Kavya Janani U.'s Blog, page 3

The Telephone Booth – Part 3

Read the previous parts here – Part 1 and Part 2.

Vishnu’s Experiment

Vishnu curled his pinky finger with Nayani’s. They decided that a leisurely evening walk would be a great stressbuster. Also, Nayani wanted to try another experiment with Vishnu. She was intrigued to know whether it worked for everyone. Even to those who haven’t used that particular telephone booth. She also wondered whether all the payphones in the world turn into time portals after they are abandoned.

“Hey, Vish. Have you ever used a telephone booth to speak to someone?” She asked Vishnu.

“Yes, I have. Lots of time.”

“When was the last time you used a payphone?”

“I think it was in 2010.”

“Is that booth like the red ones you see everywhere?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay, let’s take this path. I want to show you something.”

“What? This narrow street?” Vishnu’s honey-coloured eyes searched the path for any signs of human inhabitation. But he couldn’t find even one human being in sight.

“Yes, love. This path-“

“But it looks haunted. There are only trees and more trees. Why would you want to go this way?”

“I want to show you something, Vish. Believe me, you’ll be thrilled.”

“What? Are you planning to put me in a horror movie?” Vishnu chuckled and hit her playfully.

“Nope. You wait and watch. Come.” She looked into his eyes again and melted in those honey-coloured eyeballs. The corner of his mouth twitched, making his perfect jawline a spectacle to watch. She placed her left palm on his porcelain cheeks and pulled him closer. They kissed, his hands roving all over her back and their tongues exploring each other’s mouths. Then they realized that they were in public, though the street they just crossed was deserted. They pulled back and stood awkwardly, not knowing what to tell.

“Come, let’s go.” Nayani held his hand and led him on the path.

They walked on the narrow street, strewn with beech and mango trees. A cool breeze engulfed them, though the skies were still clear. A few steps away, the red telephone booth stood as majestic as ever.

“Vish, this street came into existence only because of this telephone booth. The school in which I studied is situated on the other street, which we crossed a few minutes ago. This booth was popular a decade ago, as it was the only means of communication used by the students of this locality. I have some fond and bitter memories associated with this booth. Yesterday, something strange happened, which I cannot explain clearly. I came to this booth to just take a look at it. But it started raining heavily and I got caught. I wanted to inform Ma about my whereabouts. But there was no signal on my phone. So, I just had this weird idea of using this telephone.”

“Instead of calling my mother’s number, I dialled my high school sweetheart Mayank’s old number, as I am used to dialling it frequently in this booth. Guess what? That number is not in existence now. But the call got connected. For a moment, I thought that he might be using the same number. He picked up the call. I started speaking to him, but he wasn’t in the present. I mean, I was speaking to his past version in 2007. I was astonished. Then, I tried the old landline number which we used in 2007. Believe me, I talked to my father. Later, I went home and tried Mayank’s old number from my phone. It said that it wasn’t in existence. I know this sounds strange. But I want you to try calling some old number once and check whether the same happens to you. Make sure that that old number has been dialled in a telephone booth in 2010.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Vishnu burst out laughing.

“Hahaha! Hey, Nayan, what happened to you? Are you writing a science-fiction novel?”

Nayani’s shoulders slumped. She knew no one in their sane mind would believe what happened to her. But she wasn’t letting this go.

“No, Vish. I am serious. I am still reeling from the experience. Please try it. Call Vidhya’s past self. I think she died on August 26th, 2010. That is tomorrow. So, you call now. Tell her that you love her. Or rather loved her. Confess it now at least. You cannot prevent her accident, but a great weight would be lifted from your shoulders. You might have surely called her from a telephone booth in 2010.”

The mention of Vidhya brought Vishnu back to reality. He turned serious and fidgeted with his fingers. The memories associated with Vidhya were too painful, but Nayani had presented a chance for him to talk to her again. Something more than happiness bubbled in his heart and he rubbed his hands together.

“Okay, I am ready, however absurd this sounds.”

They entered the telephone booth and Vishnu lifted the receiver. He was thrilled when the display pane shone green. Nayani dropped a coin in the slit.

After a few rings, the coin fell and the call got connected. Nayani almost gasped. She didn’t expect her experiment to be successful.

“Hello, Vidhya?” Vishnu spoke in his sing-song voice.

Nayani couldn’t hear what the voice at the other end spoke.

“Vishnu here. What are you doing?”

The sweet voice at the other end was the perfect mixture of happiness and puzzlement.

“I am calling from a telephone booth. Listen, I just felt like talking to you. I am so overwhelmed with emotions right now, that tears are brimming in my eyes.”

A short pause as he heard Vidhya’s confusing questions.

“I just want to tell you I love you, Vidhya. I have always loved you, but I never mustered the courage to tell you. I love you, okay? I don’t want to know what you feel about me.”

Nayani slapped his hand and signalled him to ask about her feelings too, while he listened to Vidhya’s exasperations.

“What?! You love me too?”

Nayani swallowed a lump in her throat, as she realized the possibility of Vishnu warning Vidhya about her impending accident. Then, Vidhya would live and Nayani would never meet Vishnu. But that would create a paradox. If Vishnu never meets Nayani, then he wouldn’t go to the telephone booth to warn Vidhya about her accident.

“I don’t know what to say. Vidhya, I love you. You are always in my heart, no matter what.”

Nayani couldn’t listen anymore. She stepped out of the booth. Suddenly she felt that it was a mistake to have initiated this experiment with Vishnu. She hugged herself, as goosebumps appeared on her body. She also discovered that the telephone booth could connect anyone to the past. Those who had used a pay phone in the past. That too, to the exact date and time of the last year they had used it.

When Vishnu came out, his face was soaked in tears. He ran towards Nayani and hugged her tightly.

“Thank you so much, Nayani. As you told me, I am feeling so relieved now. I know I cannot prevent her death. I cannot meddle with time. But I am happy I confessed my love to her and I also got to know that she loved me too. Thank you so much!”

Nayani hugged him back and cried on his shoulders. Through her tears, she asked him, “Is she still in your heart? Don’t you love me truly?”

He pulled back from the embrace and looked at her, his eyes hard with love.

“What madness is this, Nayani? Will a mother not love one of her two children? Or, will she abandon the second child because the first one died? This is like that. Vidhya is my past. You are my present. And, I love both my past and present equally. For hell’s sake, she is no more. Dead loved ones stay with us forever in our memories, Nayani. You should understand that.”

Nayani heaved a sigh and replied, “I am sorry I asked that question. So silly of me! Come, let’s leave everything here and go home. Ma is preparing some special snacks for you.”

“Wow! That’s so sweet of her. Let’s go!”

The happy duo walked back home, sharing some light-hearted banter.

*****

“What is that in your hand?” asked Vishnu, as he walked along with Nayani on the same street the next day. She removed the newspaper wrapper and showed him the thing in her hand.

“Sledgehammer? But, why?”

“That payphone is not going to do either of us any good.”

“What do you mean, Nayan?”

“Only both of us know its secret. We will not share it with anyone, but we might blurt it out unknowingly. So, what will happen then? The secret will spread. Then, many people will make calls to their past, meddle with time, and change all the events. I don’t want to be the one destroying others’ lives. Whatever has happened should happen as it was. Okay?”

“Okay, so you’re going to destroy it?”

“Yes. And also, you and I will be tempted to call to our past loves again. We have achieved what we wanted to do. I gave it back to Mayank and you confessed to Vidhya. That’s all. I don’t want us to dwell in our past just because of a damn telephone. We have a beautiful life ahead. Let’s concentrate on our present and future.”

“Well said, madam!”

And so, the abandoned telephone booth lived on, with its payphone shattered to pieces, and the two souls it held falling in love over and over again.

The Telephone Booth – Part 2

Read the previous part here – Part 1.

Nayani Gives Back

An hour had passed since the eerie incident, but Nayani could not step out of the telephone booth. She sat on the booth’s floor, her head buried in her palms. Even after much thinking, she could find no plausible reason for the incident.

How could she speak to Mayank of the past? Mayank of 2007?

After much pontification, she stood up and decided to experiment again. She picked up the receiver, dropped a coin, and dialled her mother’s number. But there was no dial tone after that. Furthermore, the payphone returned her coin. She tried this a few more times. Then, she dialled one of her friends’ numbers and met with the same phenomenon.

An idea suddenly struck her. She dialled the landline number that her family had used in 2007. To her horror, she heard the dial tone. Tin tin tin tin…

Her heart thudded mercilessly against her ribcage, as she heard the rings. The call was picked up.

“Hello!”

It was Nayani’s father, who had passed away in 2013. She was overcome with emotions, as she heard his voice, six years after his death.

“Pa?”

“Nayani? Where are you?”

“I am at Shilpa’s house,” she replied, as she suddenly remembered that she was always at Shilpa’s house in the evenings of August 2007.

“Okay, but this is not Shilpa’s landline number. Where are you calling from?”

“Shilpa’s landline has malfunctioned, Pa. So, I came to the telephone booth to call you.”

“Oh! That’s okay. But why did you call me?”

“Just to tell you that I’d be late today. I’ll reach home by 9 PM.”

“Okay, dear. Take care. Be safe while cycling back.”

“Okay, Pa. I love you.”

“Huh? What is this? You are speaking so strangely.”

“Pa, I just said I love you. Nothing strange in it.”

“Ah, I love you too, Nayani. Don’t know what has come over my dear daughter. Come home soon.”

With that, he hung up. And suddenly, Nayani remembered that day. After she had reached home earlier than 9 PM, her dad questioned her about the strange call. She had been surprised. Then, she told him that it must have been a prank call made by her enemy, Shruthi. Her dad had been convinced successfully.

Tears streamed down Nayani’s eyes, as she realized the telephone booth’s superpower. It was a different time portal that allowed people to make calls to their past, to the exact date and time as the present. She also figured out that the payphone connected her to 2007, and not to other years because that year was the last time she had used the telephone booth.

*****

Nayani was down with bad flu, as a result of getting drenched in the rain. Mridula heeded her needs and took care of her. She was also worried about her daughter’s sudden silence. She wasn’t talking properly. But one thing was clear, whatever unfinished business she had had was not still finished.

“Nayani, I’ve made pancakes for you,” she said, placing a plate of blueberry pancakes with dollops of chocolate sauce and honey oozing at their sides.

“Ah! That’s the best remedy for what I am going through,” replied Nayani, her mouth watering at the sight of the delicious pancakes.

“You can share with me whatever that’s troubling you. You must know that I’m always here for you.” Mridula placed her right palm atop Nayani’s entwined hands.

“Nothing, Ma. I’ll get over it. Vishnu is coming today. He’ll visit us in the evening.”

“Oh, then you must be happy!”

“Of course, I should be. And, I will.”

“Any idea of getting married this year?”

“Not yet, Ma. Let us enjoy our freedom for a few more years. With marriage comes greater responsibilities, which we aren’t ready to take up now.”

“That’s true. Okay, you have your pancakes and rest for some time.”

“No, Ma. After having my breakfast, I’ll just take a walk around the neighbourhood. Maybe I’ll feel better.”

