Ranjit Kulkarni's Blog, page 27

Warrior: Experiment in Flash

Flash Fiction is defined as “fiction of a type characterized by being very short, typically consisting of only a few hundred words” or “a fictional work of extreme brevity that still offers character and plot development.”

I recently wrote a few flash fiction pieces, some of which I have submitted to a few magazines and journals that publish flash fiction. Here is one piece that I don’t plan to submit and hence releasing it on the blog.

It is an unpublished piece that I wrote during the second wave of Covid last year. Titled “Warrior”, it is inpired by the extreme war-like situation that many healthcare workers were exposed to, out of the blue, for a brief period of a few weeks. Many workers had families to look after and their own lives going on, all of which took a back seat while the war was on.

This story is about one such woman worker, who gets caught in the rush, with several back stories packed in a small flash. Let me know what you think of this experiment in Flash fiction.

***

Warrior: Flash Fiction

Ok bye, I am leaving. Did I lock the balcony door? I think I did, but I can’t remember. I start my car.

How was I going to manage the patients that were still in the emergency for close to four days waiting for a room in the general ward? If things continued like this, some of them were going to need an ICU very soon. Even an ICU may not be enough for some. Tough to choose.

A motorcycle zooms past my car from my left. Left? Doesn’t he have any sense? Why is he driving on the right? I curse him while speaking to the nursing head on the phone.

The motorcyclist hurls some abuses after passing me. I look around. I realise that it is me who is on the right side, well on the wrong side that is, of the road.

Ok, my bad. I steer my car and veer it towards the left lane manoeuvring the traffic. I think I am deft. I am not. The bumper still gets a few scratches. And I get more abuses.

Anyway, that’s not important. Coming back to my hospital. Even if I manage to get patients into the ward by hook or crook, how am I going to get the doctors and nurses?

That is a truck in front of me, or is it a bus? And did I just jump a red signal?

Yeah, coming back. Where am I going to get the medicines from? What about the other supplies?

Oh, no! Wait, No, No, Nooo!

Clunk! Thud!

My head is wobbling, I can’t move my leg. How will I reach the hospital? I forgot to tell them that the local administration is sending four critical patients. Not profitable, but critical.

I should call someone. Oh, my phone is broken. I can’t move.

Thump! Plunk!

Oh no! This is bad. The car seat has turned red. Going to the hospital is out of question now.

Oink!

I stop feeling any pain. A feeling of calm.

Phew!

Ok, bye! I am leaving. I did what I could.

But did I switch off the geyser at home? I think I switched off the gas, at least.

***

Anniversary: Short Story

‘Anniversary’ was a story I had written more than five years back. It deals with the golden wedding anniversary of a Punjabi couple and the dynamics of two close, old friends and businessmen. I rewrote it in 2019 and released it as part of the collection “Soulmate and Other Stories with a Twist.” Later, I submitted it to various magazines, and it got reprinted in the Nepal-based newspaper, Kathmandu Tribune in their Literature section. It is slightly long, but read it till the end for a surprise. Feel free to provide comments below. Thanks!

*****

“Ladies and Gentlemen, May I have your kind attention please?” announced Jaspal Singh from the stage. “This occasion deserves special cheers. Can everyone please raise a toast to Mr. and Mrs. Malvinder Singh?”

Mr. Malvinder Singh and Mrs. Gurvinder Kaur started walking to the podium. It was their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

As the 76-year-old ‘groom’ Malvinder Singh walked up to the stage, the cheer and clapping rose to a crescendo. Everyone stood up as his 72-year-old ‘bride’ Gurvinder joined him on stage. Jaspal Singh hugged his sister Gurvinder and his best buddy Malvinder.

Drums played amidst celebratory music and a thunderous applause followed. The evening gathering on the lawns of the Singh’s’ bungalow broke into an impromptu dance. Close business acquaintances, relatives and family members led the festive fervour. The celebrations had just begun.

Amidst the clapping, Malvinder Singh started speaking.

“Thank you all today for joining us in celebrating our fiftieth wedding anniversary. It has been a very enjoyable journey together.” He looked around the audience and waved at few of the familiar faces hidden in their mufflers.

Misty-eyed, he continued his short speech. “Thank you all for making this a special occasion. In all these years that have rolled on, so many things have changed. Business has changed, India has changed. Culture and Way of Life has changed. Our surroundings have changed.”

Taking a pause, he looked at his wife Gurvinder and held her hand. With his eyes welled up, he looked at his friend Jaspal on stage and held him by the other hand.

“What has not changed is Love. What has not changed is Friendship. This is the fiftieth anniversary of our Love and of our Friendship.” The three of them raised their hands in unison.

The guests broke into a huge applause. Everyone gave a standing ovation to the old couple, and to Jaspal Singh. Malvinder Singh had rivers of tears flowing down his cheeks.

Wiping the tears with his hand, he continued.

“My heartfelt gratitude to you all, many of whom have been with us in this journey. And our wholehearted love to the joys of our life – our children and grandchildren. May peace and happiness be with you. God bless you all.”

After that, the old couple walked off stage, helped by their eldest grandson. Behind them walked Jaspal Singh.

At a jaunty 75 years of age, he still had lots of energy. The lifelong bachelor held the mike and shouted in it with his baritone. “Let the party begin. Cheers.”

