The Wind

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I like the wind.
That blows in hope and melancholy.
That does not care about caste;
Or is not a perverted soul.
Sometimes it’s the wind of love,
On others, it’s one of adieu.
The wind that is powerful,
To uproot men and god-men alike.
It discerns my loneliness and
Is happy at the friends I make.
It makes you forget for a moment;
The memories you wish to erase forever.
Sometimes it thrills you,
With the sweetest reminiscences you ever had.
It’s the respire of people who walked before;
Or the invisible hand that pats on your back,
And says – Never be a quitter, ever.
But I think the wind may also be lonely;
Be that as it may, it has me for comradeship,
Yesterday, Today and perhaps tomorrow.

Participating in #MondayMusings at Everyday Gyaan

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The Need

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The bald man looked at Anjali who returned his gaze with a barren stare.

Her mother goaded Anjali.

“No, please don’t compel her. She shouldn’t be selling her body but should go to school and get educated,” the man, a prospective customer, said.

Smiling, Anjali took out her box of colour pencils and began sketching on her drawing book.

This post is in response to the Saturday Short Story prompt on the Write Tribe WhatsApp group. The prompt is:

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The Exception

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Abbas hoped he was not late. Zoya had sounded depressing on the phone. A delayed flight and a longer than expected layover had frayed his nerves.

The door was open. Strange, he thought. The house was eerily silent. As he climbed the stairs, he felt uneasy. He could hear his stomach grumbling.

When he entered Zoya’s room, he couldn’t find her. He looked around and saw a note on her writing desk. Abbas read it, but absent-mindedly aloud.

“When my spirit sags, I look around and see no one. It’s like being abandoned in a big ground and you don’t know where the exit is. Friends are just green lights on social media. Their lights don’t reach you when you want it. Except there’s one…”

“Happy Birthday, Abbas!” a loud cheer sent him off-balance. “I had you fooled there for a moment, didn’t I?” Zoya was beside herself with joy.

Abbas was immensely relieved. Zoya had managed to fox him to come down to India for his birthday, yet again.

Written as part of Writing Wednesdays on Write Tribe.

A Friendship’s Wail

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I thought we would never break up;
But destiny had other plans.
I still wonder what came between us,
To scuttle a beautiful camaraderie.
My heart did a somersault,
As I came to grips with the present.
There were tears at the memories we made.
A rueful smile at what could have been.
The days were suddenly a barren pot;
A parched earth beseeching an oasis.
The died conversations struggled,
To redeem and rise like a phoenix.
I thought it was all a bad dream,
Soon disappearing into the recesses of time.
Our friendship has only gone to slumber;
One day it will wake up and show us,
A beautiful morning of rainbowed rapport!
Until then, I wait with prayers on my lips.

It has been two months since I broke up with a very dear friend. She had been a source of encouragement and a lot of fun too. It has been hard, but I hope that I will wake up from this bad dream and take our friendship forward. I hope she also feels the same.

Participating in #MondayMusings at Everyday Gyaan

Expectations

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“No one remembers,” thought Liz, when she opened the door and saw the gifts.

There were three meticulously wrapped boxes and she wondered who had sent those. When she looked around hopefully, she saw no one.

She began to unwrap the boxes and smiled at each thoughtful gift. Three gifts from three lovers, but none from her husband, she pondered sadly.

This post is in response to the Saturday fiction prompt on the Write Tribe WhatsApp group. The prompt is:

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Independence

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The rains were bountiful that summer. Every part of the city was flooded. 8-year-old Aman looked out of his window and was happy at the sight. He soon set about making some paper boats.

Pleased with what he made, he opened the door. The floods hadn’t entered their home. He knew if the rains continued unabated, then they would need to move upstairs.

Aman kneeled and put one of his boats in the water. It soon set sail. He beamed as he watched it and set the next one in.

“Can I play with you?” he heard a voice behind him. Looking back, he saw it was their new neighbor who had moved in a couple of days before. His shorts were wet – he had waded through the water to reach Aman.

“Sure. It’ll be fun!” Aman gladly extended a couple of boats to his new friend.

The boy hesitated. Aman stretched his hands again.

“Can you put the boats down?” the boy asked.

Aman was confused but placed the boats down. He watched the boy use the fingers on his feet to put the boats in the water. Aman was awed by this skill and a grin formed in his mouth.

The grin vanished when he noticed that the boy didn’t have both hands. Aman vacantly looked at the happy and contented face of the boy.

“Why did you stop? Come, let’s race our boats!” the boy said excitedly.

The Nest of Songbirds

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When she moved from the orphanage to her new home, Deborah liked it instantly courtesy the songbirds and their nest on a tree overlooking the window of her room. But it was the rainy season and she worried for the safety of the birds.

A couple of days after she had moved, Deborah heard a thud outside the window. The nest had fallen on the road because the tree was being felled remorselessly.

Her helpless gaze was met by a cold stare from the contractor.

This post is in response to the Saturday fiction prompt on the Write Tribe WhatsApp group. The prompt is:

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