“All right.”

Mridula left the room. Nayani’s eyes wandered over to the landline phone placed in the corner of the room. She wondered whether all the telephones connected to the past or whether only that particular payphone did that. And, she also wanted to know the mechanism behind it, the science behind her strange experience. However, she felt that some things are better left unexplained. Maybe, this was another mystery of the universe.

*****

Nayani’s hands shivered as she dropped a coin into the payphone’s slit and dialled Mayank’s old number. She decided that if the payphone connected to her past, then she would give the past Mayank a piece of her mind and ask him to eff off. It was because of him that her mental health weakened and she was almost driven to kill herself.

As years passed and maturity came over her, she realized that she had been a fool to believe that that thing was love, when it was just a huge standup comedy show. Too many times, she regretted her past self’s low self-esteem and her inability to move on. Now was the time to give it back to the boy who never deserved her.

Mayank picked up the phone on the seventh ring.

“Hello!”

“Hello, Mayank. I am Nayani.”

“Now, what do you want? You just spoke yesterday. And, you mysteriously cut the call. Why have you called now?”

“Just to tell you to eff off.”

“Means? What’s meant by ‘eff off’?”

“Oh! You don’t know modern jargon, right? I meant to tell you that you’re a heartless creature. You are a loser, Mayank.”

“Nayani! What are you talking about?”

“Listen! Don’t you dare raise your voice against mine? You don’t deserve me. You just don’t deserve me. Okay? It’s not the other way around.”

“Nayani, can you just-“

“YOU ARE A LOSER! And losers don’t deserve girls like me. Thank God, I didn’t end up with you. You are a shitbag. And you’re going to lose everything in your life. Mark my words. These are not just words coming out of a hopeless romantic teenager’s mouth. Never speak to me. And, don’t ever question me about this incident. I’ll go to the extent of pressing charges against you. Understood?”

There was only silence at the other end. Nayani dropped another one-rupee coin as the silence extended. After a minute, Mayank heaved a huge sigh and replied, “Nayani, you are mad.”

“Yes, I am. And, goodbye.”

She hung up and burst into tears. Sliding down to the booth’s floor, she hugged herself and cried a bit more. It felt better. The emotional outburst. Letting go of accumulated hurt. She felt so light that she could grow wings and fly in the sky.

After a few minutes, she wiped her cheeks and proceeded to conduct another experiment that was on her mind. She walked to the next street, which housed her high-school classmate Monika’s bungalow. Monika was the daughter of a wealthy businessman. She was also famous in school, though she never boasted about it. She was humble and mingled with all her classmates, unlike other rich students who had separate cliques.

Nayani reached Monika’s bungalow, requested the security guard to inform her about her arrival, and waited to be called in. A minute later, Monika herself came down and invited her in. After the initial pleasantries, Monika began in her sultry voice, “I was intrigued by your message. So, you want me to take part in an experiment?”

“Yes, Monika. But you shouldn’t ask any questions about it. Just a small experiment.”

“Okay, I am game for it. Where are we going to conduct it?”

“In the telephone booth in the next street.”

“What? In that telephone booth? But it’s been abandoned for so many years. Why on earth are you conducting your experiment in that place?”

“Because my experiment involves the payphone inside that telephone booth. And, Monika, please, no more questions. I cannot explain certain things.”

“Okay, okay, cool. Can we go now? We can return here, have some smoothies, and catch up. It’s been a long time.”

“Not today, Monika. I am having a bad cold. Sometime later.”

“Fine then, let’s go.”

The duo reached the telephone booth. Monika’s eyebrows drew together in trepidation, as she looked around the abandoned booth. Nayani asked her, “Do you know any old mobile number or landline number that’s not in use now? I mean, do you know it by heart?”

“Yes, I know. My childhood friend’s.”

“Was the mobile number used before 2010? That was the last year this booth was in use.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“Okay, let me do something.”

Nayani lifted the receiver, dropped the coin, and asked Monika to type that number. Though Monika panicked at the sight of the green light on the display pane, she proceeded to type the number. But Nayani couldn’t listen to any dial tone. A moment later, the payphone returned the coin. She was intrigued.

“Wait, have you ever used a payphone?”

“No, I haven’t. Not this payphone, not any payphone. I owned a mobile phone during our school days. Don’t you remember?”

This was another discovery for the already flabbergasted Nayani. The telephone booth worked its magic only on those who had used it.

To be continued…

Read the next part here – Part 3.

The Telephone Booth – Part 1

I wrote this three-part short story in April 2020, during a stretch of lockdown WFH days. I surprised myself finishing this story, what with my baby’s erratic-cyclic sleeping pattern on most days. It won the WattOriginals 2020 Award on Wattpad.

The Telephone Booth’s Secret

Nayani stared at it, dumbfounded. The abandoned telephone booth was surrounded by creepers everywhere. A patch of daffodils decorated its base. Nayani walked towards the booth and opened its door. Instead of dropping a coin in the slot and dialling a number, she hugged the payphone tightly and kissed the top of the receiver.

Ten seconds later, she found two strong hands embracing her. The pay phone was hugging her back! That couldn’t be possible. She could feel human skin. Immediately she looked up and found herself staring into the eyes of the boy who never loved her truly. He flashed her a creepy smile. Then the ground beneath them opened up and they fell headlong.

*****

August 20th, 2019

Nayani screamed and woke up, panting for breath. She grabbed the Tupperware bottle from the bedside table and swallowed vast gulps of water. She then rubbed her eyes and looked around. She was still in her bedroom. She had dreamt about the abandoned telephone booth for the first time. But it all looked so real. The surroundings. The telephone booth. The payphone. The boy she loved during her teens. His hands around her torso. She felt a pang of unexplained pain in her heart. Suddenly she looked at the clock, which flashed a sharp eight.

She jumped from her bed and headed straight to the kitchen, as she was late for work. She boiled the milk, made some tomato cheese sandwiches, and then went to the bathroom for her ablutions. She dressed in a comfortable sandal-yellow Kurti while tying her wavy hair into a ponytail, patting her dusky skin with some compact, decorating her black eyes with kajal, and dabbing on some magenta lipstick. She sat at the breakfast table and munched on the sandwiches, all the while wondering about the telephone booth.

She picked up her phone and typed out a message to her mom on WhatsApp.
“I am coming to Chennai this weekend, Ma. Good morning and love you.”

*****

The morning of August 24th, 2019

Mridula’s cardamom tea was synonymous with nostalgia. Nayani sniffed her cup and brought it to her lips. She sipped it, relishing in the sugary flavour. Then she looked at Mridula and winked at her.
“This is the best tea in the world, Ma. I love you.”

Mridula chuckled, her laughter creating ripples in the August breeze.

“Aha! Your laughter is the best music, Ma.” Nayani continued her banter.

“Okay, okay, stop flattering me. Why have you come here? Nowadays, you are so busy. You always tell me that you cannot come to Chennai for another couple of years. What happened to you suddenly?”

“Okay, let me come straight to the point. I have some unfinished business, Ma. So I thought I could come over and finish it once and for all.”

“Ah, that’s why! Otherwise, you wouldn’t come. What’s the business, by the way?”

“Ummm…it’s a secret. I’ll let you know later.”

“Hmph! You and your secrets.”

Mridula picked up the empty teacups and retreated to the kitchen. Nayani smiled to herself, thankful that one of her parents was still alive.

*****

The evening of August 24th, 2019

The abandoned telephone booth looked just like it had appeared in Nayani’s dream. The glass-paned red telephone booth was popular a decade ago. Nayani had frequented it so much that she knew that the payphone held more secrets than coins. Now, the telephone booth was surrounded by creepers and adorned with cobwebs. The name-board at the top displayed just ‘PHONE’, while the ‘TELE’ part had rusted with time.

Just like in her dream, the outside of the telephone booth was decorated by a patch of fresh daffodils. It was like the flowers were protecting the booth from natural disasters. Nayani opened the glass door and entered it. More cobwebs welcomed her and she coughed, as she inhaled a mouthful of dust.

The payphone had gathered years of dust, which shined in the sun rays that fell on it through the glass panes. Knowing that she’d be met with such a sight, Nayani had brought a rag cloth along with her. Taking it from her handbag, she wiped the payphone thoroughly. The yellow box with its keypad became visible and the black receiver glowed like a magical object.

As she had done in her dream, she hugged the payphone tightly, hoping that it wouldn’t metamorphose into the person she didn’t want to see. She placed her right ear on top of the yellow box and listened to it breathe with stories from a bygone decade. At that moment, she reminisced about her bittersweet relationship with the telephone booth. It was twelve years earlier when the booth meant everything to her.

*****

April 18th, 2007

Three school students were standing near the telephone booth when Nayani reached there. They were seniors from her school and they flashed casual smiles at her. She smiled in return and parked her bicycle. The students took turns making calls. After ten minutes, the booth emptied off and Nayani entered it. She lifted the receiver and dropped a one-rupee coin in the slit. She typed the mobile number that she knew by heart. Three dial tones later, she heard the familiar ring. Mayank picked up on the fifth ring.

“Hello!”

“Hello, Mayank. Nayani here.”

“Ah, Nayani! I wasn’t expecting your call.”

“I am calling from the telephone booth. Can we meet today?”

“Sure, love. Where?”

“I’ll be finishing my music class at 6. So, you just meet me on the 4th cross street.”

“Okay, sure, dear.”

“Love you.”

“Hmmm, love you too.”

But Mayank never turned up that day. It was just two weeks of their clandestine puppy-love relationship. Within then, Mayank started behaving indifferently. Sometimes, he never picked up Nayani’s calls. Sometimes, he had excuses ready at the tip of his tongue. Sometimes, Nayani need not drop another coin into the phone box, because their conversations lasted only two minutes. And, sometimes, Mayank never responded to the cute MMSes that Nayani sent to him from her uncle’s Nokia 1100. Nevertheless, she built a castle of hope in her heart, waiting every day for Mayank to call her and talk to her. Occasionally, she looked at her journal, where she had scribbled ‘Mayanayani’ a thousand times. She was just 14 and she couldn’t find the difference between infatuation and love.

May 20th, 2007

Mayank’s mobile phone was not reachable for ten days in a row. Nayani panicked and decided to visit his apartment. She went along with a friend and confronted him. But all she gathered were vague replies to her questions. When asked about the mobile phone, his reply was casual. He had just thrown the mobile phone in anger and it had shattered to pieces.

By the end of the conversation, Nayani knew she had somehow lost Mayank.

June 18th, 2007

Though Nayani did not disturb Mayank again, she just tried calling him, to check whether his mobile phone was working. She went to the telephone booth and dialled his number. She almost cried when she heard the rings. But she cut the call before he could pick up.

If Mayank was really in love with her, he would have called her once he got his mobile phone repaired. But that was not the case here.

July 15th, 2007

Nayani could not bear it anymore. She needed many answers. So, she mustered up the courage and called Mayank from her uncle’s Nokia cellphone. He knew that number, but he picked up anyway.

“Do you love me, Mayank?” She asked him after the initial pleasantries.

“No, not at all, to be frank.” That was his cold reply.