After that, the music blared, the dancing started, the food and drinks flowed. Jaspal Singh joined his friend Malvinder and sister Gurvinder at the dinner table.

“Ask someone to get me my whiskey,” Jaspal ordered the event manager, as they settled at their table.

Then turning to Malvinder, he asked, “For you too?”

Malvinder gave a pensive nod.

Jaspal and Malvinder had studied together in school and college in Lahore. Jaspal was instrumental in getting his sister and Malvinder married. The three of them had moved to Amritsar after partition and built a successful business.

A waiter got their drinks and Jaspal continued. “Nice speech. So – fifty years, uhh?”

The soft-spoken Malvinder, already overwhelmed by the occasion, said, “Yeah – I got a bit emotional.”

“You have always been the sentimental type. You keep crying over little things. So I had expected this. This is a big occasion,” the boisterous Jaspal poked his introspective friend.

“Well, that’s true. But today I got a bit more sentimental than usual,” the thoughtful Malvinder retorted.

“No, no. You have always been like this. I remember you crying even in cinema halls. You shed a tear at the drop of a hat,” Jaspal said. He broke into a roar of laughter while the reticent Malvinder smiled. Their personalities complemented each other. That had helped them in business too.

Jaspal then turned to his sister, and teased Malvinder further. “He has always been like this – isn’t it?”

With a smile on her face, Gurvinder said, “Yes. He cried when each of our children were born. And he had tears even at their weddings and when our grand children were born.”

Holding his wife’s hand, Malvinder gave an unassuming, close-lipped smile. “Yeah – that’s right. I do get emotional,” he agreed.

“See – I told you,” Jaspal pulled Malvinder’s leg again. But this time it had the glow of camaraderie. Gurvinder’s face glittered with the warmth of love. Malvinder had the genuine spark of life lit by the love of his wife and friend. They were all in their seventies. But their understanding of each other from their youthful days was still alive.

For the next couple of hours, Jaspal and Malvinder sat at their dining table. Like so many times in the past, they had small chunks of paneer and chicken with large pegs of whiskey. Jaspal talked and Malvinder listened most of the time. Gurvinder watched on and helped herself to some food from time to time. She had grown accustomed to this routine for the past fifty years.

“Do you remember the time when we started our first business of spare parts? We didn’t have money to even paint our shop board,” Jaspal recollected.

“Your Grandpa had great handwriting, so he painted the name himself. We called it Jasmal enterprises,” he recounted from his memory. He narrated the story of their first business to Malvinder’s grandchildren. The grandchildren listened to the stories awestruck.

“And this uncle,” Jaspal waved to another septuagenarian from the audience. “Daljit Singh gave us twenty-five rupees to get our first stock of spare parts,” he described.

He further added, “an amount that we never returned,” and followed it with a booming laugh. Daljit Singh walked towards their table and slapped Jaspal on his back. He hugged Malvinder, who shed another tear.

Memories of old filled the evening as it grew into the night.

“I remember Shivinder’s naming ceremony happened in Ludhiana at our factory. That was because we didn’t have time,” Malvinder recalled, referring to his youngest son.

“And he spoiled my shirt and our machines by taking a mistimed leak on them.” Jaspal broke into another guffaw much to the embarrassment of the now 45-year-old Shivinder. He scowled at Jaspal Singh while Shivinder’s wife and children shrieked in delight.

“And do you remember Navjyot’s wedding when we ran out of food for the guests?” Gurvinder asked. Malvinder had his hand on his forehead and skipped a heartbeat. “I thought this is it. My daughter is going to remain unmarried all her life.” Malvinder’s face became tense even with the memory.

“Till I contacted that man Harbaksh,” Jaspal said. He pointed to a middle-aged man in the crowd who walked towards him with folded hands and touched his feet. “Since then he is the food man for all our functions. Including this one,” he declared, followed by a loud applause from the crowd. Navjyot Kaur and her husband smiled from a distance.

Most of the guests were well over sixty, many well into their seventies and eighties. They came to the old couple’s table with anniversary gifts. The old couple and Jaspal thanked every guest. They recalled some anecdote from the past over which they shared a laugh. Malvinder and Gurvinder asked them if they had dinner. Jaspal asked them if they had a good time. One by one, the guests finished their dinner and started leaving.

Fifty years is a long time, and there were more than enough memories to fill an evening of conversation. And as memories filled the evening, the whiskey pegs filled their glasses.

By the time most of the guests had gone and the families had slept, Malvinder and Jaspal were several pegs down. And Gurvinder started doing what she had been doing on such evenings for so many years.

“Enough now,” she started clearing the table. “Both of you are well above your limit and have to stop now,” she insisted. But like other occasions in the past, she knew that this was not going to work.

“This last one, Gurvinder,” Malvinder pleaded with his wife.

“Oh come on, sister, today is special,” Jaspal made his case.

The occasion was special and that, she knew, was reason enough for her brother and her husband to keep going. And so, they kept going even after all the guests had left. They kept going even after their children had retired for the night.

Till it was only Malvinder, Gurvinder and Jaspal left talking on the lawns of their bungalow.

***

It was way past the middle of the night. The cold bit the skin, while the whiskey made it tolerable. The darkness of the night had a steady companion in the eerie silence.

When both of them were out of their senses, with Gurvinder still watching, Jaspal stood up drunk. “I have a confession to make,” he declared.

