Varadharajan Ramesh's Blog, page 8

Just Another Love Story – 1

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‘Good morning, Angel! Happy Birthday.’

She blinked and then smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling with mirth. Her eyes were green, flecked with gold.

‘You have your mother’s eyes. She had the most beautiful eyes.’ I choked up and then composed myself, ‘You know how it is with me. Anyways, today is all about you. What do you want to do?’

I was gifted with a radiant smile that instantly warmed my heart. Maggi needs two minutes you know! She picked up the steaming mug of coffee and took a sip, ‘Just perfect! Today, I want to stay here at home, with you.’

‘Are you sure? Thought you might want to hang out with your friends. You know? Party and stuff!’

‘I hang out with my friends every other day. I want to spend time with you today. Oh, by the way, where’s my birthday gift?’

I sat down on the bed, next to her, and brushed a rogue strand of hair away from her eyes. Maya was just like her mother, in more ways than one.

‘What do you want? I’ll get it for you.’

‘What’s the upper ceiling?’

‘The sky, my dear. That’s the limit. Ask anything, and it’s yours.’

She scrunched her nose and considered my last statement. For a second, I was overcome with a feeling of dread that she might ask something that I couldn’t get her. The last thing I wanted to do was disappoint my little angel on her birthday.

She smiled, ‘Tell me the story of how you and mom met. That’s what I want for my birthday.’

‘Fine, I’ll tell you,’ I said. ‘But, brush your teeth first. I’ll be waiting downstairs. Breakfast’s ready.’

I kissed her on her forehead and headed down. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee acted as a homing beacon towards the dining table.

I was well into the sports section of the newspaper when she walked in fresh as a flower. I folded the newspaper and placed it neatly on the demarcated place on the table.

‘Coffee or OJ?’

‘Coffee, please. My day starts when there’s some coffee in my system.’ She picked up an apple and started peeling it carefully, ‘So, shall we begin?’

‘Begin what?’ I feigned ignorance.

‘Argh! You are a big buzzkill, Daddy-o.’ She looked away, ‘Well, I hope you are happy now. You’ve managed to hurt me on my birthday.’

‘But why do you want to know that story, sweetheart?’ I refilled my cup of coffee. ‘It’s nothing amazing. Just a simple love story, nothing like the grand romantic ones you read.’

‘Are you kidding me? I’m bursting with the desire to know. Mom never opened her mouth about it.’

I sighed, ‘Alright then! Ask away.’

‘Where did you both meet for the first time?’

‘In our college. I was doing my second year Engineering. Your mom was a year junior to me. We belonged to different departments as well. I was a proud Mechanical Engineering student, and your mom had just enrolled to become a software engineer. I think it was September or October – it’d been a few months since the classes had begun for that semester. All that my class guys would talk was about the pretty girl in the freshers’ batch. Not only my class guys but almost all the guys in my college.’

‘Wait! You hadn’t seen mom by then?’

‘Nope! In fact, I think I was the last guy in the whole college to see her.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘Was she the prettiest girl amongst the freshers?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

I smiled and said, ‘She wasn’t the prettiest of the freshers. She was the most beautiful girl in the whole college.’

‘Wow! Really?’

‘Yeah! She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen in my life. Until I laid my eyes on you, that is.’ I smiled at her and refilled my coffee.

‘Aw! That’s so sweet of you, Daddy-o. I’m touched.’

‘Don’t call me daddy-o, Maya. That sounds disgusting. Who taught it to you?’

She shrugged and said, ‘Well, I thought it was endearing. Who’d have thought that you were such a sensitive senorita?’

Not only did Maya look like her mother, but she had inherited all her cheekiness as well. I sipped my coffee in silence, giving my best fake grimaced expression to her.

‘I’m sorry, Mr. Ved Pratap, for calling you daddy-o. From this moment onwards, I shall call you only by your name. Is that fine, Mr. Ved Pratap?’

Her frown met my own. Ten seconds later, we both were laughing so hard that Rajamma, our cook, came running in from the kitchen.

‘Please continue the story. You had just seen mom in your college. I need more details.’

