decade and now proudly called himself a shop owner in Delhi whenever he visited his village, courtesy his small paan-shack on the pavement.

But the fact was life was as mundane as it could be, between the shop and his small 8 feet by 8 feet jhuugi in a nearby slum cluster, he was lonely and frustrated as hell. Often he visited GB road for cheap sex but that didn't resolve the loneliness part.

One late night as Shyamu was about to shut shop and go back to his room, the pavement dwellers had squattered their skimpy beddings all over the pavement near his shack, Shyamu was hit by a loud thud.....

He opened his eyes in what seemed like a government hospital, flashes clicking and TV cameras and mikes being thrust on to him from every corner....

Shyamu finally had his six minutes of fame , the lone survivor of a road rage accident involving a famous politician's son.... Shyamu was struggling with his words.

This post is part of a blogathon/BarAThon at Blogarhythm

Fight #Flashfiction

Roohi was the most promising child in the karate club. Just 13 she had already won several championships and was now a purple belt holder. Walking back from the class every evening with her mom she saw the kids selling fruits and flowers on the pavement.

One evening she gave the banana she had in her bag to the little girl selling flowers and got to know her name was Radha, she was just seven. The friendship gradually developed, Radha was fascinated by the Karate uniform and displayed some moves she had seen peeping into the Club compound sometimes.

Roohi told her mom that she was old enough not to have fancy birthday parties any more can that money be given as Radha's fees for a basic kaarte course. her mother agreed reluctantly.

Three months later winning her first fight radha ran up to Roohi, "Give me five didi ! WHat do you say - what your teacher told you- hail sisterhoods !"

This was Roohi's proudest win ever.

This post is part of a blogathon/ BarAThon at Blogarhythm

Credentials #FlashFiction

Rosa was in the middle of one of her relationship-coaching sessions when one of the participants raised his hand for a query. The young man looked perturbed and asked, "Ma'am, sorry to say but your profiles says this is your fourth marriage, if you actually knew so much about man-woman relationship, why would your three marriages fail?"


Rosa shifted a little in her seat, suddenly she knew a 100 pairs of eyes and ears were completely focussed on her answer, she smiled and maintaining her composure said, "Good question there! Actually a relationship is two people you see, no matter how much one person works on it or two people do in different directions won't help, it works only when two people work at ot together."

She continued, "Now coming to the first part of your question. Yes I am currently in my fourth marriage, the first was back home in India, a traditional arranged marriage. Next in UK where I went for my doctorate, he was German and this was via a dating service. The third was down under in Australia where I was teaching, he was a native and my teacher, several decades older, and now this fourth one is a decade younger, and Afro-American."

"So as I see it I have seen man-woman relationship from four corners of the world and hence I am a bit over-qualified, over-experienced here."

The conference hall was filled with peals of loud laughter.

This post is part of a Blogathon/BarAthon at Blogarhythm.

The Other #FlashFiction

Sandeep waited all day for Priti to return home. She was a journalist and he was a freelance photographer. He was thus by default the housekeeping too, as they often joked. 

They were a very bonded couple, weekends were spent partying and longer ones hiking around Hongkong. Vacations were usually to exotic places and were frequent, yet often Sandeep had started noticing the odd presence between them. 

Even in their most intimate moments he would find Priti pre-occupied sometimes with the other, or he would find her completely disinterested and she would quickly rush back to this new temptation in her life.

Priti was literally addicted to candy crush, and Sandeep was feeling that three's a crowd.

This post is part of a blogathon/BarAthon at Blogarhythm

Lists #FlashFiction

Kevin felt drowsy and tired as he walked to the parking lot. Taking out the car keys from his trouser pockets his fingers touched the sticky note Paula had written the grocery list on.

Oh no ! Not again.

he had completely forgotten about the groceries during his lunch hour and now at 11 pm after a tiring day at office was in no mood to take a diversion to the supermarket or face the wrath of his cranky pregnant wife.

Regan had stopped taking his calls about a week back. She said if he loved her enough he would do anything to live with her and had given him a long list of do's and don'ts as her lover.

Stuck between two lists, he dialled Regan, the lesser of the two evils.

This post is part of a blogathon/BarAthon at Blogarhythm

Hangover (Bar-a-thon) #Flashfiction

As he opened his eyes, his head was thumping, this was one of his worst hangovers for sure. The sunlight filtering from the drapes was hurting his eyes.he extended his arm to grab the water bottle from the side table, it was missing. The lamp was fallen on the floor, the bulb broken.

Where was Sara?

He called out, "Sara ! Sara !"

No response.

As he dragged himself out from the bed and reached the fridge, he suddenly stepped on something wet. The carpet was soaking in somethin crimson, looked like blood. The trail was leading to the kitchen....

He was now scared, their loud arguments from last night ringing in his ears, Sara....?

Did he have one too many last night?

Enough to.....