“Confession? Are you getting married?” asked a sozzled Malvinder with a twinkle in his eye to Jaspal. “Have you finally found the woman of your dreams?” Malvinder poked his bachelor friend.

There had been many occasions in their youth when Malvinder had coaxed Jaspal to get married. But none of that had got him to enter wedlock. 

Jaspal gave Malvinder a queer look. He looked up at the dark sky and said, “Well, I had found her a long time back. But she is up there,” he pointed skyward. Gurvinder grew alarmed and rolled her eyes glaring at her brother with curled lips.

Meanwhile her husband asked, “Up there?” He looked at the sky and said, “There’s nobody up there. You are drunk.”

Jaspal stood up from his chair and came close to Malvinder. He peered near his ear and whispered, “She is there. Her name is Gurmeet Kaur. Don’t tell anyone.”

Malvinder put a finger on his lips and said, “SShhhh.” Then he looked at his wife and muttered, “Our Jassi has found a girl for himself. Her name is Gurmeet Kaur. Don’t tell anyone.”

Gurvinder’s face, even in the darkness, showed a sign of consternation. Gurvinder frowned again with knitted brows at her brother on hearing that. She was the only one who was sober. She wasn’t quite sure what direction her drunk brother was taking into the distant past.

“Come on, let us sleep now. It’s almost two o’clock,” she told Jaspal and Malvinder.

“Sleep? I am telling you happy news and you want to sleep?” Malvinder raised his voice in excitement. Then he realized that he had spoken aloud disturbing the pin-drop silence of the night. He lowered his tone and murmured, “SShhhh… I said that our Jassi has found a girl. We have to get him married. Aren’t you happy?”

Gurvinder didn’t know what to say of this drunken nonsense. But she wondered if there was more to it. She didn’t want to go back into history at this age.

Something within her, though, went back in time. She wondered if Jaspal had gone back fifty years in his thoughts. Her doubts got strengthened when Jaspal spoke.

“Parminder is happy. She already knows,” Jaspal said. “I had told her first about Gurmeet Kaur,” he added.

Malvinder slapped Jaspal on his back. “You drunkard!” he exclaimed. “Parminder? You are so drunk that you are confusing your sister’s name. She is Gurvinder, not Parminder,” he said. He gave his wife a drunken smile that showed her his broken tooth. It had the drunkard’s typical, supreme confidence that tells him that the other guy is drunk.

“So now I know,” he wagged his finger. “You are totally drunk today Jassi. This is your regular drunken nonsense. This Gurmeet Kaur is only in your dreams,” he added.

Jaspal got animated with anger on hearing this. He got up and stood on the chair he had taken. The vivacious septuagenarian shook from left to right with a glass in his hand.

At the top of his voice, he shouted, “This is Parminder, you idiot, not Gurvinder. And Gurmeet Kaur is still in my dreams. Though she is up there away from me.” And then he looked up and stared again in the sky.

“Get off the chair, you drunken dumbo,” Malvinder now stood up from his chair. “And get this Gurmeet Kaur out of your head. There is no one like that up there or down here.”

Gurvinder now stood up from her chair too, ruffled with this conversation. She tried to control the two old men in her life. Her mind went back to the time in Lahore fifty years back.

That was when her brother had told her about this girl Gurmeet Kaur. He had fallen in love with her and was planning to marry her. He had told her that this was a surprise to his dear friend Malvinder. Her deepest fear was that Jaspal would get unnecessary skeletons out of the closet.

Gurvinder got up from her chair to calm down her brother. She asked him to sit down. He was already quite unstable, unable to stand straight. But he continued blabbering.

“Yes there is no one down here. Gurmeet Kaur is up there. That is because the rotten rascals killed her,” Jaspal cried aloud.

He started wailing. His loud wails broke the eerie silence in the middle of the dark night. “The scoundrels took her life away. They left me alone for life.” Jaspal came down from his chair and started crying his heart out.

Malvinder, who was the one who usually shed tears, walked towards his friend. His friend’s outburst seemed to have got him to his sober state. He put a hand on his crying friend’s shoulder.

“Jassi, you are too drunk. You are imagining things. Let’s go to sleep now,” he said.

“No, I am not,” Jaspal looked up and howled at the top of his voice. “Ask Parminder,” he yelled.

“Stop blabbering Jassi. She is Gurvinder, not Parminder,” Malvinder tried to reason with him. He corrected Jaspal.

“No she is Parminder you idiot. Ask her,” Jaspal persisted.

Malvinder didn’t even look at his wife who was silent. This was the limit, he thought. Never before in the past fifty years had he seen his friend so drunk. He caught his friend’s face with one hand and gave him one tight slap with the other.

“Enough of this nonsense, Jassi. This is Gurvinder, I am Malvinder and you are Jaspal. And there’s no Gurmeet. Let’s go to sleep now.”

Malvinder shook as he said this. Even in the dark, Jaspal saw his friend’s fiery eyes. It took a lot for Malvinder to lose his temper. The sweat on his brow in the cold night indicated that his blood pressure had risen too. He wiped his brow, and, in cold sweat, he heard his palpitating heartbeat.

Jaspal didn’t take this slap lying low though.

“You are the one who is drunk Malvinder. You slapped me when I spoke the truth,” he said.

“What truth? Parminder died fifty years back Jassi. Before our wedding. In the partition riots. You are hallucinating about Parminder here because you are drunk. And you are also seeing some non-existent Gurmeet Kaur,” Malvinder screamed.