After a series of muffled cries, Nayani asked, “I need to know the reason. Why?”

“Just like that. I am not interested in you. You aren’t my type of girl.”

That was the sentence that gave Nayani her first heartbreak. A lump formed in her throat as she slowly realized that she was going through a breakup. A bout of pleas from Nayani followed, to which Mayank’s replies were curt.

Even after three months, Nayani felt like killing herself, thinking that she was unworthy of love. But she just couldn’t harm herself, because a part of her still wanted to live and experience the beautiful gift called ‘life’.

*****

A cool breeze wafted from the broken window pane. Nayani broke free from her embrace and her reverie, patted the payphone lovingly, and looked outside. She saw the skies darkening for a downpour. Before she could collect herself, the rains commenced. For a moment, Nayani wondered whether she would be caught in the eerie telephone booth the entire night. If she hadn’t known the booth from a young age, she wouldn’t have entered it. It looked haunted, what with all the creepers and cobwebs.

A sudden thunderbolt cut through the air and a streak of lightning fell on the pay phone. Nayani shuddered. She knew she had to call Mridula and inform her about her whereabouts, lest she would be worried. To her dismay, there was no signal on her mobile phone. Slapping her forehead, she opened the booth’s door to check if there was any passerby. But there was not even a reptile in sight. An unexplainable silence hung in the air, punctuated by the pitter-patter of the first set of raindrops.

Though the thought was silly, Nayani wondered whether she could use the payphone and call her mother. In a sudden burst of curiosity, she picked up the receiver. To her utter shock, a green light emanated from the display pane. She fumbled for a one-rupee coin in her purse. After finding it, she dropped it into the coin slot and dialled the number.

It was a second too late that she realized she had dialled Mayank’s old mobile number. Some kind of deja vu or some familiarity with the payphone had triggered her to automatically dial his number instead of her mother’s mobile number. She wished that it should not be in use or it should be used by someone else. However, deep inside her heart, she wished to listen to his voice. Maybe, speak a few words with him. After all, she had put everything on the back burner and was leading a happy life with her boyfriend, Vishnu.

“Hello!” Someone picked up.

“Hello, is that Mayank?”

“Yes, I am Mayank. Who is this?”

“Mayank, I am Nayani.”

There was silence at the other end.

“What do you want now, Nayani? I think I made everything clear to you.”

For a moment, Nayani was dumbstruck at his attitude. Even after twelve years, he was thinking that she still loved him and that she wanted to torture him. She didn’t know how to react to his response. So, she said, “I am sorry. I never imagined that you’d still be mulling over the past.”

“The past? We broke up just last month. Today is August 22nd. And it’s already ‘past’ for you, eh? Can you see it now? You would now understand why you aren’t my type of girl. You are selfish. You have already moved on, though it was I who initiated our breakup. I just can’t fathom why you have called me now-”

Nayani couldn’t listen anymore, as the receiver dropped from her hand and she stood still, staring at the rain through the broken window pane.

To be continued…

Read the next part here – Part 2.

Breech Position – Time Travel Flash Fiction

She stood still, staring at the entrance of the hospital. ‘City Towers Maternity Hospital’ – the neon name-board gleamed in the pitch-dark surroundings. It was a quaint little hospital situated away from the bustling city. Maya Krishnamurthy’s eyes travelled up to the third floor, where room no. 303’s window was tightly shut. Lights were on, indicating that a patient was inside the labour ward. She wondered whether the woman inside the room had natural childbirth or a cesarean operation.

It was the same room in which her mother had given birth to her vaginally. She had always wanted to be inside the room to see what her place of birth looked like and to see the doctor who had touched her for the first time. She remembered her mother telling her that she was in active labour for seventeen hours and that she, baby Maya, was in a breech position. It was just before the pushing sensation that she had turned head-first. Maya always wondered about that miraculous moment that saved her mother from a C-section.

“It was like God had sent a signal to the baby to turn. I felt so relieved,” her mom had said.

“What if God had indeed sent me a signal? After all, it is said that babies can see God,” Maya had replied.

“Haha! Silly girl! Babies are Gods.”

“No, Ma. Babies cannot be Gods. Gods don’t give you so much trouble, but I did. I swallowed all your dreams and I was a difficult child. So, I wasn’t God.”

Her mom had embraced her then and replied, “You were difficult, yes. But that doesn’t mean you weren’t God.”

As Maya recollected the conversation and stared at the hospital room, something heavy pressed on her chest. Her hands immediately flew to her bosom. She began having palpitations and she gasped for breath. She shut her eyes tight, as she felt something engulf her. The conversation in her head turned into a faraway echo. Her surroundings swirled while she clenched her fists to stop the peculiarity.

The next moment when she opened her eyes, all she could see was red. She was confined to such a compact space that she couldn’t even wriggle properly. Something like heartbeats pounded in her ears with a Dolby Atmos effect. Then a lone wail pierced the pin-drop silence. A woman’s cry.

“Aaaaaaa! Someone help me. I don’t want this pain.”

“Don’t wail, Shreya ma’am. Your baby is in a breech position. We have to wait till it turns head-first. If not, we have to operate on you.”

Epiphany washed over Maya as she realized what happened to her. Her 25-year-old self was trapped in her yet-to-be-born self’s body. She somehow wriggled and looked at her right hand. Teeny-weeny fingers covered in vernix. Though she couldn’t comprehend how it was possible to travel through time, she realized that time was running out. So she delivered a ferocious kick to her mom’s belly.

‘Mumma, I will help you!’ She thought. With all her energy, she swivelled and somersaulted. She heard her mother gasp and then, “I think the baby has turned.” There was, indeed, relief in her mother’s voice.

A few minutes later, Maya heard voices that chanted, “Push, push, push!” Without any further ado, she squeezed herself out of her mother’s birth canal. Gloves-adorned hands picked her up and exclaimed, “It’s a girl!”

A sudden fear attacked baby Maya, as she realized that she should start her life all over.

‘No, no, that’d be so difficult. Imagine a 25-year-old woman acting like playing with toys and learning ABCs in kindergarten. I’d rather get trapped in the body of my 16-year-old self and relive my life from that point. Never from my baby self. No, no, no.’

Terrified immensely, she turned to the doctor for help. She just glimpsed at the doctor’s face, before she was engulfed by the same force that had brought her back to her birth moment. The next second, she was the 25-year-old Maya staring at the entrance of the hospital.

To this day, Maya Krishnamurthy wonders how she had travelled back in time just like that. Also, it created a paradox. Did she turn herself head-first because she knew the information from her mother? Or did she know it because she had turned head-first and her mother had informed her about it? The same chicken-egg theory.

Even though she knows that it would never happen again, she sometimes stands in front of her school and college, wondering whether she can involuntarily travel back to those days.

If you loved this short story, you can read my other short stories here.

Your Darling Po – A Quirky Romance Short Story

I wrote this short story in 2015.

It is a busy day and you enter. I sit quietly on the rack along with the others. My eyes pop up as soon as I see you. Even the others show the same reaction. I know that they feel the same as I feel for you. We all love you still. Finally, I have seen you after five years. Nobody has ever loved me as you did. I thought fate has separated us for eternity. However, here you are, wearing a mauve-coloured tank top and skinny denim. You look like an angel. However, I have no voice to express my feelings to you. I can only reminisce back to our love-friendship story, recollecting all the precious moments that we shared.

You were my bestie at first. We had such a beautiful beginning to our friendship. You were so excited to meet me for the first time. I still remember your bubbling face when you said, “Oh my God! I never knew that Po could be so deliciously beautiful.”

“Is he as luscious as Ladfin, Sneha?” mocked Nisha, one of your close friends.

“Yes, you should spend some more time with him as I do. Then you will realize how piquant he is.” You had snapped back at her.

I did not have the time to bask in the happiness of your comment. By then I had already blended with you. I must say that I am missing you to the moon and back. I know your mother still tells you to keep away from me. I do not understand her hatred for our deep friendship…or rather love. She still thinks that I  spoilt you but we never spoiled each other.

We used to have our sweet moments in solitude or in the company of my other friends whom you did not like much. I was always there for you. You indulged in me whatever your mood might have been. You never offended me even though you had other chums who were similar to me (remember Tom, Ladfin, Capsy, and Carry?). You know, I felt jealous when you spent time with them, ignoring my ambitious attempts to reach you. However, at the end of the day, you would return only to me. They could never equal me. You would say to them, “Po is always special to me.”

You know, the first day you touched me, I felt divine and a strong surge of friendship (or was it love?) rushed through me. Though many people had touched me, I could feel a special aura enveloping me only with your touch. Your love for me was so strong. You know, I can feel the difference when people touch me. Why? My entire clan can feel the difference. They can easily find who truly relishes them and who does not.

Then, you were diagnosed with a rare gastrointestinal disease. Doctors asked you to stop consuming too much junk food. Your mom strictly said, “Keep away from Po! He is spoiling you,” she said sternly. She probably thought that you were hanging out with me too much and I was contaminating you with all the junk food, but you know, I was actually boosting you to be healthy. You felt better around me and I must say that you appreciated even my raw beauty. Even when I had not taken a bath, you adored me. Once I had taken a bath, you enjoyed my company the most, ordering me to be relished in the way that you wanted.

I had popped up wherever you went. There was no way that your roving eyes couldn’t spot me. I was in the supermarket when you had come to purchase some groceries. The other day you met me in the vegetable market. You met me even in the backyard. I was hiding in the hole dug up by your father, eager to meet you. You pulled me out, smelled my dirty body, and gave me a good bath. Awww! I must say that it was romantic! You saw me even in the Burger Face restaurant, silently sitting in a corner along with others like me. You were wondering why I was there. Then your mom explained to you the reason for my presence in that restaurant. You were too immature at that time to understand all those things. Now as you have grown up, you can understand how essential I was to Burger Face. You saw me even in your neighbour’s house. Once again, I was in a corner of their kitchen, while you wondered whether they were abusing me.

We shared such a strong bond between us. Do you remember the day when I fell out of a lorry? You rushed to help me. But you couldn’t catch me with your hands. You were too fragile at that time. I had rolled on the road and you had watched me sadly.

And then all of a sudden, your mom started behaving indifferently. She wouldn’t allow you to meet me. You were depressed, and so was I. I wasn’t even shown to you for a second. I missed my best friend. Then one fine day, I was completely kept away from you. I can say that you were too addicted to me. “Too much of anything is bad for you, Sneha!” Even your dad, who was usually poised, yelled at you.

I hope that my other friends are in touch with you. As I had already said, you did not like them very much. There were days when they tried to attract your attention, alluring you with their good virtues. However, you were adamant. You showered all your love only on me. Maybe your parents thought you would eventually fall sick if I was with you. Five years have passed since I met you. You were not allowed to go to the supermarket or Burger Face because your mom feared that you might meet me by chance. Yes, it was hard for you to stop thinking about me. I know, you would have forgotten me gradually. So I did, until today.

You might wonder why I am blabbering like this while sitting in a rack, admiring you after a long time. I could have contacted you by phone or e-mail. I could not do so as I was neither on Facebook nor WhatsApp. Why? I do not even have a mouth to voice my feelings. I do not even move unless I am moved by an external force.

