Two beautiful Short Story Blogs I found
http://shortstoriesblog.com/
http://shortstorycorner.blogspot.com/
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smile : do it once for me........
19 years ago
Friday, December 17, 2010
No....(Short Story)
"No"
She had said just that. One word. It was so potent, so poisonous, it was eating his insides. He knew it was a lie. And he knew that she knew it.
"Don't you love me anymore?" He had asked.
"No."
That one word was enough to wipe away five years from his life. Those five years in which she had become an inevitable part of his life. He knew that her sacrifices in these five years far exceeded his. He only wished she had a little more patience. Now the things seemed to be changing. He was changing. He was no longer the idealistic and adamant young man that he had been. Age and agony had mellowed him down.
For five whole years she had supported him. They met at a bus stop on the day he had run away from his house. She had taken him in when they were strangers. She was staying alone and knew that her neighbours would react unfavourably to her letting in a young man. But she braved the opposition, fought the odds. Maybe she liked him from the first day she met him. As days went by she had fallen for his charm and his firebrand idealism.
She worked as a waitress in a hotel during the day and some nights sold her body to uncaring strangers in some cheap hotel room. He stayed at home all day, wrote poems and essays, went out and discussed politics with whoever he met. She didn't mind. She was deeply in love with him. He loved her too but he loved poetry too and literature and humanity and animals and environment and so the list was endless. She loved him.
First sparks appeared when he first slapped her. She wanted to go for a movie with her friends while he wanted her to stay home with her. "I am not your wife." She had said. His answer was a slap across her cheek. It was the first time they did not speak to each other for more than a day. That night for the first time since they met, she slept without him reading a poem to her. Next day their fight had ended with mad passionate love. She could not bear to stay away from him any longer. Nor could he. She admitted it. He did not.
"Why don't you take a job?" She had asked. It took her four years to ask this.
"Why?"
"So that I can stop selling my body. So that we can get married."
"Why do you want to get married?" he had asked. And did not understand then whay her answer was only mute tearful eyes. Her look had made him feel guilty. But his idealism was still alive.
After that day, almost every day was the same. Everyday till today.He found his bags on the doorstep when he returned from a stroll. Through closed doors he had asked "Don't you love me anymore?"
"No."
She had said just that. One word. It was so potent, so poisonous, it was eating his insides. He knew it was a lie. And he knew that she knew it.
"Don't you love me anymore?" He had asked.
"No."
That one word was enough to wipe away five years from his life. Those five years in which she had become an inevitable part of his life. He knew that her sacrifices in these five years far exceeded his. He only wished she had a little more patience. Now the things seemed to be changing. He was changing. He was no longer the idealistic and adamant young man that he had been. Age and agony had mellowed him down.
For five whole years she had supported him. They met at a bus stop on the day he had run away from his house. She had taken him in when they were strangers. She was staying alone and knew that her neighbours would react unfavourably to her letting in a young man. But she braved the opposition, fought the odds. Maybe she liked him from the first day she met him. As days went by she had fallen for his charm and his firebrand idealism.
She worked as a waitress in a hotel during the day and some nights sold her body to uncaring strangers in some cheap hotel room. He stayed at home all day, wrote poems and essays, went out and discussed politics with whoever he met. She didn't mind. She was deeply in love with him. He loved her too but he loved poetry too and literature and humanity and animals and environment and so the list was endless. She loved him.
First sparks appeared when he first slapped her. She wanted to go for a movie with her friends while he wanted her to stay home with her. "I am not your wife." She had said. His answer was a slap across her cheek. It was the first time they did not speak to each other for more than a day. That night for the first time since they met, she slept without him reading a poem to her. Next day their fight had ended with mad passionate love. She could not bear to stay away from him any longer. Nor could he. She admitted it. He did not.
"Why don't you take a job?" She had asked. It took her four years to ask this.
"Why?"
"So that I can stop selling my body. So that we can get married."
"Why do you want to get married?" he had asked. And did not understand then whay her answer was only mute tearful eyes. Her look had made him feel guilty. But his idealism was still alive.