‘First, have some toast. You’ve had a quarter of an apple and a cup of coffee, and that’s nowhere enough for a twenty-year-old. Rajamma, a couple of toasts with the crust cut off – that’s how the princess here likes her toast and an egg-white omlette for me.’

She poured herself a measure of orange juice, ‘I’m perfectly capable of cutting the crusts of my toast. No need to let Rajamma know about that. You, sir, have committed a serious offence.’ She had a smug look on her face, ‘I deserve a huge chunk of your story, uninterrupted, as a token of your repentance.’

‘Alright, you win.’ I relieved a cigarette from its box and lit it, ‘I know that you don’t like me smoking. But, just this once, let me be. This is a long, a little sweet, a little bitter, and just another love story.’

To be continued…

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Mirror, Mirror! – Friday Fictioneers

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‘Grandmother, what is it?’

‘It’s a magic mirror, love. It shows what your heart really wants.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, that’s what my grandmother’s grandmother told her.’

‘Have you taken a peek?’

‘But of course, love. Quite the few times.’

‘Did it truly show your heart’s desire?’

‘That’s my little secret, love. Do you want to take a peek?’

‘It already shows what I want, Grandmother.’

‘The gardener’s shed? But of course! I’m truly sorry, my dear. Alas, your destiny is to become the Queen.’

‘If only this mirror could also give me what I desire!’

Word Count: 94

Congratulations and best wishes to our gracious host, Rochelle, on her brand new book – A Stone For The Journey. Thanks to Nathan Sowers and Dawn M. Miller for this week’s picture prompt. To read more stories based on this prompt, please click here.  

The Cursed Dog! – FFfAW 180

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‘Bradley!’ Rubina calls me by my full name only when I’m in trouble, ‘What is that?’

I grin and unwrap the delicate packaging. With a flourish, I place the object on top of the table.

‘Once again, Bradley! What in the blue hell is that?’

‘Glad you asked. It’s an 300 year old authentic Chinese Cursed Dog statue. It brings the owners boatloads of good luck and bad luck to their enemies. Neat, right?’

‘Really?’ Uh-oh! Rubina’s hands are on her hips. Never a good sign!

‘Yup! The old nan in the Chinese shop vouched for its authenticity.’

‘You do realize that its a porcelain statue of a Shih tzu on a donut.’

‘Yes! Donuts were invented nearly 300 years ago. Even the Chinese used to make a type of donut called the Youtiao. Did you know that?’

‘Not the ones with strawberry cream and rainbow sparkles. Tell me, how much did it cost?’

And, it hits me.

‘Bloody cursed dog!’

Written for FFfAW hosted by Priceless Joy. This week’s prompt is from Yinglan Zheng. Thank you, PJ and Yinglan. To read other entries, please click here. 

Word Count: 159

 

 

 

Goodbyes – Friday Fictioneers

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The crowd gathered on the banks of the holy river was a living, feeling organism in itself. It ebbed and flowed mimicking the dirty brown water and it glowed with spectacle not unlike the river.

Some cried, some laughed, some were relieved, some took selfies, and some just stood there taking in the scenes.

Most of them had come to say goodbyes to their loved ones, the lamps cast in the waters apparently guiding the departed souls to heaven.

One by one, the lamps flickered and vanished. The crowd too.

Tomorrow, new lamps, new crowd, new waters.

Different, but same.

Word Count: 100

Written in response to the picture prompt provided by Carla Bicomong for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields. Please find other entries here. 

Superstitions – FFfAW 179

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Professor Mehta turned around and addressed his students, ‘This pathway here is forbidden, reserved exclusively for the Gods.’

Praful scoffed, ‘Yet another superstition! This is ridiculous.’

The professor smiled, ‘I’ve always enjoyed your views, Praful. But you do not have to scoff at everything contrarian to your views.’

‘Really, Professor? Why load the current generation with the age old superstitions?’

‘I agree that some superstitions are just that, superstitions. But, there are a lot of other superstitions which have their roots in valid scientific explanations.’

‘Like?’

‘Your grandmother might have told you not cut your fingernails after dark. Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It was just a safety measure in the pre-electricity days to ensure that you didn’t cut your fingers by mistake in the dark. Similarly, the chillies and lemon hung from a thread in front of the houses was nothing but a natural anti-bacterial measure.’