He had turned sober during this argument as the effect of the whiskey waned. His wrath had reached its limit.

Gurvinder walked towards her brother. She bent towards him and with a hand on his shoulder, she whispered, “Jassi, stay quiet now. Let the past be. You are too drunk. Today is our anniversary. Enough now.”

Jaspal shook her hand off and cast her aside.

“Parminder, why are you asking me to stay quiet? Why don’t you tell him the truth?” He yelped.

“Enough Jassi,” Gurvinder said.

“See, she is Gurvinder,” Malvinder pointed out with his finger.

“No, she is Parminder,” Jassi shouted back.

“Gurvinder.”

“Parminder.”

“Gurvinder.”

“Parminder.”

Malvinder’s wife lost her cool and shrieked in the shrill of the night, “Yes, I am Parminder.”

Jaspal and Malvinder both went silent and looked at her.

“What?” Malvinder asked and dropped into his chair in shock.

“Yes, Jassi is right. I am not Gurvinder. I am Parminder,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Malvinder asked.

She walked across a couple of meters away from them on the lawns and went back in time in her thoughts. She looked at Malvinder in the dead of the early morning and spoke.

“It was October 2nd, 1947 and you were on your way to our house for your wedding with Gurvinder. Jassi had planned his wedding with Gurmeet Kaur at the same time as a surprise to you. We were to start our journey from Lahore to Amritsar after the two weddings,” she explained.

In a sudden surge of emotion spurred by bad memories, her voice reached a high pitch. She stared into the blank dark sky.

“And the rascals, those scoundrels attacked our house out of the blue and pulled both of them out. Gurmeet and my identical twin sister Gurvinder. Both of them were getting ready for their wedding. And they took both of them away and killed them.”

She had tears rolling down her cheeks recalling the dreadful memory. Jassi had fallen on his knees with the glass on the floor. He was crying his heart out. His heart-wrenching wails filled the eerie silence of the night.

“That’s when Jassi rushed to me in panic,” she turned back and continued.

“A few minutes before you came, he ordered me to get ready like Gurvinder. ‘Become Gurvinder, Pammi’ he pleaded. ‘We will tell Mal that Pammi got killed’, he said. ‘He won’t be able to tolerate the truth, I know Mal. He is very emotional. He will break down in shock. We can’t afford to lose him,’ he insisted.”

Malvinder’s wife had tears flowing down her cheeks. Jaspal had fallen flat on the lawns. Malvinder stayed stuck to his chair as he heard them.

“And so I took on my dead sister’s identity. I married you as Gurvinder,” Parminder sighed and completed the narration.

She recovered her cool after finishing. The silence of the night took over again.

“But all that is fifty years back. Now we don’t need to go back in time,” she said, wiping her tears and bringing back a smile on her face. “I got all the happiness and love that my sister, the real Gurvinder, didn’t have in her destiny. Today is our special day. We have celebrated it well. Let’s go to sleep now,” she wiped her tears and walked across to her husband.

Jaspal got up and walked with his sister Parminder, nay Gurvinder, towards Malvinder’s chair.

“Come on, Malvinder,” he said. Jaspal had returned to sobriety and realised what he and Parminder had said.

“Enough of the past,” he said as they walked towards Malvinder.

Jaspal got into his spirited self again. With a fake smile, he said, “Too much of drunken nonsense. How did you find the story? Let’s go to sleep now. It’s time.”

But Malvinder didn’t move from his chair.

*****

This story was first published in the Kathmandu Tribune on May 17, 2021. You may also read it here. Kathmandu Tribune focuses on pressing forward to contribute significantly towards English journalism in Nepal.

Short Story Collections in Paperback

As promised couple of weeks back, I have news on the print formats of my short story collections.

All my short story collections are now available in Paperback. You can check them out and order a print book HERE on Pothi.com

Here are the details and links to where you can get the individual books.

Immortal and Other Stories, available in Paperback at THIS link.

People We Know and Other Stories, available in Paperback at THIS link.

Tough Love and Other Stories, available in Paperback at THIS link.

Mind Game and Other Stories, available in Paperback at THIS link.

Soulmate and Other Stories with a Twist, available in Paperback at THIS link.

Coma and Other Spooky Tales, available in Paperback at THIS link.

Grandpa’s Pet and Other Childhood Stories, available in Paperback at THIS link.

If you prefer to read physical books rather than digital (as many readers I know do), you may check out the Paperback versions at the links above. The eBook (Kindle formats) continue to be available on Amazon.

I just got paperback copies of all the books last week and have them on my bookshelf now. These are relatively small books with 100-130 pages each which can be read in 2-3 hours. Check them out and let me know what you think. Comments more than welcome! Thank you.

***

Is the Wi-Fi working?

That is (was?) the most frequently asked question (FAQ for short!) nowadays.

Everyone at home needs Wi-fi. Actually not everyone, but everything needs it, which is, more or less, the same thing. Because everyone is using everything.

The phones need it, the laptops need it, even the TV needs it. And so the users of the phones, the laptops and TV need it. At least that is what they think.

I am told that very soon the washing machine and microwave and the AC and perhaps the toaster will need it. And maybe the geyser and the coffee maker and the music system. What else?