I wish I could have been a human being to have shared my feelings with you. I could have been a living thing, at least. But, I am just a potato, the king of vegetables (teehee, I consider myself one). Or sometimes, I call myself in the plural, ‘Potatoes’.

On behalf of all the potatoes in this rack, I, your darling Po, have spoken my heart out to you, even though you cannot hear my voice. Ouch! I have been picked up by a fat lady and hurled into a basket. Bye, bye, Sneha, I do not know whether we would meet again in this life. It seems that you have completely forgotten me. You also have a boyfriend to whom you will be married soon. Anyway, I can reminisce about our delicious and yummy moments in the forthcoming days and I will surely move on to some other girl who would love me as much as you did.

If you loved this short story, you can read my other short stories here.

To Have or Not To Have Kids – Feminist Short Story

It was a rainy evening. I entered Starbucks for a cup of cappuccino. As usual, my body was hungry for the daily dose of caffeine. To my shock, the cafe was jam-packed. Only one pair of seats was unoccupied. I rushed to the table and sat down. Opposite me, a couple was seated, discussing something regarding their careers and sipping on cappuccinos. I smiled at them and they returned the smile. There was an aura of happiness around them and I admired their ecstatic faces. Two minutes later, a waiter arrived and took my order.

After that, the couple introduced themselves (Vaanya and Nakul) and asked about me. I fell into easy conversation with them.

I asked them, “How long have you been married?”

“Eight years,” replied Vaanya.

I just nodded and flashed a smile. I didn’t want to ask the next question, which would obviously be about kids. I was not that stereotypical person, who saw marriage and kids as the way of settling into life.

“We don’t have kids, by the way,” Nakul quipped in, suddenly.

“Oh, I am so sorry! But I never wanted to ask that question.”

“Why should you be sorry for that? I think I should rephrase Nakul’s sentence. We don’t want kids,” Vaanya said.

They would have expected me to express shock and concern over such modern ideas. But all I did was tell them that wanting kids is a couple’s choice and is not an obligation.

“Vaanya, it is perfectly okay to not want kids. I think all couples should talk to each other before marriage, regarding the decision to have kids. If one wants kids and the other doesn’t want them, then it is better to part ways. It is not advisable to enter into marriage and have kids forcefully. Also, a couple can arrive on a mutual decision to not have kids and then get married.”

“Yes, Nakul and I stood strong in our decision. We never gave in to pressure, just because our parents wanted to become grandparents. Kids need parents who are completely loving, attentive, caring, and supportive. They wouldn’t want parents who are sulking about their lost dreams and regretting their decision to have reproduced.”

“Perfect observation!” I exclaimed while the waiter brought my cappuccino. I took a sip of it and continued, “I don’t think couples should set ‘having kids’ as their next milestone. They shouldn’t give in to popular opinions like ‘kids are everything’, ‘kids hold a marriage together’, ‘kids continue your family line’, etc. They should have children only when they deeply desire to bring up an individual and happily watch them grow.”

“That’s true! Vaanya and I want to concentrate only on our careers, goals, travel, and passion. We think that a kid is a huge commitment and we should sacrifice a part of ourselves, which we cannot do. So, we decided not to have kids at all. Society will be judgemental, but our happiness and peace of mind are more important than their opinions,” said Nakul.

“I am so proud of you both. And, I am happy to be acquainted with you. I am on a mission to become friends with people who have liberal thinking and are really outward. Thank you for your time. I enjoyed this small talk. I have to leave now, as I am going to the hospital. My best friend is eight months pregnant – forgive the irony of it – and she has a scan today. So, she needs me beside her.”

“Okay, Sahana, it was good to talk to you. See you someday!” Vaanya replied.

I left the cafe, after exchanging numbers with the couple. I felt light and peaceful, after the enlightening conversation.

*****

I met Madhumitha, my best friend, at Hope Maternity Hospital.

“Hey, how’s the little champ inside?” I asked.

“Kicking and moving all the time. I enjoy this feeling, Sahana,” replied Madhu.

Before I could ask the next question, she was summoned by a nurse and then she was taken to the scanning room.

I fiddled with my phone for a few minutes. A heavily pregnant woman paddled slowly to the seat next to mine and sat on it. I flashed a smile at her and asked, “First baby?”

“Nope, this is the second one. My first one is playing with some children outside.”

Something was amiss. She wasn’t looking happy, as she spoke about being pregnant for a second time.

“Hey, are you okay? You seem to be in an off-mood. Sorry, if that sounds too personal.”

“No, that’s fine. And, yes, I am not okay. I am not frigging okay with this pregnancy!” She got all tensed and clenched her fists tightly.

“Hey, hey, relax. You shouldn’t get so worked up when you’re pregnant.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I never wanted this pregnancy. I was forced into it. People around me harassed me into conceiving this child.”

I placed my palm on her arm and held it gently. I was afraid that she might have a breakdown, and it would affect her health and also that unborn child.

She continued, “This system is all fucked up. The woman’s wish must be taken into priority when it comes to having a second baby. If a woman, who wanted to have two kids, changes her mind after giving birth to the first one, the family must respect her decision. It is she who went through the entire pregnancy, the turmoil of labour or C-section, postpartum troubles, and other emotional issues. Why can’t people understand that?”

“I understand you. People should not force a woman to have another kid, telling her that if she has gone through it once, she can surely go through it again. It is not for them to decide what she can and what she cannot. If a woman tells that having another baby will affect her mental health, people must respect her. No one would want a mom who is depressed and completely stressed out. Everyone would like a happy mom who can wholeheartedly take care of both the kids.”

“You know, how many of them enforced their old-fashioned opinions on me? Two are best, they said. Having two can teach them to share, sacrifice, and help, they said. I have seen successful and happy single children, who have never felt the need to have a sibling. People even threatened me by telling me that if anything happens to this one child, I’ll be left childless. So, if anything happens to one of the two, it’s not suffering, eh? Anyway, a loss is a loss. Those morons never understood anything. They never took my wish and my mental health into consideration. Not even my husband cared about me!”

She was on the verge of tears. My grip on her hand turned tighter.

“Don’t worry. I am not going to tell you anything about how you have to grow motherly instincts, now that you’re pregnant with the second baby. All I will tell is that you should take care of yourself. Love yourself and put your mental health into priority. Start a self-care regime and find happiness within yourself. This is very important for you to keep the light burning in you. We, women, are not sacrificial goats. Let the people around you understand that.”

“Thank you! I needed to hear that. I feel better after pouring out my sorrow to you. Actually, you know, this second kid thing applies even to a man, who doesn’t want another baby, due to financial issues or other personal reasons. People must respect his decision, too.”

“Yes, a couple should have another baby, only if they both want one. People shouldn’t pressurize the woman into bearing another child, just because she is a woman and she is supposed to keep reproducing.”

The woman let out a chuckle. I continued, “People shouldn’t judge a couple who don’t want kids and a woman who doesn’t want a second kid. I am specifying ‘woman’ in the latter because I have never heard of a man being judged for not wanting a second kid. Sadly, patriarchy always wins here. I wonder how many other women in this hospital are pregnant for a second time after being tortured by the people around them. Well, there are some happy faces, too, who are excited about the second one. But, what about the other women? Sigh!”

Madhumitha came out of the scanning room. She smiled at me and showed me the scan reports. I felt really happy to see the tiny face in the scan. But, no, my motherly instincts were not awakened. I was still the Sahana who didn’t want to marry or have kids. I waved at the seated woman and wished her good health and happiness. After all, I could do only that. I couldn’t turn back time, meet her in the past, ask her to tell ‘no means no’ to the people around her, and maintain her peaceful life. Only if I could do that!

The Missing Storyteller – Drama Short Story (Part 2)

Read the first part here: Part 1

‘Zentroy Advertising Limited? I have never heard of it,’ said Hayaathi quizzically.

‘Ma’am, do you think we should accept this offer?’ asked Swetlana, waving the call letter in front of the Head of the Literature Department.

‘This is strange. No other student has received the letter. I am rather suspicious of its authenticity. However, the company is the best in India. They come up with advertisements that no one can ever think of. Their concepts are way beyond imagination,’ replied the HOD.

‘I can’t believe that only we both were selected.’

‘Intrigues me, too. I think they might have watched the short films which were based on your stories.’

‘Might be. Should we accept this?’

‘If you join this company, your life will change altogether. You’ll go places with your penchant for storytelling. Their pay is also good and they are also situated in the heart of Coimbatore. Let me verify the letter’s authenticity and get back to you.’

The girls nodded vigorously.

*****

Wherever they looked, there was enthusiasm in the air. It seemed like happiness had replaced workload, stress, pressure, and deadlines. Zentroy Advertising Limited created a winsome impression in the girls’ minds. They could not stop gaping at the buoyant employees, the charming receptionist, the aesthetic interiors, and the colourfully decorated cabins.

‘Swetlana and Hayaathi, please come with me. I will introduce you to your boss.’ A sweet voice beckoned them. They looked up and met a dreamy-looking girl with protuberant eyes. She led them through many levels before they reached the ‘Creative Ideas’ department. The nameplate on the door was designed using classical fonts, which rendered it a literary look.

‘Excuse me, Sinish, shall I come in?’ asked the girl.

‘You very well know that I don’t like a formality, Vrushika,’ boomed a sonorous voice from the other end of the pristine white, artistic, air-conditioned room. He had his back to them, admiring a painting on the wall, which wasn’t visible to the women from their position.

‘Ah! I am so forgetful,’ Vrushika replied cheerfully. Swetlana moved a little aside to have a good look at the painting; it was a charcoal painting of a girl sitting on a chair by the fireplace, deeply engrossed in a book. The man called Sinish slowly turned around to meet the girls. He was lanky, broad-shouldered, with an olive skin tone that accentuated his facial features beautifully and had a heart-shaped face. An air of importance surrounded him; his expressive eyes gazed from Hayaathi to Swetlana and stopped on Vrushika eventually. The stubble on his chin and the barely visible moustache completed his personable look. He walked towards them, taking small steps as if his path was filled with punctuations that weren’t discernible to normal eyes. He stopped in front of Swetlana, inhaled a deep breath, and looked at her, hard into her deep-set eyes.
‘Hello, Swetlana.’ Tiny goosebumps erupted on her skin as she heard his rotund tone. Strangely, she could not meet his honey-coloured eyes.

‘Hello, Sinish,’ she replied meekly.
Sinish turned around and said, ‘Hello, Hayaathi.’

‘Hello, Sinish, how do you know our names? I don’t remember Vrushika telling them to you.’ Hayaathi asked suspiciously.

‘I know them beforehand.’

That was it. He didn’t provide any more explanations. After a few minutes, Vrushika took leave.

‘Do take your seat. There are lots to discuss.’ He gestured to the duo.
For the next hour, Sinish’s room echoed the company’s success stories. He even hinted at his work methods, the kind of story ideas which he approves for the social cause advertisements and the recreational activities that they conduct. After he finished, he took a sip from his water bottle and waited for the girls to ask questions.