This post is a part of a blogathon/Bar-A-thon here at Blogarhythm

The Call of the Wind

She listened

to her heart

and threw

all chains

cages

locks

to the

call of the wind !

Suns and Lovers

Fathers, husbands

brothers ,cousins

uncles, granddads

sons or grandson

Men are a part of 

every story

of women

'Suns and lovers'

Moons and friends

and yet there is

that clenched fist

any of them

could be a misogynist !

This post is part of a #blogathon here at BAR.

Lord of the Flies

Image: Google images

Rapes, abuse and deaths

suicides and silences

battered breaths

only numbers

mere statistics

Women - 

nothing to the

Lord of the flies

amidst a thousand

patriarchies !

This post is part of a #blogathon at BAR

War and Pieces

Image : Google Images

The victor's loot

and the vanquished's shame

the woman in every war

without a name

the destroyed homes

as the shadows of 

kids' tombstones increases

the collateral damages

the unsaid tale of moms

daughters and wives

in war and pieces !

AN OPEN LETTER TO SOCIAL MEDIA # FlashFiction #99words #Barathon

Dear Social Media,

I promise to focus more on your media part and be a little less affected by the social one.

I promise that I will never judge life, people and situations entirely based on you.

I promise that I will not expect you to bring me truth, solace, enlightenment, evolution or relationships.

I promise I will be online a lot and yet not forget LIFE is often an amazing offline thing.

I promise I will try to keep up with you and yet stay rooted in what you now romanticize as “memories” and “throwbacks”.

-An avid user

This post is part of a themed BARATHON here.

TRICKS OF THE TRADE #FlashFiction #99words #Barathon

She had spent more than a decade in Mumbai now. She remembered her village and family back in Assam in faint flashbacks and the nightmares of the flood that devastated everything. Her uncle brought her here.

Soon she was on her own, by the time she was old enough to plait her hair herself she was already learning the tricks of the trade. She was almost twenty now, had taught herself to read and loved watching travel shows.

Someday she wished to travel and be free, till then her wishful thinking needed to be supported by trading her body.

This post is part of a themed  BARATHON here.

SINGLE PARENT #FlashFiction #99words #Barathon

In the prestigious function for National award winners and their families , sat Mangla a reclusive single parent, conscious of all the curious eyes turned towards her and yet immensely proud that her daughter’s first film had made it big.

They had just returned from several successful international film festivals. Jyoti had lived up to her name, other than her exceptional work with the LGBT community in Delhi her first film about them had achieved this.

Mangla, the guru of hijras in Delhi had found Jyoti near a garbage heap, her tiny shoes peeping out of a plastic bag.

This post is part of a themed BLOGATHON here.

HAPPILY EVERAFTER #FlashFiction #Barathon #99words

Their marriage was just a business alliance. Two major business families came together with their union but unfortunately even a decade later it did not evolve into anything more than that, despite the kids.

They both had the same address but separate bedrooms now. She was in Goa for a business conference; he was holidaying with his boys’ gang.

On New Year’s Eve after a mad beach party, they both emerged from adjacent shacks. He was with a Lebanese aspiring model and she was with a young DJ. They both pretended to be strangers, no one was caught red-handed.

This post is part of a themed BARATHON here.

MISSING #FlashFiction #Barathon #99words

He was a theater legend by the time he was forty. In Delhi’s theater circuit he was the renowned all-rounder, writing scripts, acting, directing plays that became legendary, that had full shows even after decades.

At home he was the loving dad, the perfect husband. Suddenly one day the nightmares started-eccentric hallucinations, loud babbling, violent episodes, loss of memory and the suicide attempts. He responded to no treatment, his condition worsened.

The stage forgot him, his children feared him and his wife despised him. Two years later he went missing. His most famous play is still staged- Fragile Lives.

This post is part of a BLOGATHON here.

SUICIDE #FlashFiction #Barathon #99words

She was always the loudest parent in PTA meetings, her attire as loud as her voice, a complete contrast to her ten years old son, who was the most reclusive child in his class. The other parents did not like her much though her models were always the best and her ideas the most innovative.

The news of her suicide was gossip material for all. No one discovered the scars from years of domestic abuse; no one knew the eclectic fashion was to cover up her bruised body and confidence. What you don’t know is often the true story.



This post is part of a themed BARATHON here.

FAN MAIL #FlashFiction #Barathon #99Words

He was a famous writer with thousands of fans. He met hundreds of them at events, book fairs and tours; of course he didn’t remember most of them later.

In her first letter to him, Anne claimed she had met him at a book event earlier that year; he had no reason to doubt it. Her handwriting was calligraphy.

After a year the monthly letters ceased arriving. A month later while travelling to Manali his car rolled down a gorge near a haunted British bungalow, the same place where the letters came from. Anne had died there in 1873.

#StrangerThanFiction


This post is part of a themed BARATHON here.