I had a boss who told everyone that the fridge is very soon going to be connected to everything with Wi-Fi. He said we will very soon reach a point where the fridge will order the grocery on its own when it realises that the tomatoes that you need for your favourite pasta are running out. All you will have to do is to give the OTP for the payment and take it when the delivery happens.

I hoped at that time, after I, kind of, place the tomatoes near it, the device can look up the recipe on its own and cook it as well, and serve it. Honestly, in the heart of hearts, I hope his dream remains a dream. But my head tells me that it will become reality not too far into the future.

Not only at home but ‘is the Wi-Fi working?’ is the most frequently asked question (FAQ again for short!) even in the apartment group nowadays.

Every few hours, someone posts the question. Then someone else says it is, and a couple of others say it isn’t. The answers are separated by a few minutes always, so one can never be sure if it was working when the question was asked. For all you know, everyone might be right.

Then someone answers that it is working in A block, but then someone says it is not working in C block. Then someone posts a complaint that they have lodged with the service provider. Then there are a few rants on how the service provider is useless as the Wi-Fi is so unreliable.

I sometimes wonder that if there are so many messages (rants!) floating around, it does mean that even if the Wi-fi isn’t working, something is working for these messages to go through. But I don’t say anything lest I become the spoilsport. I don’t want me to come between people and their Wi-Fi.

‘Is the Wi-Fi working?’ is also the most frequently asked question (FAQ again for short!) in offices, when there were offices. of course, and in the offices that do exist even now. I used to go to one.

But they asked it very decently. But like today, no one had answers even then, and everyone just waited for someone to do something so that the network is back on, and we can get back to email.

After working in the tech industry for over twenty years, I have reached one firm conclusion.

Networks are a lot like printers. They work mostly when everyone else is using them, but when you want to use them, they don’t work – at least, at the first attempt. The same applies to even those overhead projectors that don’t work when your time to present slides comes up.

I have tried fixing all knobs to every port and pressed all keys on my keyboard in desperation for years, till the screen magically lights up so that everyone can get back to their work while I present.

I guess Wi-fi also follows the same routine or cycle. But because it is more important than any other technology in the past, ‘is the Wi-Fi working?’ will be the most asked FAQ of all time.

I don’t try to answer the FAQ when it is asked now. Nor do I try to fix the Wi-Fi anymore in a hurry.

While someone else is fixing it, I open MS Word and write something, like this article.

And then when I am ready to post it, I ask the question aloud – is the Wi-Fi working? When the answer is yes, I am good to post it so that it reaches you. After all, the Wi-Fi is working.

***

Welcome 2022

Wishing you a Happy 2022. Hope the New Year has begun on a good note for you.

As for me, it was good as I returned from a road trip to the North East part of India. It was a beautiful trip in a beautiful, unexplored region of India. Before that, in end November, I had gone on a road trip to Gujarat, another wonderful state of contrasts, though very different from the North East.

Here are a couple of videos that provide a peek into the two trips. Watch them (with speakers on) at the links below.

Gujarat

North East

I have a few work-in-progress stories that I wrote inspired by some experiences during these road trips. I am planning to edit and compile them into a short collection of travel stories, sometime later this year. Watch out for it!

That apart, as I was getting back into the mood of writing after a break, I went through the blog posts over the past year, and saw a report named the Most Read posts of the year 2021.

Just in case you missed any of them or would be interested in reading them again, here they are:

Top 12 Posts of 2021

Soulmate: Short Story
Fountain Pen: Short Story
I am just a Facebook post
Coma: Short Story
Flying Colours
Aryan: Short Story
Help: Short Story
Swami’s Appraisal
Short or Medium?
Morning Walk
Confession: Short Story
A Second Chance: Short Story

Was nice to read that, but I found no surprises in that. Let me know if you found anything unexpected. Seven of them are Short Stories that have been published in Magazines or Journals, and released as part of my short story collections.

Notable misses from this list seem to be the Jigneshbhai and Swami conversations. Some funny or thought provoking articles find a place in that list instead.

For 2022, for the blog, I am hoping to post once every week again (Tuesday).

Expect one short story to be posted on the blog every month, mostly in the last week of the month. The rest of the weeks is going to be a mix of articles and updates. Let us see how it shapes up.

More importantly, I expect to release a few more books of short stories this year. Hence, apart from the blog, keep checking my Amazon Author Page for new book releases from time to time (would be great if you follow it). Also make sure you have the Free Kindle App to read them on your phone or tablet.

I am planning to release them beyond Amazon this year on other ebook stores like Apple iBooks, Google Play, Nook, Kobo, Scribd and others. Also expect some news on short story collections in Paperback soon. Watch this blog for more.

Apart from these, if you would like to get a free copy of my short story collection “People We Know and Other Stories” and read and post a review of it, check out Booksirens at the link HERE. You will need to provide your email to get a copy from Booksirens directly. The book is currently on a three month reviewer promotion there, and it would be great if you could be one of them.

That’s the update at the start of the year from me. Best Wishes for 2022, and hope it turns out to be a good one for everyone. Your comments and feedback via email or on the blog are more than welcome. Happy Reading. Thank You!

Last Post 2021

2021 is coming to an end, and due to your readership and providence at play, what started earlier this year as an experiment in blogging stories and articles has made it through the year.

I would like to thank you for reading my emails and posts. I have received a lot of comments, feedback and email messages, and the number of subscribers to the site has increased manifold. Keep them coming. Thanks a lot. (If you enjoy reading these posts and know someone who might like getting these emails, share the blog link with them)

As we come to the close of this year, I thought of writing a summary post, so that there is a set of ready reference links for reading the posts on this website.