‘Why were we recruited? How do you know about us?’ It was Swetlana.

There was a moment of silence before Sinish calmly replied, ‘God favours the kind.’

*****

Days passed by as Hayaathi and Swetlana worked along with Sinish on exciting advertisements. Their story ideas were instantly approved by him, while he found flaws with the ideas submitted by others. Though the girls felt strange, they couldn’t pose their questions to him, since he maintained a mysterious aura around him. During lunch breaks, he would lunch along with them, narrating them funny stories from his college life, while the other employees began spreading rumours that he fancied the girls and was partial to them, but in reality, he was enchanted with the stories narrated by the girls, that his heart wanted to listen to more. But, whenever the girls asked about their recruitment, he repeated the same words, ‘God favours the kind.’

‘I think I am falling for him,’ stated Swetlana, as bluntly as she could, keeping the ecstasy out of her voice. It was a cool January evening and the girls were in the cafeteria for their break.

Hayaathi choked on her coffee and replied, ‘Have you turned mad? Sinish will banish you from the office if he gets to know that you have developed feelings for him. Just because he’s close to you and discusses his personal life with you doesn’t mean that he’d end up as your husband.’

‘Oh, stop being such a dork! He will love me, too,’ she replied dreamily.

‘Do you know what the others speak about him? He goes off on a month-long vacation a year, to places unknown. Nobody would know where he would be.’

‘That is of least concern to me.’

‘Well, if you want to invite troubles in your otherwise tranquil life, I cannot help it.’ Hayaathi threw the Styrofoam cup in the dustbin and moved away.

*****

‘Love is a peculiar emotion, Swetlana. The intensity of love in this story should be expressed in such a way that the message strikes the audience right at their heart. Understood?’ Sinish asked in a matter-of-fact tone.

Swetlana looked deep into his eyes and replied slowly, ‘Have you ever fallen in love, Sinish?’ Her voice was rather passionate.

‘Yes. I fell in love with books. Stories, in general. And I still love them.’

For a moment, Swetlana had visions of the missing storyteller. A sudden gush of affection flowed through her veins.

‘You remind me of the missing storyteller, who changed our lives.’

‘The missing storyteller?’

‘Long story. Will tell you later.’

Sinish’s words kept echoing the entire day in Swetlana’s mind. She could not share it with Hayaathi, as she was busy working on another project.

*****

The resignation letter was a definite blow to them; it was unexpected and unwanted. Every soul in the office was murmuring and discussing the sudden turn of events. Some even spun theories involving the girls – that they had a hand in the whole drama. But, the girls were the most affected, especially Swetlana. She couldn’t bring herself to believe that her true love was no longer working in the office. Since he was a mysterious man, he never left any contact number, or a friendly note to his subordinates, stating the real reason for his resignation. The only phone he used was a company-provided mobile phone. He was not on any social networking sites, which would have tracked him down easily, even before any police personnel can track down a criminal.

‘I – I just want to disappear, Hayaathi,’ sobbed Swetlana. Hayaathi laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder and then pulled her into an embrace. Though she was initially reluctant to accept Swetlana’s obsession with Sinish, she warmed up to the idea of a relationship between them.
‘We have lost the two precious people of our life – the storyteller and Sinish. Both were mysterious. And both disappeared without a trace.’ Swetlana continued in her teary voice.

‘That makes me wonder, too. I can accept the disappearance of the storyteller. He was just an old man, so he wouldn’t have any connections with the virtual world, but Sinish was our boss. He was a well-paid working professional, who teemed with ideas and exhibited exceptional talent; he just cannot disappear without a trace.’

‘I know, right? I have searched every nook and cranny of the virtual world, but he doesn’t seem to exist. I think he is a paranormal entity.’

‘Jeez! Can’t you think of any better explanation? You know, both the storyteller and Sinish have taught us something – the ability to believe in stories, find inspiration everywhere, and bring a change in the world.’

‘Can’t agree more!’ A faint smile appeared on Swetlana’s lips.

*****

‘What’s that?’ Hayaathi pointed to a gift box and a letter that lay on the stone slab. The girls felt that a visit to Lovedale to reminisce the storyteller’s memories would rejuvenate them, but they were surprised to see something waiting for them on the stone slab.

‘The storyteller has left something for us! So he was here!’ Hayaathi bellowed.
She unfolded the letter and began to read, her eyes widening with every word that was written. In a dazed state, she passed it on to Swetlana, who was unwrapping the gift box. She stopped, received the letter, and began to read.

‘To Hayaathi and Swetlana,
I don’t have to explain this to the other employees of our department. But, you both were special to me. Not only as employees, but as friends on the office premises, and as the kind strangers who spent time with me in the very same stone slab in September. Am I being mysterious, again? Yes, I was and I am the storyteller. I know people told you that I take a month-long vacation a year. During that one month, I travel to places and live in disguise. The storyteller was one of my disguises. I aimed to teach the art of storytelling to whoever stopped to listen to me, but I took something with me that was greater than those stories. I learnt kindness. Yes, I learnt it from you both. It was I who personally recruited you to Zentroy.

Okay, let me come straight to the point. Hayaathi, you have been promoted to my position in our department. You’ll find the promotion letter in your cabin. And, Swetlana, will you marry me?’

Swetlana’s heart did a double take as she read that line.

‘There will be a ring in the gift box. Take it, turn around, and find me waiting in the red car. You can join me as my secretary in the advertising company which I own. Yeah, only if you accept my proposal. Otherwise, you can refuse and continue with Zentroy. It’s up to you.

And, girls, you’ll never find me in the virtual world. That’s because my name is Sineesh, not Sinish.

Always remember, God favours the kind.’

The girls turned around and found the red car parked at a distance. The lanky figure, the missing storyteller, and the man who changed their life waved to them, flashing his million-dollar smile.

While Swetlana moved towards him, Hayaathi set off to Zentroy, each welcoming a new life.

If you loved this short story, you can read my other short stories here.

The Missing Storyteller – Drama Short Story (Part 1)

I wrote this short story in 2016 for the Commonwealth Short Story Prize (not a good decision to submit to the contest, though).

Perched atop the hills, amidst the evergreen pine trees, was a stone slab. It had acquired a thick sheet of moss, as a result of the torrential downpour that thrashed across the hill station the previous night. The slab looked overly damp, however, the passersby had no idea that it belonged to an old man, the only man who respected the slab as a dwelling place. He spent the days beside the slab, either singing or beckoning people to listen to what he had to say. But, being the self-obsessed bunch, they never even spared a look at him, let alone listen to the soulful stories that he had to narrate. When the nights arrived and a cold set in, he would take a stroll along the road, find a cosy hotel, spread the worn-out rug on the scanty porch, and doze off to the dream world, expecting more tales to pop up as dreams. However, he would get shooed away the next morning. He would resume his day, as usual, singing, narrating to no one in particular, and eating in cheap roadside eateries.

‘Why doesn’t anyone listen to me? These stories are sure to open up your mind. Oh, ignorant people, don’t you realize that the trees want to speak to you? Don’t you realize that the very mud on which you walk has stories to tell? Have you become abundantly negligent of your surroundings that you blind yourselves to the wisdom that nature has to offer? Or have you lost faith in yourself that you fail to look at optimistic things?’ This was the daily lament of the old man, who perfectly knew that his rants fell on deaf ears. Nevertheless, he dwelled on a streak of hope that someday somebody would surely listen to him.

*****

‘Hey, why don’t we just talk to him?’ whispered Swetlana, slightly nudging Hayaathi, who was busily ruffling the pages of The Time Traveler’s Wife.

‘Will you shut up for some time? This is a library,’ snarled Hayaathi.

Swetlana let out a tiny snort. Her tawny skin, highlighted by the sun rays through the bay windows, made her resplendent. Her other distinguishable features were her always-smiling pouty lips and her deep-set eyes.

Brought up in Lady Martha Orphanage, the only all-girls orphanage in Ooty, the best friends Hayaathi and Swetlana grew up to be modest and kind. Their friendship was so strong that they went to the extent of enrolling in the same college for their B.A. English Literature, sharing a room in a ladies’ hostel, and signing up for the same virtual hobby class. They even earned a few bucks by writing literary fiction stories for e-magazines. They have had their share of relationships and heartbreaks, with Hayaathi giving away her heart to a corny classmate, who had liked her only for her soft and tender porcelain skin, delicate lips, beady eyes, and wavy hair, while Swetlana was taken in by a womanizer, who claimed to be loyal to her, yet became entranced by the captivating looks of a rather luscious woman. However, being mentally strong women, they got over the bad breakups and snapped out of them. They moved on to do their M.A. in English Literature, dreaming of becoming full-time writers or at least doing something creatively in their field of passion.

‘Well, time is up! We have to leave the library. I am asking you again. Why – don’t – we – talk – to – him?’ asked Swetlana, stressing on each word as she spoke.

‘Cut the crap, Swetlana! Yeah, I know he is a poor old man. I am not against people, who are dressed in rags, possess filthy nails, sport scars on their faces, have a long unkempt beard, and beg for their livelihood, but I don’t think we should disturb him. We already have much to do. We have to think of ideas for our final writing project. You just keep thinking about talking to the old man and you don’t even realize that we mutually agreed to daily walks along Lovedale just to get inspired and find ideas for our project. That old begging man was a mere coincidence.’

‘He doesn’t beg!’ roared Swetlana; while the librarian’s stern voice asked her to keep quiet. ‘Haven’t you even noticed him properly?’ She whispered. ‘He narrates stories, sings songs, and quotes famous people, but he doesn’t beg. It is those feeble-minded ones who mistake him to be a mere beggar, pity on him and drop coins in his bowl. And mind you! I saw what was in that bowl. He brings some food from the nearby temple and consumes it peacefully. It is not a begging bowl.’

Hayaathi eyed her suspiciously, wondering whether she had gone nuts. Clearing her throat, she chose her words carefully, ‘So, who do you think that old man is?’

‘Might be a storyteller.’

‘A storyteller? Do they exist nowadays?’

‘That is why I am asking you, why don’t we speak to him?’

A faint smirk escaped from Hayaathi’s lips, but she gave in to Swetlana’s weird idea, mildly hoping that they would find something useful out of their meeting with the so-called storyteller.

*****

It happened on September 1st. It had been a week since the old man had made the stone slab his dwelling place. Still, he couldn’t persuade people to stop and listen to his stories. He spread out his rug, gently plopped down on it, and began eating the food from his bowl, which he had acquired from the nearby Krishna Mandir. Even after swallowing the last morsel of the delicious meal, he felt terribly hungry. He earnestly wished he could go back to the temple, stand in the queue once again and refill his bowl, but his conscience thought the better of it. He would surely be chased away, for the temple authorities can easily identify that he had come for the second time.