After that day, almost every day was the same. Everyday till today.He found his bags on the doorstep when he returned from a stroll. Through closed doors he had asked "Don't you love me anymore?"
"No."
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Tale of the Titles...
Since I took to the fantasy of writing a book, the most difficult thing to come up with has not been the plot or the story but the title. I was wondering how all the famous authors come up with names for their books. What if the title of a great book fails to bring out the drama, the action or tension of the story? So I thought before venturing into the world of writing, I should first try my hand at coming up with titles for probable storylines. Here is a list of few titles I could come up with.
Runaway Equator – An Autobiography of an Obese Man
All Foreplay No Sex – Review of English/French/Italian football team in FIFA World Cup 2010
Premature Ejaculation – Review of Argentina’s performance at FIFA World Cup 2010
Who Wants to be a Millionaire – A peek into a politician’s life
The Maze and the Mist – Making of Leonardo Di Caprio’s ‘The Inception’
The Maze, The Mist and The Miss - Making of 'The Pirates of the Carribean.'
The Maze, The Mist, The Miss and The Mysterious Guy - Making of the 'Twilight' series
Runaway Equator – An Autobiography of an Obese Man
All Foreplay No Sex – Review of English/French/Italian football team in FIFA World Cup 2010
Premature Ejaculation – Review of Argentina’s performance at FIFA World Cup 2010
Who Wants to be a Millionaire – A peek into a politician’s life
The Maze and the Mist – Making of Leonardo Di Caprio’s ‘The Inception’
The Maze, The Mist and The Miss - Making of 'The Pirates of the Carribean.'
The Maze, The Mist, The Miss and The Mysterious Guy - Making of the 'Twilight' series
Monday, December 13, 2010
Wiki Leaks?
Sometimes my brigade of aunties is quite difficult to handle. Especially when they get into the “oh! The today’s generation” mode. And sometimes when they get curious about various new age phenomena there is no telling where the discussion might go. I generally seek the nearest escape route when I hear of an expedition whose destination is our home. One afternoon however I was caught like a rat in a trap with the full strength of the aunt brigade at my house.
I was as usual surfing the net when the attack happened.
“What do you ‘young children’ keep doing on the net all the time?” Pammi aunty asked in a reprimanding tone, “why don’t you do some ‘real’ work?”
“I know,” the all knowing Sheila aunty said, “Facebook-Shacebook, what else do these kids have? We used to have all real friends.”
I had to stand my ground. Now that there was no escape, I decided to stay and fight. “Actually I was reading some news to base my article on.” I defended myself.
“What news-shews?” Sheila aunty spoke again, “a couple of rapes in Delhi, an encounter in Kashmir, some policemen killed by naxalites and parliament shut down by opposition. There is nothing more than that in the news.”
“So what are you going to write about?” Generally taciturn Gurpreet aunty asked in a tone which suggested, the topic was not important, whatever I write would anyways would not be worth reading.
“Well,” I said, “I was thinking I should write something about Wikileaks. Everyone seems to be writing about it.”
“What is Wikileaks?” Pammi aunty asked.
“I know,” again Sheila aunty, “it is that website where you get information about everything.”
“No aunty, its Wikipedia.”
“Yes yes, I know,” Sheila aunty was not the one to quit, “that only. It was hacked by some hackers. Thats why they call it Wikileaks.”
“No aunty,” I said, “it’s a different website. Wikileaks leaked US secret cables.”
“You mean the secret cable TV channels only available in US?” Pammi aunty asked.
“No cables as in wires, like telegrams.” I tried to explain. “Like messages sent by US diplomats around the world. About different countries and governments.”
“So what?” Gurpreet aunty was as sarcastic as ever.
“These cables were secret. They contradict many publicly endorsed positions of the US Government.” I said.
“So what?” It was Sheila aunty’s turn now, “Anyhow no one ever believes US Government’s publicly endorsed opinions. They say ‘wonder what US is thinking if it is saying such and such in public’ and Wikileaks must have just added to the confusion.”
“Wikileaks has taken the world by storm.” I said growing impatient, “Julian Assange has become an overnight celebrity. He has become a hero for some and villain for others. And left US Government offering explainations to most Governments in the world.”