If you would like to read all the short stories posted on the blog, you can read them HERE.

In 2021, I submitted many of my stories to a number of literary journals and magazines. To my delight, over the course of the year, I saw a number of them being accepted for publication in various journals reaching newer readers.

If you would like to see the complete list of published stories, you can take a look at all the publications along with the links to the stories HERE.

Apart from short stories, there were a lot of articles posted on the blog in 2021.

These have been many Jigneshbhai and Swami conversations, as well as general articles posted. If you would like to read all the articles posted on the blog, you can read them HERE.

And finally, books.

2021 saw the release of one Jigneshbhai and Swami coffee conversations collection, and four of my short story collections. I also launched the online store in 2021. All of these books are available on Amazon. You may check them out from my Amazon Author Page HERE.

Some of my books are now also available on the store on my website as well as ebook stores like iBooks, Kobo, Barnes and Nobles, Play Store, Scribd and a few more.

To take a look at the books store on my website, you can click HERE, and click on the individual book to check it out.

So that’s the wrap up on 2021.

This will be the last post of the year 2021.

Let us hope 2022 has more writing, more stories and more books in store, God willing.

Check my blog for updates and stories in 2022, and if you haven’t already, subscribe to get an email whenever a new post is published HERE.

Till then, Stay Safe and Happy Reading!

Thank You.

***

Mind Game and Other Stories

I have released the last book of short stories of the year “Mind Game and Other Stories” on December 3rd.

Book Description:

The mind of man is a turncoat – both his enemy and his friend, and very often playing games. These are eleven stories in which these games of the mind are in display; in which the minds of the characters play games – with them and with others.

In this book, you will find stories like these:

A blind man finds surprises when he prides himself on seeing things In Plain Sight.When a youngster finds himself broken-hearted, does he find himself in a world of his own Creation?A policeman after an encounter with a criminal plays a Mind Game in one story, and in another finds his honesty being questioned in A Small HaulWhen a man moves into a new house, why does he hear Screams at Night?A schoolboy is caught in a tangle when his mother fiercely defends his MarksheetWhat happens when a hitman who wants to give it all up is given The Last Job?Read about these.. and many more.

Whether you are a reader of psychological thrillers or a lover of short stories, you will find mind-tickling stories of deceit and twists in this quick read collection.

How to Get the Book:

The book is now available on Amazon (Kindle)

You can read it on your Kindle Device or on the Free Kindle App.

The book is also available on other ebook stores such as Apple iBooks, Google Play, Barnes and Nobles Nook, Rakuten Kobo, Scribd and others. If you prefer any of these, you may search for the book at the respective store.

Happy Reading, and would be great if you leave a review after you read it! Thank you.

***

My Friend Vishal: Short Story

The Academy of the Heart and Mind first published this story “My Friend Vishal” in their issue in May 2021. This is a story narrated in first person of a man and his relationship with a close but not-so-close friend Vishal over the years. You can also read it at the website of the Magazine or at their Facebook post. This story was also later published as part of a collection of short stories “Tough Love and Other Stories“. Hope it makes for good, twisted reading! Thanks.

***

I don’t know who I should call a friend. Friendships happen out of nowhere when doing things together. And once they happen, I often find myself keeping them going whether I like it or not.

I have made friends when I chanced upon someone who read a common book. I have made friends when I have gone on a bicycle trip or to the cinema together by chance. I have made friends even after having a lonely dinner in the hostel with someone.

By that definition, Vishal was my friend. By virtue of being college mates, he was someone more than just a known face. When we were younger, we ended up doing a lot of things together. Most of the times by default. As we got older, life got in the way. Most of the times, it was by my design.

We were quite different from each other; he was an out and out extrovert, and I am a lonely introvert. That was, to start with, the basic difference. He was flamboyant. I underplay everything. He was straight and direct, and with me, you have to read between the lines. He didn’t like studying and I have always been a good student.

But the main difference between us was his approach to the opposite sex.

Let me just say that Vishal had a roving eye and an active mind. It often got him into trouble, when we were young and even after he got older. I never liked it, but what can a friend do? One has to neglect some aspects of one’s friend for other aspects that keep the friendship going, isn’t it?

Vishal was tall and had a fair skin that was the ideal mix of a Pathan and a Westerner. A well-shaped nose and grey-green eyes added to features that the opposite sex liked. A physique that was fit and muscular but not intimidating, and an outgoing personality almost always endeared him to the fairer sex, at least for the first few meetings till they got to know him better.

Most importantly, he knew his strengths and how to use them very well, both physically and verbally, especially when in the right company.

In college, Vishal had a constant and everchanging list of women he was with. At that time, it wasn’t as common as it might be in today’s time and age. And it was considered amoral and amorous, which it was, and perhaps still is. But I don’t want to be patronizing or moralistic or judgemental. The fact was that I didn’t like it, but what can a friend do if he turns up with someone at odd hours?

I remember spending many nights in someone else’s room in the second year of college because my roommate Vishal drove me outside the hostel room in the middle of the night. He was conscientious in the sense that he called me back in the wee hours of the morning when his job was done. But that often ended up spoiling my sleep even more. I didn’t quite like it but then again, as I said, what can one do? One learns to neglect a few things. Among all the things we tolerate for the sake of hostel friends, you know, this was one of the most irritating ones. I changed my roommate in the next year.