Meanwhile, in Sheetal Ladies Hostel, Hayaathi and Swetlana were gearing up for their big meeting with their assumed storyteller. They clad themselves in their respective woollen jumpers with floral patterns. Slipping their mobile phones into the pockets of their jeans, they set out into the cold morning. The mist looked filmy, with shavings of it passing right across their eyes. While walking along the path, they gaped at the dew drops on the tea leaves, wishing that they could watch more of the scenery below the valley, instead of babbling to each other. The entire atmosphere was so jubilant, that they could feel warmness searing through their veins. After walking for two kilometres, they came to a standstill in front of Sweety Tea Stall, which was their usual retreat for a cup of steaming chocolate tea. The stall owner, Vishveshwar, flashed a lopsided smile at the pair and proceeded towards preparing their tea.

‘Hey! Can we get some chocolate tea for the old man? He might be thirsty or hungry,’ said Hayaathi with an air of happiness in her tone.

‘Are you sure? You were reluctant to join me in this meeting. What makes you care for him suddenly?’ asked Swetlana while receiving their cups of hot and piping chocolate tea from the server.

‘Well, it’s just that – er – I pity him.’

‘Hmmm, that’s not a bad emotion, Hayaathi, but I think he can take care of himself.’

‘No! I want to do this. Let’s get something for him.’

With those words, Hayaathi went over to Vishveshwar and ordered some chocolate tea to be poured into a small flask, which the latter used to keep for taking some tea home in the evenings. After much persuasion, Vishveshwar poured the tea into the flask. He did not charge for it when he heard that it was for a poor struggling man. Hayaathi had painted such a sorry picture of the old man, that Vishveshwar couldn’t stop feeling pity for him.

‘Let him keep the flask. I will buy another one,’ he said.

‘Huh, no. We will wash the flask and give it back to you. I think this will be a daily routine.’

Vishveshwar’s smile widened.

Swetlana finished off her tea and met a corn seller outside. She bought a cob of steamed corn and wrapped it with silver foil.

‘I think this might satiate his hunger completely. Nothing can match the feeling of having delicious chocolate tea along with steamed corn. Let him enjoy the small pleasures that he is currently deprived of,’ she said.

‘Yeah, I agree. Can we move?’ asked Hayaathi with a renewed sense of euphoria.

*****

The old man stretched his arms and legs, making the book in his right hand visible to the passersby – Dasavathara Kadhaigal, stories behind the ten avatars of Lord Vishnu. He had just then abandoned his idea of visiting the Krishna Mandir for the second round of food. Something inside him told him that food was on his way; his intuition was strengthened by his belief that someone might finally come to listen to his stories. Right then, two girls materialized in front of him, one smiling widely at him, and the other flashing an uneasy smile. He gestured for them to take a seat, to which Hayaathi grimaced since the slab was now completely covered in damp moss, but Swetlana did not mind. She was happy to oblige, forcing Hayaathi to comply.

‘What makes you visit my humble abode?’ The old man asked in a hoarse tone.

‘We have brought you some steamed corn and chocolate tea. Hope this satisfies your hunger,’ replied Swetlana jovially. Her voice quivered with excitement; perhaps, she felt undefined happiness within her. Even Hayaathi could not stop beaming, though she was still in a state of non-acceptance.

‘Thank you, but I wish that you could do more than just give me food.’

‘Oh, we can help. Tell us your needs,’ said Swetlana, still in a dazed state of gaiety.

‘I just wish you to sit and listen to the stories which I narrate.’ There was a tinge of sorrow in the old man’s voice.

‘Er – We can listen to….’ began Swetlana, but she was abruptly cut off by a visibly angry Hayaathi, ‘Swetlana, do you even realize that we are on this walk to get inspired? You wanted to speak with him and you have done that. Now, will you join me?’

‘What the hell is happening to you, Hayaathi? I didn’t even begin the conversation. What makes you so impatient?’ She hissed at her.

‘It’s just that…’

‘Why are you failing to realize inspiration?’ asked the old man, suddenly. ‘Inspiration is around you. Just look around, everything you see has a story of its own. The people you meet, the shops you visit, the lakes you admire, and the animals you fear, everything has a story. Inspiration is just like happiness, you must not go in search of it. You must realize that it is around you. Every time, everywhere.’

Hayaathi was rendered silent, not knowing what to reply to the old man’s philosophical discourse. She was pulled into a deep trance of thoughts. Meanwhile, Swetlana was rather pleased that the old man was able to stop her friend’s tantrums. She turned to him and asked in a soft tone, ‘I want to listen more. Can you tell us some stories? We can pay you.’

‘Ah! I don’t need any payment. Just a patient ear is enough, but I need your friend’s attention, too.’

At the mention of her, Hayaathi looked up and met the old man’s watery eyes. She slowly smiled lopsidedly, prodding him to continue, while Swetlana silently heaved a sigh of relief.

‘The stories which I tell are not the ones that you’d find in library books. In fact, you cannot find these stories in any recorded format. I have imbibed them right from my childhood. You need to understand the deeper meaning in them, the complexities which lay in them, and the secrets which they would reveal. These stories are ambrosia for your soul.’ The old man ended his rigmarole and looked at the girls with expectant eyes, but they were deeply enchanted by his words, that no expression or sound escaped from them.

‘I am indeed grateful to have your rapt attention. Let me begin a story now. This is about guilt. Sometimes we do something stupid, to bring someone’s downfall. We might thrive on the delightful feeling of Schadenfreude, but always remember, whatever you do comes back to you. Or whatever you have done to bring that someone’s misfortune might completely backfire and you might find yourself in an irreparable state of guilt. This story is about one such guy who was made to live with guilt, forever. This boy was lovingly called Somu by his family and friends alike…’

The old man went on to narrate how the so-called Somu had hated his irresponsible father and planned to kill him by setting explosives on his boat but ended up killing his close friend Gullu’s father. ‘And, Somu was never found after that. With one wrongdoing of his, he took away an innocent man’s life and lost a good friend, too.’ He finished and took a sip of the chocolate tea, which was already turning cold.

Swetlana and Hayaathi looked dumbstruck. Though they had heard N number of folklore stories in their childhood, something in the old man’s narration seemed to captivate them.

‘That was a fascinating tale!’ It was Hayaathi who spoke first. ‘We – we’ll surely come back for more.’

‘Words defy me, storyteller. Please continue to inspire us. By the way, what’s your name?’ asked Swetlana.

‘I have no name. Also, I don’t need to know any of your names. I would be contented if you paid me frequent visits and listened to my stories.’

The girls looked at each other enigmatically and chorused together, ‘Of course, we will!’

While walking back to their hostel, Swetlana put forth carefully, ‘Well, how do you feel, Hayaathi?’

‘Magical,’ she said in a serious tone.

‘What?’

‘I want to know more about the storyteller.’

‘No chance! He seems to be secretive. We must let him be.’

Hayaathi nodded, feeling all the more motivated.

*****

‘What have you brought today? Ah, milk!’ exclaimed the storyteller, while sniffing the flask and taking in the aroma of pure milk.

‘Straight from my neighbour Mala Akka’s cowshed. Unadulterated,’ quipped in Swetlana. The storyteller smiled at her pleasantly and proceeded to drink it. He looked at the girls only after the last drop of milk went down his throat.

‘How marvellous is purity!’ he exclaimed, to which the girls nodded.

‘It’s been ten days and we kind of feel attached to you. I mean, to your stories. They keep us going. They act as a catalyst for us whenever we feel low. I don’t know what we would do after we return to college. We wouldn’t be able to meet you. Your stories will be missed.’ Hayaathi put forth.

‘Don’t worry, child. As I had already said, stories are around you. Every breath which you inhale contains stories. You can never miss listening to stories. Okay?’ The storyteller replied in his hoarse voice.

‘But that’s not the problem. We would miss YOUR stories. They are different from the rest. They are a whiff of radiance in our otherwise dull life. Your stories keep us disconnected from the chaotic world around us. As soon as we return to our room after your storytelling session, we ponder upon the deeper meaning encompassed in your stories. They make us think, understand the true meaning of life, and imbibe the values in our lifestyle. We would surely miss that.’ Swetlana said.

‘Well, that’s what real stories should do. If they don’t teach you something, they aren’t stories at all. Fiction should not take you to a perfect world, that which makes you wonder ‘Ah! Wish I was born in that world’, instead, it should take you to a flawed universe, where there are mistakes, problems, treachery, and heartbreaks; it should first make you wonder ‘Thank God! I wasn’t born in such a world’, and then it should teach you to learn from the mistakes, overcome the problems, surmise treachery, and handle heartbreaks with élan, finally making you think that that world was beautiful, too.’

‘The fiction which we read doesn’t do that to us, but your stories do. And it will continue to.’ Hayaathi concluded.

Then the storyteller proceeded to narrate a mystery story about an archaeologist and a librarian, who struggle to carve a niche for themselves in a male-dominated world, by solving the case of mental patients who die mysteriously. Though it was a suspense-filled tale, the girls felt empowered, since the storyteller had emphasized feminism. It was hard to believe that he had spun the story by himself.

‘Why don’t you publish these stories? Why don’t you show the world that you can change the views of people through your storytelling?’ Swetlana asked.

‘I cannot do that. I tell stories only to people who deserve them. If my stories had changed you, then you can change the world in turn.’

With that, their session ended.

*****

‘Why do all the good things come to an end?’ asked Swetlana, tears streaming down from her eyes. Even Hayaathi was upset, but she wasn’t shedding tears.

‘They should. That’s how the universe goes on.’ She did not have anything better to reply.

It was the last day of September. The storyteller had already hinted about his departure and they had remembered it only a day before. Though they desperately wished that he wouldn’t leave, he would not budge on any of their requests. They also pestered him with questions about his name, age, and permanent staying place. However, he maintained a mysterious silence and never answered them, and as fate could have it, they came across an accident on the day of his departure, stopped to help the bleeding man, called an ambulance, and sent him safely to the hospital, thereby reaching Lovedale an hour later. The storyteller was already gone.

‘Wish I could have had the last word with him! We don’t even know his name. How will we ever find him?’ cried Swetlana.

Hayaathi plopped down next to her on the damp stone slab. ‘You know, he lives with us through his stories. We have heard enough from him. Those stories can last for a lifetime. Maybe it’s time we should tell them to people who deserve to hear them.’

‘Yes, I shouldn’t brood over him. His stories still live with us.’ That was all Swetlana could say.

Back in college, their projects received the highest marks. Rave reviews wafted towards them and filmmakers approached them with proposals to direct their stories as short films. The storyteller had indeed changed their life for good.

(To be continued)

A Perilous Blog Post – Humour Short Story

I wrote this short story in 2015 as a parody of my blog post Things I Cannot Live Without.

‘Ufff! It has been a long time since I blogged,’ thought Shwetha as she opened her WordPress blog homepage on her Google Chrome browser. For a few moments, the svelte and sophisticated 21-year-old pondered on what to blog about. Her deep-set eyes focused on the screen with a dainty amount of anxiety dancing between her crescent-shaped eyebrows. She had a vague feeling that the world might forget about her existence if she did not blog. She had gone through the blog posts of her friends to receive some inspiration. She had even read tips on overcoming ‘Blogger’s block’ but nothing could help her in achieving her 49th blog post. Her mind swirled with various topics right from state affairs to fashion tips. ‘I have blogged on all topics. They are all tried and tested,’ she thought tiredly.

