Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from 2009

The Thankful Challenge - The Run

(Images courtesy: prosportphotos.com)

What a fantastic run it turned out to be on Saturday. Eight miles of pure adrenaline rush. It was far from the flat course that I'd been training on. It was a terrain full of steep ups and slippery downs. There were interminable lengths where we were wading through waist-deep slush (think yellow coloured thick milkshake). There were stretches where the surface was so sticky that the shoes would get stuck at every step. It was like stomping through chewing gum. And then there were these massive puddles of knee-deep freezing cold water. The legs would burn and just as you'd managed to shake the water, you'd be plunged into an another one. It was massive fun.

It was the most alive I've felt in a long time. It was like a stinging slap to wake you up to the joys of life. I smiled and laughed through much of it. And it'd do it all again.

p.s. The photos don't quite convey the madness of it. My timing was far from what I'd hoped …

A Thankful Challenge

Thank you everyone for your show of hands. Here's what I propose to do.

I am running 8 miles this Saturday in an off-road challenge. Details of which may be found here. If you are in the neighbourhood, please do come and say hello.

Now, here's your challenge.

Write about someone you are really thankful for for their presence in your life. Post your story in your blog and drop me a line. The 8 winning stories will get a mile dedicated to them on Saturday. I will take a photo at every mile and post it later on this blog.

While we're on the subject, thank you for reading my blog.

Deadline: Friday evening 10 pm GMT

p.s. No, I haven't forgotten results of the earlier letter writing contest. Actually, I have. Results soon!

Hands up

...if you are reading this then please leave a comment.

I have a contest coming up for you and it needs a quick turnaround.

Go on, don't just stand there. Comment!

Running Ranis

Over the weekend, Shoefiend and I took part in an 8km run. I wanted to finish in under an hour. I did it with 7 minutes to spare. The results may be found here. We had great fun running and I thought wouldn't it be better if we could get more women jogging and logging their runs and sharing their successes and inspiring others to do the same?

So I've gone ahead and started Running Ranis. A sisterhood for runners. A place where you can come for encouragement, advice or simply a kick up the rear. Send me something about your run - maybe a race you're planning to enter or a review of a training bra you've recently bought. If it is about running, then I want to hear about it. Send in your photos too. Send them all to ammania@gmail.com and I will upload them on the blog. Ready, steady, Ranis!

Fifty and Counting

Not everyone wakes up in the morning, excited about going to work. Fewer still get to do that for fifty years. How lucky are you, Appa! That not only do you love your work but you get to practice it for over half-a-century. The funny thing is, you never aspired to become a lawyer. You had applied to study medicine along with four of your friends. While they received a call for interview, you didn't. You were heartbroken and consoled yourself that it was not meant to be. And it was your father and uncle who persuaded you to take up law as an alternative.

Did you even think back then that one day you would be celebrating your golden jubilee in a profession that you only took up as a consolatory choice?

But having resigned yourself to the choice, you threw yourself wholeheartedly into work. Sure you had your father and uncle before you to help get a head start in the profession. They were already established lawyers and you never had to struggle the way other newbies did. That said, h…

Down Strange Paths by that White-Rabbit Curiousity

While browsing through the weekend's bulk of newspaper, I chanced upon a column by Nick Laird (otherwise known as Mr. Zadie Smith) where he talks about the gangrenous growth of facebook and twitter and how it has eaten into our abilities to concentrate on one thing and one thing alone.

Here is the link to the article. With that I take a breather. I'm off to India for the summer and I will see you sometime soon. And yes, results for the 'Letter to your teen self' contest coming up soon.

Michael - In Memoriam

Natural Star - For Michael Jackson© 1991 by Alice Walker

I am in mourning
For your face
The one I used to love
To see
Leaping, glowing
Upon the
The stage
The mike
Eager...
Thrusting
In your
Fist.

I am in mourning
For your face
The shining eyes
The happy teeth
The look that said
I am the world
And aren't you
Glad
Not to mention
Deeply
In luck.

I am in mourning
For
The sweet brown innocence
Of your skin
Your perfect nose
The shy smile
That lit you
Like a light.


I am in mourning
For a face
The Universe
In its goodness
Makes but once
Each
Thousand
Years
and smiles
And sends it out
To spread great joy
Itself well pleased.

I am in mourning
For your beloved face
So thoroughly
And undeservedly
Released.