“So he is an international kaamwaali bai (domestic help)” Pammi aunty said.
“What?” I asked incredibly.
“That is what our maids do.” Pammi aunty offered an explaination, “when a housewife complains to her husband about their neighbours, the maid listens silently and then goes out and tells other women in the complex what the housewife said. Similarly she tells other maids who in turn tell their mistresses and soon the whole complex knows who thinks what about whom.”
I could not help but feel a sense of wonder at how Pammi aunty had simplified a major international event. What she said later was truly a pearl of wisdom.
“And like a good neighbourhood, everything would be all fine despite Wikileaks you see.” She said, “When the word about who said what about whom spreads, women know what her neighbor thinks or says about her. But she never complains or confronts her neighbor and instead keeps up the pretence of being unaware. And the one who has said the words in the first place, knowing the other woman is aware and yet acting indifferent, keeps up the pretense of innocence, and so all goes as usual in the neighbourhood. What do you think would happen in the world?”
I was as usual surfing the net when the attack happened.
“What do you ‘young children’ keep doing on the net all the time?” Pammi aunty asked in a reprimanding tone, “why don’t you do some ‘real’ work?”
“I know,” the all knowing Sheila aunty said, “Facebook-Shacebook, what else do these kids have? We used to have all real friends.”
I had to stand my ground. Now that there was no escape, I decided to stay and fight. “Actually I was reading some news to base my article on.” I defended myself.
“What news-shews?” Sheila aunty spoke again, “a couple of rapes in Delhi, an encounter in Kashmir, some policemen killed by naxalites and parliament shut down by opposition. There is nothing more than that in the news.”
“So what are you going to write about?” Generally taciturn Gurpreet aunty asked in a tone which suggested, the topic was not important, whatever I write would anyways would not be worth reading.
“Well,” I said, “I was thinking I should write something about Wikileaks. Everyone seems to be writing about it.”
“What is Wikileaks?” Pammi aunty asked.
“I know,” again Sheila aunty, “it is that website where you get information about everything.”
“No aunty, its Wikipedia.”
“Yes yes, I know,” Sheila aunty was not the one to quit, “that only. It was hacked by some hackers. Thats why they call it Wikileaks.”
“No aunty,” I said, “it’s a different website. Wikileaks leaked US secret cables.”
“You mean the secret cable TV channels only available in US?” Pammi aunty asked.
“No cables as in wires, like telegrams.” I tried to explain. “Like messages sent by US diplomats around the world. About different countries and governments.”
“So what?” Gurpreet aunty was as sarcastic as ever.
“These cables were secret. They contradict many publicly endorsed positions of the US Government.” I said.
“So what?” It was Sheila aunty’s turn now, “Anyhow no one ever believes US Government’s publicly endorsed opinions. They say ‘wonder what US is thinking if it is saying such and such in public’ and Wikileaks must have just added to the confusion.”
“Wikileaks has taken the world by storm.” I said growing impatient, “Julian Assange has become an overnight celebrity. He has become a hero for some and villain for others. And left US Government offering explainations to most Governments in the world.”
“So he is an international kaamwaali bai (domestic help)” Pammi aunty said.
“What?” I asked incredibly.
“That is what our maids do.” Pammi aunty offered an explaination, “when a housewife complains to her husband about their neighbours, the maid listens silently and then goes out and tells other women in the complex what the housewife said. Similarly she tells other maids who in turn tell their mistresses and soon the whole complex knows who thinks what about whom.”
I could not help but feel a sense of wonder at how Pammi aunty had simplified a major international event. What she said later was truly a pearl of wisdom.
“And like a good neighbourhood, everything would be all fine despite Wikileaks you see.” She said, “When the word about who said what about whom spreads, women know what her neighbor thinks or says about her. But she never complains or confronts her neighbor and instead keeps up the pretence of being unaware. And the one who has said the words in the first place, knowing the other woman is aware and yet acting indifferent, keeps up the pretense of innocence, and so all goes as usual in the neighbourhood. What do you think would happen in the world?”
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