After two cups of steaming filter coffee, she decided to call up her best friend Lavanya for help. She was a professional in the blogging sector, with her blog posts receiving worldwide appreciation. Although Shwetha felt proud of her, a little bit of envy played around in her mind. However, she had firmly stuck to the virtue ‘Envy kills a soul while competitiveness enhances it’. So, she categorized her envy as competitiveness. She was trying to be like Lavanya, keeping her own identity at stake. Competing with her had always been her topmost priority.

Three rings and then Lavanya attended the call. “Shwe? You could have WhatsApped me. Why have you called?”

“My net pack expired, Lava. That’s why. Now listen! I am in dire need of help.”

“Help? I am surprised. The brainy one is asking for help?”

“Shut up! I ain’t brainy as you. Well, I need some tips on writing my next blog post. Can you help me?”

Shwetha’s hurried speech shocked Lavanya who couldn’t understand the intensity of emotions brewing inside her friend’s mind.

“Shwe! What’s this? There are a lot of things to write about. You could have browsed through my posts to get some ideas.”

“I did it, Lava, but you know, I cannot plagiarize your style. I want to be me. I just need a brainstormed idea for my next blog post, not the ones, which have been already blogged about.”

“Okay, I got it! Ummm…Why don’t you blog about some personal stuff? Till now you have been blogging about serious issues, relationships, politics, stories, etcetera. Why don’t you share something about yourself?”

“About myself? What can I….hey okay! I am hanging up. Got an idea! Bye, Lava.”

Shwetha hung up abruptly even before Lavanya could respond.

She placed her laptop in a comfortable position and started typing the title of her next blog post.

Title: Things that I cannot live without

‘I am going to blog about something that will make me happy.’ She smiled.

A.R.Rahman’s songs topped the list while the rest consisted of food, sleep, books, piano, kohl, rain, Wi-Fi, fresh juice, earrings, Ooty, her upcoming novel, and a few songs. She typed it out as a listicle, added relevant images and gifs, and clicked on ‘Publish’. She shared the post on all her social media profiles. Within a few minutes, the post received many likes and reads. Her friends appreciated her tastes and advised her to post more personal blog posts rather than discussing issues of the world. She WhatsApped Lavanya.

Shwe: Hey, Lava…Have you read my post?

Lava: Yup, it’s awesome, dearie. How did you get this idea?

Shwe: I found such a post in your blog. Something named ‘things that make me happy’. So I just blogged about things that I can’t live without.

Lava: It was wonderful to read. Keep coming up with more posts like this one. Okay, bye…I need to go.

Shwe: Byeeee…

Shwetha had the most satisfying sleep that night.

*****

“No, no, you have to come. You have to spend the entire day with us,” pestered Malini, Shwetha’s 13-year-old cousin. She was asked to join her for an outing to the VGP Universal Kingdom. She was refusing as she had her novel waiting for her. However, she was cajoled by Malini and, finally, she reluctantly agreed.

She dressed up and joined her aunt’s family consisting of her aunt, uncle, and their two daughters. Throughout the car ride, she kept to herself, engaging in music and quipping in with occasional ohs and okays to her aunt’s family conversation. ‘No travel is boring when I am with music,’ she thought. She was listening to her favourite playlist A.R.Rahman Unleashed.

Reaching the amusement park, they acquired entrance tickets. They were allowed inside after tying a wristband as identification. Once they reached the first ride, Shwetha decided to unshackle her adventurous side, which had been hidden for the past ten years. She had never hopped on any rides due to horrific incidents in amusement parks, but now, she decided to try them. The first ride was a track ride similar to a roller coaster, sans the upside-down feature. She got into it along with her aunt. The ride was a furious one with the speed capacity being maximum. As a result, Shwetha’s eyes were filled with particles of dust. She kept scrubbing her eyes at regular intervals.

After some time, Malini wanted to go for a Kangaroo ride. As adults were prohibited, Shwetha stayed back. She cheered up Malini who was enjoying the ride to the core. However, her right eye itched a lot and she rubbed it hard for one last time. The next second, she could feel something amiss with her vision. The left eye was intact, whereas the right eye’s vision was blurred. Then it dawned upon her. The contact lens from the right eye was missing!

She rubbed her entire eyeball with her fingers for the lens. It was not there. With some difficulty, she looked at the ground. Alas! The contact lens was lying there. She bent down to pick it up. As she held it in her hands, she knew that someone had stamped it. A muddy contact lens was the last thing on her mind. She crumpled it with her hand and threw it away. For the first time in her life, she cursed herself for using daily disposable contact lenses and for not carrying an extra pair.

“Chithi, the contact lens from my right eye fell on the ground,” she complained to her aunt.

“Oh my god! Don’t you have a spare one?”

“Nope. I forgot to carry.”

“Will you be okay? Can you manage with err…one eye?”

“Yes, I can. No problem.” She faked a smile.

Only she knew how difficult it would be to manage with one eye. She was short-sighted with a power of -5. For the rest of the rides, she could only see a mélange of clear and blurry images. She could not even enjoy the Horror House properly!

That night…

Shwetha hurried inside the house as soon as her uncle halted the car. She rummaged through her cupboard for a spare contact lens. As she was taking the lens out of the solution, realization struck her. The blog post! Yes, she had blogged about things that she cannot live without and she had totally forgotten about the thing that provided her with a vision – the contact lens! She felt terrible as she held the tiny transparent thing in her hand.

She could feel the lens yelling at her, ‘You forgot me! That’s why I taught you a good lesson and spoiled your entire day.’

*****

Shwetha switched her laptop on, connected to the Internet, and logged in to WordPress. She clicked the ‘Edit’ button beneath her recent blog post and proceeded to edit it.

‘Where shall I add the contact lens?’ Pondering for a few minutes, she decided that the contact lens was the topmost thing that she could not live without. She had not even imagined a life without it. She changed the serial numbers of the other things by pushing ‘A.R.Rahman Songs’ to second place. Then she typed about how much she loved her lens and added an image related to it. She placed it in the first position and clicked on ‘Publish’.

Then she informed her about the changes to her friends on social media and shared the new link with them. Some were curious to see the changes while some did not even bother to click the link. On the whole, Shwetha was completely satisfied and happy with her blog post.

*****

“You haven’t heard the song, Lava? Wait, I’ll play it for you now!” Shwetha opened the music player on her Smartphone and pressed the Playlists tab. The next moment, her eyes widened and she froze.

Noticing the change in her expression, Lavanya questioned, “What happened, Shwe? Do you have the song? Or shall I download it? The movie’s name is OK Kanmani, right?” She was bombarding Shwetha with questions, but she was met with dead silence.

“Shwe? Is everything okay? You look like a ghost. ” She shook her friend. With eyes bulged out, Shwetha turned to her, sweat beads sparkling on her forehead.

“My…my playlist – A.R.Rahman Unleashed is…is gone!” Shwetha stuttered.

“Gone? How is it possible?” Lavanya snatched the phone from Shwetha’s hands and looked at it. True to her words, there was only the name of the playlist and under that ‘0 songs’ was displayed. She found an error symbol in the notifications panel and swiped it down.

“Hey, dumbo! There is an error in your device. It says ‘Less memory space. Some system functions may not work properly.’ That’s why the playlist got deleted….”

Shwetha grabbed her phone back and went through the other playlists, which were untouched, containing the same number of songs that she had added initially. Once again, she opened the ‘A.R.Rahman Unleashed’ playlist and stared at it. The entire collection of 300-odd songs was gone. She reminisced about the day when she had lovingly and painstakingly created the playlist. It had completely vanished!

Realization dawned on her as she stared at the display picture of the playlist. A.R. Rahman was smiling at her from the image. It was an evil smile, slightly different from the other days. She could feel the picture speaking to her, ‘You pushed me to the second place in your blog post. How can you do this to me? You could have added the ‘contact lens’ at the end of your list. Why did you push me down? That’s why I deleted myself from your phone. Now, have a good time recreating it!’

Shwetha could do nothing except slap her forehead. Once she reached home, she sat down to delete the wretched blog post, which was not her own idea, actually.

She learned not to borrow blog post ideas from others. As she kept staring at her blog post count of 48, she could feel her laptop laughing at her. The laptop was of paramount importance to her existence in the blogging world…. It was speaking to her, ‘You did not include me in your list. That’s why I made you delete the blog post.’

Thus continued Shwetha’s perpetual loop of ‘Things I cannot live without’!

If you loved this short story, you can read my other short stories here.

First Rays of Sun – Romance Short Story

I wrote this short story in 2013, inspired by Aashiqui 2. This is also one of my earliest short stories.

She switched on the radio and entered the kitchen to cook something so that the incessant rumbles in her stomach would stop. She heard ‘Yaad piya ki aane lagi…Haaye bheegi bheegi raathon mein…’ wafting from the radio in the kitchen. She tried to wipe away the memories that were associated with that song, but she could never do it. Every time she tried to ignore the memories while listening to that song, she was pushed into oblivion even more. She put on the frying pan and started dicing some veggies. Slowly, a drop of tear started making its way down. She wiped it off and continued cutting the vegetables into small shreds. She decided to prepare Paneer fried rice and Gobi Manchurian gravy which was her all-time favourite. Soon, tears began to flood her eyes like a broken dam. She stopped cooking and switched to another radio station. She waited till she could completely get over her sobs, ceasing only when the song changed to Sheila Ki Jawani. She went back to work as if nothing had happened.

Aarushi lived a mundane life in her posh deluxe 2 BHK apartment in Mumbai. She was working in Infotech as a senior programming analyst. Her mechanical life was beginning to take a toll on her. She was 26 and all alone. Though she was beautiful and smart, she had very low self-esteem. She left her parents back in Delhi as they were pestering her to get married. Neither was she interested in commitment nor did she have a boyfriend. She was unreceptive to boys and never welcomed them into her life. She severed ties with her old friends who were keen on asking unwanted questions about her life and making her feel even lower. She whiled away her days by indulging in painting. She painted whatever she saw. She painted truth, her hidden dreams, and her varying moods. Finally, she painted ‘him’. She painted him as she knew him back during those ‘lovely’ days. She considered that as her masterpiece. She would just sit and look at that painting for long hours. Except for that particular painting, she sold the others to an art exhibition. Her paintings were displayed under the pen name ‘Dheeksha’. She loathed publicity, hence, she chose a pseudonym for her paintings.

Once, she was asked by the exhibition manager over the phone, “Which painting do you consider as your masterpiece, Ms Dheeksha?”

“Well, that’s a painting that stays close to my heart. I have not displayed it in the exhibition,” she replied, rather bluntly.

“Achcha! Why don’t you make a public appearance? There are many admirers of your paintings. They are eager to meet you and interact with you.”

“Well, I am not eager to publicize myself. I prefer to paint anonymously under the pen name ‘Dheeksha’.”

“So, ‘Dheeksha’ isn’t your real name?”

“It’s not.”

“Well, madam, why aren’t you interested in this chat? You seem to be lost. Even when you visited our office to display your paintings, you were aloof. May I know what’s bothering you?”

“That sounds like a personal question, Mr Srinivas. You can hang up rather than ask such questions.” She turned all rude.