Oh, my pretty little
Brother. Genius. Child.
Sing to us. Dance.

Rest in peace.

Let's crank this up a bit, shall we?

Earlier I'd asked you to send me your letters to your teenage self and I've received some of the most wonderfully interesting responses. All of which may be read here.

I wish to make it a bit more interesting. I'd like to turn this into a competition.

Write the most compelling letter to your adolescent self and send it to me at ammania@gmail.com by the end of the month. My favourite letter will win a prize (which is yet to be decided). You could even send a picture of yourself as a teen, if you like. Or go anonymous, if you would rather.

Either way, get writing and I look forward to your letters. Thank you!

Yes, that's me as a 13-14 year old with Blogeswari by my side.

Novice Triathlon

I just had a crazy idea. There's this novice triathlon to be held on the 4th of July. To complete the event, I need toswim 200m, bike 5km and run 2.5km. I've done all of these before. Only not one after the other.

But I need to do this for some reason other pure, personal motives. And I'm thinking of Projectwhy on this occasion.

Should I give it a go?

If I knew then what I know now

A while ago Stephen Fry wrote a letter to his teenage self in G2. It was a wonderfully reflective piece, typically Fry-esque. It got me thinking. If you could talk to your teen self what would you tell her? Send your thoughts in a mail to ammania@gmail.com . Mention 'If I knew then what I know now' in the subject line. All letters will be posted in Lost in Post

Yes, that's me as an 18-19 year old.

(Sticky post. Scroll down for newer ones. )

A quick tale 228

An Offering

It was Sundar who first spotted them. Tiny black dots scurrying around in a frenzy on the kitchen floor. He blinked rapidly mistaking them for little squiggles that often swam before his eyes when they hadn't yet fully adjusted to the bright morning light. It was only when he got down on his hands and knees to inspect the purposefully moving dots that he realised what they were. He instinctively squashed a couple of ants under this thumb before he remembered how as a young boy, his grandmother would smack him on the back of his palm and tell him off for killing harmless insects. She would tell him how in his next birth, he would be born an ant and be crushed to death by a little boy. Sundar could not understand how he could come back as an ant when only two days ago she had warned him that he'd be born a sparrow who'd be stoned to death by a lad "just like him" But he never asked her about it because if he had, he'd get a clip around the ears and …

I have this little sister...

...Lola. She's small and very funny'. That's how Charlie introduces Lola in their eponymous show every evening at 6.45 on Cbeebies. Lauren Child's (an appropriate name for a children's author if there was one!) characters are funny, incisive and really, very ever-so very clever. Here's a little sample of their quirky little world.





On a related note, I have this little sister Blogeswari, who celebrates her birthday tomorrow. Happy birthday, thangachee!

Fruits of my labour

&


(Okay, the joke's starting to wear out...even for me)

Grown My Own

We've started growing vegetables in the garden - carrots, cabbages, courgettes, tomatoes, cucumbers, marrows, pumpkins, aubergines, cauliflowers, strawberries, peppers, chillis, garlic and leeks. On my window sill sit pots and pots of compost with all kinds of plants that I've been trying to grow. I see a seed on my spice rack and I want to scatter them on a bed of soil and see what happens. I have plunged tamarind seeds into old yogurt pots. Fennel seeds should be sprouting any day soon. Even the old mung bean has not been spared. There wasn't enough for our Sunday sundal. Can't you see, I have only just sown the channa? I demand.

Here's two I grew earlier.

A quick tale 227

Somethings Never Change

We spent much of our growing years together. Our mothers were sisters and his family lived in the next street. We were almost the same age and went to the same school. I was taller than him but he started shaving long before I did. I introduced him to cigarettes and he would smuggle cold beer bottles to our terrace on warm summer nights. I don’t remember a day when Vaithi did not come by our house. He usually came straight from school and would stay back until late. He was a permanent fixture of my childhood and adolescence.

It must have been sometime after we left school that we started to drift apart. Vaithi went to Vellore to study engineering and I studied at our local arts college. He would come home during holidays but didn’t come by our house as often he used to. He had discovered books and movies and I had started to work at my father’s pharmacy during holidays. During the second year of college his father passed away and his whole family moved to Madras.