I went on to my higher studies after that and lost touch with Vishal for a few years. He wasn’t made for studies, so one degree was enough for him, which he somehow managed to complete.

I had heard that he had a fling with a young teacher who was a newly joined doctoral candidate, a few years our senior. The news doing the rounds of campus was that her special affinity towards Vishal was, in some way, responsible for his clearing the final year exams. Vishal definitely knew how to get things done, something that I never learned in my life.

A few years later, he called me saying that he was joining some company which happened to be in the same city that I lived in. He just landed up at my flat and said he was sharing the rent. Being a bachelor and always short on funds, I was open to having flatmates, but honestly, Vishal wasn’t my ideal choice. But I found it difficult to avoid Vishal. It turned out to be one of those things one does for friends. I didn’t know what job he did, but it didn’t seem to have changed any of his old ways.

As a matter of fact, more money in the pocket seemed to have only made him better at his art as per my observations (and those of anyone who cared to see him with their eyes open). The company he kept started getting classier, and his reputation followed him, attracting the right type of crowd.

After a few months, the landlord put in a word to me about things people in the neighbourhood had started saying about my friend Vishal. I silently changed my flat, my flatmate and even my job in a few months. One has to tolerate a few things about one’s friends, but one always has a choice when it comes to certain things, isn’t it? For the first time in my life, I realised that there was a choice.

Vishal did quite well for himself over the coming years. I lost touch with him except for occasional meetings and phone calls every few months which I tried to avoid over time. I tried to keep our friendship limited to those Happy Diwali and Happy New Year calls after a point. After all, I had a family to take care of, and didn’t want them to get close to such predator friends from my past.

It was only recently when there was a reunion after twenty years of graduating from college, that I met Vishal again. His hair had thinned and had got many tinges of grey; the tough look had softened somewhat, but the features remained the same. The skin and the eyes still offered a peep into the man that he was inside. He came to the reunion with a woman who looked like a recent trophy addition. Having known Vishal for many years, no one asked him who she was. Some things never change, some people never change, and we just accept some friends as they are.

I realised that he lived close to where I lived. In fact, he was the CEO of a large departmental store chain that specialised in women’s wear. Quite an apt career choice for someone like Vishal, I felt.

There were rumours that his roving eye had got him into trouble in his previous job, and he had landed this top job due to his close relations with the promoter of this women’s wear chain, who incidentally, happened to be a woman.

Well, Vishal and his ways! I never liked them, in all honesty. But then what can one do when a friend is like this? I had been tolerating his ways, neglecting them, and extricating myself out of the way to leave him alone for the past thirty years.

But recently, Vishal got into some real problems due to his roving eye.

It was too close for comfort. I didn’t like it at all.

He had always had one mistress at any point in time. But having multiple at the same time was asking for trouble. On top of that, playing around with the life of the young daughter of a close friend and expecting nothing to happen was too farfetched.

On Sunday, my friend Vishal was found dead with his throat slit. A sad end to the life of an otherwise good friend. But there is a limit to which one can neglect the roving eye of a friend, isn’t it?

***

Passion vs Profit

“People want to pursue their passion and make a living with that, of late,” Jigneshbhai remarked while sipping his coffee.

Swami and I were busy in our passion for the double chocolate muffin. But what Jigneshbhai said still caught our attention.

“Yes, a colleague of mine left his job a while back to follow his passion for travel,” Swami remarked.

“Great,” Jigneshbhai remarked.

“And another wants to become a musician. Another guy left to write books, it’s an epidemic,” Swami said.

“That’s amazing. Quite cool,” Jigneshbhai continued exulting. Quite uncharacteristic of him, I thought.

“I think that I have a passion for chocolate,” Swami said, biting into the muffin and gulping it down with his café mocha.

“You should try opening a chocolate shop,” Jigneshbhai proposed.. “This article says, follow your passion, do what you love, and you don’t have to work a single day in your life,” Jigneshbhai read out from some website.

“That’s inspiring, isn’t it? No more nonsense with Raichand,” Swami said full of delight, referring to his painful boss.

“It’s a good story,” Jigneshbhai replied. “It is contradictory.”

That remark deflated the balloon of Swami’s passion in an instant. Swami quickly finished his passion, that is the chocolate muffin, and got ready to quiz our wise friend.

“Why do you say so? So many people are making a living following their passion. They must be doing something right,” Swami challenged.

“Yes, they are,” Jigneshbhai remarked.

“So, follow your passion is not a story,” Swami revolted.

“Yes, it is,” Jigneshbhai smiled.

“Why?” Swami asked again.

Even I was a bit perplexed. Jigneshbhai had actually followed the path of passion in his profitable business all these years, I thought.

“Because the story sells,” Jigneshbhai said.

“The story sells?” Swami asked.

“Yes, of course. Who likes to read – ‘work hard for years without any return and maybe if you persist, then your passion may turn profitable’?” Jigneshbhai said.

“But isn’t follow your passion true? You did it yourself, I thought,” Swami asked, in all earnestness.

“Partly true. No one tells anyone that between passion and profit there is a lot of process, persistence, perseverance and patience,” Jigneshbhai said. “Maybe then, passion and profit will meet.”

Swami and I didn’t quite like it. This wasn’t music to Swami’s ears. The idea of combining passion and profit was romantic.