“I am sorry, madam. I don’t have the right to interfere in your life. My sincere advice is, be happy always. Have faith in God.”

“But I have got no faith in God for the past ten years.” She hung up abruptly and switched off her mobile in an instant. She turned hysterical, plopped down on her bed, and buried her face in the pillow. There it was, again. Her sudden outbursts for reasons unknown. She had also visited a psychiatrist but to no avail. Her unendurable pain became almost stagnant in her life.

She cried and cried till her heart ached. Yes, she painted him, finally, and kept him as her masterpiece, but she lost him in her real life. She lost him ten years ago. He was her first love at the sweet age of 16.

The year 2000 held a lot of memories for her. She fell in love with Abhinav, the curly-haired guy, who was famous for his Hindi poems. Their love story was sweet, mushy, and innocent. They exchanged letters and met up as often as they could. Both were multi-talented since they shared common interests. It was as if they were made for each other. But there was always a problem with communication between them. Sometimes letters were also not exchanged. Their parents would either be around them or they would be too busy with their exams to pen letters. Their only way to spend time with each other was to meet in school. Technology was not developed in India and mobile phones were really expensive. Calling your loved one’s landline number seemed dangerous. And that’s why their love story ended soon.

One fine day, Abhinav was gone. He could not inform Aarushi. There was a miscommunication. When she contacted his friends to know about his whereabouts, they were as lost as she was. Abhinav and his family were nowhere to be seen in that area. Aarushi asked his neighbours whether they could provide any information about his whereabouts. She even tried visiting browsing centres and searching for Abhinav Sharma via Google, but nothing worked out. She started waiting for him, day after day, hoping that he’d call her or send her a letter. Nothing of that sort happened too. And that’s when she lost faith in God and turned into a lifeless being.

She had been waiting for him from that day. She knew that she was turning insane with each passing minute, but she always hoped for the best. All she needed was to see him at least once in her life. She was waiting for that moment. She dreamed about that moment. She delved into those sweet memories. It was those memories that brought a smile to her face. It was those memories that acted as a catalyst in her life. She knew that even if she sees him, he won’t be able to recognize her. ‘Worse, he would have got married already and living a happy life with his partner,’ she thought. She shuddered at the thought of her Abhinav with another girl. She had stopped her tryst with boys as she was not able to forget him. She never allowed herself to fall in love again.

*****

First Rays of Sun was a band formed by Bobby, a few years ago. They churned out album after album that went on to become chartbusters. The creator of the band was a most sought-after pop singer and music composer. He was the one who brought back the essence of pop music in India, but he had not delivered any performances nor had he made any public appearance. People never knew what he looked like. For most days, he stayed inside his recording studio. If he had to go out, he would be heavily armed with bodyguards, so those unexpected shutterbugs kept out of his way. He also stayed out of social media, asking his band to create a common account page where they could post updates. However, as days passed by, he felt that he should come out in the open. Something prodded him a lot and his public appearance would be the only way to steer clear of his enigma. Hence, he was gearing up for a live performance. He had planned it to be a grand musical show.

“So, who is that special person whom you are about to invite?” asked Pranav, a young and talented singer in Bobby’s band, while fine-tuning his guitar.

“She is the one who instils music in me,” Bobby said.

“What?! You haven’t introduced her to me. Who is she?”

“Even I don’t know who she is. I haven’t seen her before.”

“Speak some sense, Bobby. How can you invite someone whom you have not seen or met?”

“I am inviting her to see her,” said Bobby with a wink.

*****

“We cordially invite you to our grand debut musical show Chaahat, on the 16th of October, 2010. The show features the pop sensation Bobby and his team. An evening filled with the true soul of pop music. Please do join us and make the show a grand success. The venue details have been communicated to your manager.
Love,
First Rays of Sun”

The invitation read. Aarushi couldn’t believe her eyes. She read it again and again till she felt exhausted.

“Wowwwww!” She jumped in sheer excitement.

“I – I can’t believe this. I have been invited to Bobby’s show. Oh my God! Am I imagining things?! I am going to see Bobbyyyyyy.”

Aarushi was a great fan of Bobby and his band First Rays of Sun. She never missed a single album of his. Hum Kab Milenge, sung and written by Bobby was her favourite. She felt that she could easily relate to his songs. She even thought that she could move on with her life and start loving Bobby. She was such a crazy fan of his. The thought that she was going to see him for the first time made her go nuts. She learned that the invitation was first sent to her art exhibition. So, she called up the manager, Mr Srinivas.

“Sorry to disturb you, Sir. What was addressed in the letter that came along with this invitation? You refused to send that letter to me stating that it should be checked for authenticity, to prevent stalkers, blah, blah, blah….”

“Calm down, madam. I’ll read it out to you. It is indeed sent by Bobby himself. He is a polite man. He hadn’t even addressed the letter directly to you. Well, it states ‘Hi, this is Bobby. I am a great fan of Dheeksha’s works. Her paintings are just out of this world. I want to meet her. So, I invite her personally to my debut musical show.'”
Aarushi pinched herself to know whether that was all really happening.

“I have no words to say, Sir. I am Bobby’s craziest fan, but I never knew that he would be a fan of my works.”

“This is a miracle, madam. I think you might have a great future with Bobby.”

“What do you mean?”

“Er – I meant that you might work along with him. For example, you could paint his music and he would sing your paintings. Umm…Am I sounding funny?!”

“Oh, cut the crap, Mr Srinivas!” Aarushi roared at the other end and hung up.

‘Noooo…I am in love with my Abhinav. I have been in love with him for the past ten years. Nothing can change me. I am just infatuated with Bobby. That’s it. There is nothing more to it. There is no more love in my life.’ She reassured herself by looking at her masterpiece.

*****

Facebook was a recent phenomenon. Though Aarushi was in Orkut, she could never find Abhinav Sharma. There were lots of Abhinav Sharmas and some even had gross profile pictures. She also got in touch with her high school friends whose mutual friend list never had an Abhinav Sharma. Hence, as a last resort, she joined Facebook and searched for him, but she couldn’t find anyone even vaguely resembling the Abhinav that she was searching for. Losing hope, she was about to log out, when she found the ‘First Rays of Sun’ band’s official page. Though she knew that she wouldn’t find Bobby’s photo in it, she just visited the page and listened to their super-hit numbers. All of a sudden, she was flooded with Abhinav’s memories. She could never fathom why Bobby’s songs always brought Abhinav’s thoughts along with them. It was the most inscrutable conundrum.

*****

Bobby adjusted the guitar that hung from his shoulder. He was giving his rehearsal a final shot. He hoped that the audience would love him. More than that, he hoped that Dheeksha would love him. He was going to see her for the first time. He prayed to God that she should turn up for the show. He had waited for this particular day. He just wished that she would acknowledge him. That was enough for him. He could never believe that he had fallen in love with a girl just through her paintings. He didn’t even care whether she was married or not. He just wanted to meet her and express his feelings toward her.

Aarushi entered the venue with the invitation card. She acquired a place in the third row, keeping her fingers crossed. She never imagined that she would be invited by Bobby himself. Her heartbeats raced higher as she waited for him to appear. She wanted to see his face. She wanted to ask him to reveal the secret behind his soul-stirring songs. ‘If I get a chance to talk to him personally, I would invite him either for coffee at a restaurant or dinner at my home’, she thought. Immediately she regretted her thoughts. She mentally cursed herself for showing too much interest in him. ‘How could I even think about dinner, when I am still clinging on to my first love? Perhaps, Abhinav would be my first and last love. Forever in love, alone.’ She sniffed at her thoughts.

“Dear friends, brothers, and sisters…A happy musical evening to you all!” The emcee began his introduction in a sonorous tone.

After a few testimonials about Bobby and his band, the emcee spoke again.

“We are not going to make you wait anymore. It’s high time that you must know who Bobby is. Let’s begin the countdown. 5…4…3…2…1…And here comes Bobbyyyyy…The pop star of India…”

Festoons and fireworks burst up as the spotlight centred on Bobby. The open stage, coupled with the chill breeze enticed Aarushi. She slowly closed her eyes as Bobby began strumming a lilting prelude on his guitar.

“Hum kab milenge jaaneman….” Bobby began and lifted his face to show the entire world in front of him.

“Ooooooo…” Aarushi began cheering along with the crowd. However, her voice faded away soon. Her heart sank when she saw Bobby. Everything around her came to a halt. The strum of the guitar and the blaring synthesizers were muted. A stony silence prevailed, a silence that only she could feel. Blood gushed throughout her veins. The world ceased to exist as she stared at Bobby. That face, which she had longed to see for the past ten years, was before her, singing a song that could sear only her soul.

“Abhinavvv….” She exploded, but her voice was bogged down by the music.

She wept. Nobody noticed her. She was the only one to weep amidst a crowd of smiling faces.

Soon, the song ended. A serene aura hung over the crowd. They were contented on seeing Bobby, finally.

Then Bobby spoke, “Helloooo my dear friends…..How are you all?”

“Ooooooooooooo…” The crowd roared back.

“As you all know, I am Bobby. Sorry, I think it’s time to reveal myself. My original name is Abhinav Sharma. I adopted the name Bobby because the industry required it..ha ha ha..” He laughed. The crowd cheered along with him.

“This is my first public appearance. And I am here to entertain you with more of my songs. Before that, I have to tell you something important. I have been inspired by someone to create such music. Are you all eager to know who my inspiration is?”

“Yessssss….” The crowd chorused in unison.

“Well, it’s a girl.”

Tears flowed from Aarushi’s eyes. ‘So, there is a girl in Abhinav’s life.’

“I had been in love with a girl for a long time. That’s why I named my band First Rays of Sun, which is the meaning of her name.”

A fake smile appeared on Aarushi’s lips as she knew that he was referring to her.

“But I was blinded by love that I couldn’t understand myself. The girl whom I currently refer is someone else, not the one whom I had been in love with.”

Once again, Aarushi’s face dropped. She knew she had to face the reality one or the other day. The time had come. Abhinav was in love with someone else. He was not hers anymore.

“This girl whom I am talking about inspired me to create music. I could relate to all her paintings. I think she painted my whole life. I gave my heart away to her. I have not seen her before or know anything about her. This show was an excuse to see her. I hope that she had turned up. Dheeksha, please come up on the stage wherever you are. I am proud to say that I love you. Please do come, Dheeksha. And forgive me if you’re married. I didn’t even care about that. I just want to express my feelings. Come up, Dheeksha.”

The entire hall stood in awe. Their eyes frantically searched for Dheeksha. Abhinav could hear his thudding heartbeats.
Up went Aarushi. She climbed the steps that led her to the grand stage. All eyes were on her. She walked elegantly and stood in front of Abhinav. She smiled as if there was no going back.

Now, it was the turn of Abhinav’s world to cease.”Aarushi…” He whispered under his breath.

“I know. Love can be really weird at times. But, if two souls are destined to be together, then that is it.”
Aarushi spoke through choked tears.

“Yes, Aarushi…”

There was no time to speak any more words, as they hugged each other and the crowd cheered on.

If you loved this short story, you can read my other short stories here.