Memories of food - Milk Biscuits

(image courtesy - www.adelanwar.com)
I am ten years old and being sent away to spend my summer holidays with an aunt in Bombay. Somewhere in my luggage are 5 or 6 packets of Britania Milk Biscuits. My aunt has specifically requested for them. Milk Bikis are not yet available in Bombay and somehow Parle G is not quite the same. It's a long train journey and it takes all my will power to keep from me raiding the bag. But by the time we reach Pune, I can no longer resist the call of Milk Bikis. To hell with it, I think to myself, I'll just tell her the railway rats got it. I grab the bag I know contains the packets and plunge my hand into it. But inside I find a smaller cloth bag. And this one has its mouth sewn shut. The witch! I dare not rip the bag open because that would be a step too far. Instead I sulk to a corner seat and hope that I will at least get some crumbs. It's been two days since we arrived. The biscuits have disappeared into the kitchen. But I have a good ide…

Seems like yesterday

It's been five years since I ran the London Marathon. It's something I never fail to bring up, even in a casual conversation which might go like this.

You: Nice day, isn't it? Me: Yes, a most pleasant day to go running. You: Yes, did you hear about what happened to that ship that was attacked by pirates? Me: Pirates? Bet they never go running. You: They threatened to kill all on board if they weren't paid a ransom. Me: And if they are killed, they can certainly never go running. Did I tell you about the time I ran the London Marathon and someone came dressed as a pirate?
As you probably guessed, I'm darned proud of having run the 26.2 mile course. Here are some pics. (Rest assured I will do the same year after year. Write about my day of glory that is, not run)



25 Random things about me

It's one of those tags that never came my way. Still, here goes.

1. My name has always been no.1 in the school attendance register.
2. My name is usually the first on mobile phones. And I get a lot of calls from kids who happen to be playing with the mobile. Usually at 3 in the morning.
3. I share my birthday with my father.
4. I rarely wear anything blue.
5. I ran the London Marathon five years ago.
6. I get annoyed when people say they ran the Mumbai Marathon but omit to add that they ran the half-marathon distance.
7. Recently, I was surprised to learn that I am a shoe size bigger than I'd previously thought.
8. I have two sons. Both of them are boys.
9. I once auditioned for Countdown on Channel 4.
10. Routines tire me.
11. I had never ironed a shirt until I came to the UK.
12. I dreamt of my firstborn's name.
13. I am terribly ambitious.
14. Some days, for no apparent reason, I get a big buzz just waking up in the morning and then want to go climb Everest before breakfast.
15. I cri…

Memories of food - Murukku & a Paati who made them

I don't know what made me think of her. It is quite possible that it was the sight of the still half-full packet of murukku on the top shelf that triggered the memory. Long before Grand Sweets and Snacks took over the murukkus of the world, there was murukku paati. I don't think she had ever been murukku-young girl or murukku-lady before she became the grandmother who squeezed out the best murukkus out of the mould. She was nobody's grandmother in particular and yet everyone in the neighbourhood called her paati.

Paati was a widow and she wore a widow's garb of pale pink cotton 9-yards saree. Her head was shaved and she wore no blouse. When she sat down, her pendulous breasts would rest on the folds of her stomach like a well-fed cat on his owner's lap on a Saturday afternoon. Snug, settled and unrushed.

I do not remember her face very well. But when I think of her, I can see her holding a large mould filled with murukku dough and squeezing it over a vat of boiling h…

Origami Abhirami

I want to spend an afternoon with a few friends folding paper. Hands up if you are interested. p.s. Ahiri, there will be a place marked for you on the table. In case you wish to join us.

Around The World - A Tag

I look around me. There's torn paper all over the floor waiting to be tidied up. There's also a sinkful of dirty dishes to be washed. Lunch to be cooked, nappies to be changed. I have yet to glance at the day's newspaper and my cup of tea has grown a thin layer of cream on top. But I want to sit here and sink further into the sofa. I don't want to disturb the chaos. I no longer wish order around my household. I'm still in my pyjamas as I settle down to respond to a tag from the wonderful Sur (I'm still waiting for your phone call). I'm supposed to write five things I love about being a mother.



1. I love the fact that I no longer need to appear civil in public. I can go to the supermarket looking like I've just spent an hour inside a tumble dryer along with bottles of jams and pickles and sauces and I'm likely to get sympathetic nods from fellow travellers.