‘What about this, then?’

‘There are live land-mines under this small strip of land which couldn’t be removed then. Hence, the no-entry sign. Let’s just take the side entrance.’

Word Count: 175

Written in response to the picture prompt provided by Yarnspinnerr for FFFAW hosted by Priceless Joy. 

An Interview With My Favorite Author

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It was nothing like what I had imagined.

I found him rocking forward and backwards on his famous cane chair, a cigarette dangling between his parched lips. The ashtray on the table overflowed with snubbed butts.

There were sheets of paper, scrunched into balls, discarded all over the place. I opened one, and read.

It was not good.

The cabin stank of whiskey, vomit, and failure.

I started the interview, he slurred incoherent words. Then he started coming on to me.

I shot a look of disgust and pity towards him and left.

I shouldn’t have peeped behind the curtain.

Word Count: 100

Written in response to the picture prompt provided by Yvette Prior for the weekly Friday Fictioneers challenge hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields. Please find other entries here. 

Car Cemetery – FFfAW 178

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‘Grandpa, what are cars made of?’

Al considered his grandson Ron’s question. ‘A lot of different stuff, dear. But, mostly steel.’

‘What else?’

‘Well, the newer car engines are made of aluminium alloy and the windows are made of glass. The tires are made of rubber and the consoles have a lot of plastics and fiber glass.’

Ron pondered over the reply. ‘Where does steel come from?’

‘From the insides of the earth. Iron ore is where steel comes from.’

‘Aluminium?’

‘That too.’

‘Where does glass come from?’

‘From sand. You have to heat sand to a very high temperature to make glass.’

‘So, a car is made from stuff we dig up from the earth?’

‘Yes, you got it.’

‘There are a lot of cars on the roads. Did all of them come from the earth?’

‘Indeed!’

‘So, the earth is hollow where they dug all the materials from?’

‘Pretty much!’

‘Seems kinda waste, isn’t it? Now that we have no fuel and all cars just stand on the road like stones.’

Written in response to the picture prompt provided by Ted Strutz for FFfAW hosted by Priceless Joy. Please find other entries here. 

Word Count: 173

Options – Friday Fictioneers

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Take any street, it’s a microcosm of the entire world. You can find animals and trees, churches and sewers, saints and predators, happy and sad people, running fast, minding their own businesses, not really pausing and looking at others and their plights.

So, I know you are not looking at me, eventhough you see me standing with five hundred seedlings, as you pass me by. You have no time to spare for an impoverished farmer and I have to accept that.

I’m going to leave these seedlings here and vanish. Let’s see if it becomes food or trash.

Word Count: 98

Written in resposne to the picture prompt given by Ronda Del Boccio for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff – Fields. Please find other entries here. 

PTSD – FFfAW 177

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He sat on the bench everyday, not moving, just gazing into the lake for hours together. No wonder I felt uncomfortable. Not just me, the other women of the neighbourhood as well. We talked to our husbands, boyfriends, brothers, and friends about the weird guy who sits for hours near the children’s play area.

They tried to talk to him, they reasoned with him, argued with him, even shouted a bit. But, he never reacted. Just sat there as if they were akin to the fruitflies that buzz around in the evening.

One of the younger boys started it and it became nasty. They said the guys in the ambulance just shook their heads while they strapped him.

The neighbourhood was peaceful once again.

I met the man after few months, in the veteran’s hospital, when I went to see  my uncle Vinny. He was sat there, immobile, on his wheelchair gazing into nothingness.

The nurse shook her head and muttered, ‘Poor guy! All he wanted was to see some water. He’d enough of sand.’

Word Count: 175

Written for the weekly FFfAW hosted by Priceless Joy. Thank you, PJ. Thanks to Wildverbs for the picture prompt. Please read other stories here. 

 

The Boy of Hamelin

Hans sat under a tree, brooding. Passersby muttered their greetings, and he spat back. Misers!

He cursed himself for being a cripple. Ten years had passed since that night. He never heard that tune again.

Growing up in a children-less town sucked!