“No, but if you pursue passion, profit will come. That’s what the experts say,” Swami clearly wasn’t convinced.

Jigneshbhai sipped on to his coffee.

“It may, not will. Profit comes when someone buys your passion. There are no guarantees that someone will,” Jigneshbhai said.

“I don’t agree with you. You are too pessimistic,” Swami asserted. He sulked and turned his focus on his passion.

Jigneshbhai smiled serenely.

“Are you saying we shouldn’t pursue passion for a living?” Swami probed Jigneshbhai after a few minutes of silence.

Jigneshbhai munched on two bites of Swami’s passion in silence. Swami and I knew something was cooking.

“No, you should, if you can. But you should be realistic, not stupid. Maybe keep them separate, for a while. Or you might lose both,” Jigneshbhai remarked.

He stared into blank space while cherishing the taste of the muffin and the coffee. Swami and I waited.

“Because profit provides the means, passion provides the meaning,” he added, as he finished the muffin.

Swami and I pondered over what he said. But Swami wondered there must a better way.

Seeing which Jigneshbhai continued. “One hopes to combine passion and profit, but the two may or may not meet. One must be ready for either of that to happen. One must hope they meet.”

That’s when the wealthy old man walked towards Swami from the adjoining table. We had heard that he had an eye for deals and that eye had helped him build the kind of wealth he had. But what he said left us with a semblance of a solution to this quandary of passion versus profit.

He tapped Swami on the shoulder and said, “Keep working on your passion till you find a way to turn it into profit or don’t need the profit. Unless, of course, you are as lucky as me, and like me, and you have a passion for profit.”

***

Work from Home = Home Work

Someone said there are three types of lies. There are lies, damned lies and then, there is statistics. And then, beyond all those lies, there is work from home.

Now there is work from home, plus there is home work. And that is no lie.

A friend of mine told me on a walk yesterday that in the many months since he started working from home, a stark realisation hit him home (no pun intended). It was that working from home leads to a lot of home work. He told me stories about his experience. I couldn’t agree with him more. I gave him some stories of my own.

When it comes to home work, it’s important to accept a few facts in life. You are not going to like everything that comes your way. Home work is like every other job. Some parts of it you take to in a jiffy, and some you could try all your life but get nowhere.

For example, I felt like I was born for washing machine related home work. I experienced an unexplained sort of peace when I loaded the washing machine with the day’s clothes, poured the detergent and chimed it on with its start button. I seem to have an ear for the machine’s sounds too. The machine seemed to call me after it was done to put the clothes on the drying line.

But just as this self-realisation of who I am and why I am here hit me, life got in the way. In a few days, the other not-so-good side of home work turned up (aka plumbing). It led me to an existential crisis. Why me and why this, I cried. I was just not cut out for plumbing related home work.

I always had this intuitive feeling that plumbers have no idea what they are doing. I believed that they do something because they have been called to do something. The plumbing related work I did over the past year convinced me that I was right about my opinion.

The leakages and strange noises that our drainage, pipes, and bathrooms make don’t seem to go away, despite whatever the plumber does. No one knows why they start, and no one knows why they go away. More importantly, no one knows why they restart.

I concluded that bathrooms need prayers more than plumbers. Maybe the next time I will call a pandit. Or someone who fixes the possessed. My bathroom seems like a good candidate.

But till I find someone qualified enough, I get on with it and accept my bathrooms, pipes, and drainage systems as they are. I don’t complain about them and let things be. Turns out that it is not a bad strategy to handle them. On second thoughts, it’s a good strategy to handle anything, actually.

So after a few settled weeks of washing machine peace and plumbing misery, I realised that if I added laundry related home work to my list of responsibilities, then it might add some spice to my life. It would be like a related job diversification, as I already own the washing machine job.

So I took ownership of the laundry bag and found a new laundry app as the dhobi had disappeared after the lockdown and not come back. Others at home were happy and it led to some degree of job enhancement and increased job satisfaction for me, so to speak.

It was all hunky-dory till some work in the kitchen cropped up.

Some things are just not my cup of tea. In the face of rising temptation and boredom, I told myself repeatedly to stay out of the kitchen. As Buffett says, you must stick to your circle of competence. And you must know where it ends. So I stayed out of areas related to the kitchen.

But I realised over the long time that I have spent at home that it is possible to bring some variety to your kitty of home work. It is by adding tasks in areas outside your comfort zone. You need to push yourself and feel up to a challenge. With that view, I added buying fresh fruits and vegetables to my list. Not that I do a great job of it, but like all jobs, one gets brownie points for stretching.

I have realised that new jobs emerge all the time in home work when one is working from home. New age jobs that didn’t exist in the BC days (Before Covid).

One example is that of a door bell attendant to take online deliveries.

A friend told me that he has taken up the mantle of being a child entertainer and online class supervisor.

Another enterprising engineer friend is also a broadband and Wi-Fi fixer.

Fourth is a Netflix movie recommender.

I am sure new ones will emerge in the future. But I learnt that, like all other things, if you leave something alone long enough, it sorts itself out. So I don’t jump into these new job roles in a hurry and wait to see if there is long term potential in them.

Sometimes, those ad-hoc jobs disappear on their own.

So I am happy and free to focus on my core competencies and organise my day well.

Working from home comes with all this home work. But I guess one can’t have everything in life.

***