2. I'm glad that I no longer need to bother with cosmetics or anti-ageing creams. The frowns…

A quick tale 226

The alternative is unthinkable

This is not the sort of dilemma you have in mind when you are filling in a job application. My application pack asked me questions about where I studied and what marks I got in my graduation. There was nothing about how I would handle a situation like this. But then of course, you cannot always prepare for every eventuality. Each day I come to work, I come in the secure knowledge that so many hundreds of lives depend on me. That if I mess up even the slightest, not carry out my checks thoroughly, not probe that little bit extra, there could be trouble ahead. But you don't always think about all this when you are at your job. Like when I'm on duty, checking passengers before they board, running the metal detector across their body, dabbing my hands all over their person (strictly for reasons of security) and poking suspicious bulges, just to be sure. I rarely make eye contact with the passengers as I go about my work. I just ask them to head this w…

Rock, Hard Rock and Me 2

When I was in the 6th standard or so, I saw my school seniors practising a dance routine. The tune was catchy and I wanted to know more. But when I drew close to the stage, I realised with shock that the chorus sounded distinctly like 'Peede...peede'. Why would anyone choose a song with abusive words in them? And worse, they were going to dance to it? With teachers watching and parents cheering on? Didn't these girls have no shame? Don't they risk being called peedais themselves? But I kept my anxiety to myself and it wasn't until much later that I learnt that the song was actually 'Beat it'.

But finding out the song didn't actually make me go 'A-ha! I get it now'. I was further confounded with a series of even more perplexing questions. Beat what? Beat whom? Why beat? These mysteries have remained unresolved since and I suspect I will take them with me when I go. I don't wrestle with serious existential questions. My demands are far less exa…

Rock, Hard Rock and Me

I envy anyone who knows their pop from their rock from their jazz. I positively glow with jealousy whenever I hear someone say how they grew up listening to Joan Baez or Bob Dylan. Me, I have not a chance in hell when it comes to English music of any genre. I wouldn't know Bob Dylan if he fell on me and broke my neck (that I wouldn't be alive to recognise him as such is immaterial here). When I was young, only the seriously hip and the ones who had sold their soul to the devil listened to English music.

For a long time, the only pop musician I knew was Michael Jackson. Though I wasn't sure if he really sang in English as I could barely follow what little I heard of his songs. The husband recently told me that there were heated debates in his school over Jacko's gender. With over half of his class convinced that he was a woman!

Back then one of my uncles used to have LPs of Osibisa, ABBA and Boney M and he would play them on his record player and we would dance around fee…

Food for thought

I love a good food blog. I love spending hours looking at all the wonderful pictures, so painstaking in their effort that it hurts to think that these bloggers are doing it for no reason other than the love of it. There's a variety of recipes, all presented ever so professionally. A drizzle here, a coriander sprig artfully tucked there. They also makes me acutely aware of my shortcomings. Admittedly, I had my own food blog for a while before I surrendered to my incompetence. For I can never, in a million years do dainty drizzles. Unless I happen to spill some by mistake. My food is chaotic. Served in mismatched bowls. With not a napkin in sight. At home we eat food with our hands, often messily. And when it's good, we lick, slurp and devour it with abandon. With an energy best left for the passions of reunited young lovers who have been apart for a year.

I go back to the food blogs and I see such a lot of quest for perfection. There is none of the burnt pans and runny cakes and…

Ayah

You could set your watch by her. At five to 8 every morning, when we were young, Nagamma Ayah - an illiterate, old woman would turn up at our doorstep to shepherd us to school. “AbhiBhavani…” one of the many children in her herd would call out to us from the entrance. As if we were conjoined twins and not a pair of siblings baying for each other’s blood at that very moment. Ayah would motion for us to hurry up and we would join the motley flock as it made its way to school.

On our walk to school, she would sometimes tell us about her wayward sons, her deceased, alcoholic husband and on other occasions she would chat with other ayahs about her struggling milk business and its defaulting customers. It gave children like me a brief insight into the lives of those who worked for us. Those invisible cogs in the wheel who were only ever noticed in their absence.

She attended my wedding and she also came around to see my child when he was born. She was amused that the girl she had once walked …

Memories of food - Elandampazham

As a child, we were not allowed to eat elandampazham. Chee, one of the aunts would admonish wheneverI expressed an interest in the forbidden fruit, we do not eat such fruit. It never occured to me ask her why. In much the same way as I never questioned, until much later, other pearls of wisdom handed down to us. I simply accepted it and stayed away from watermelon, sweet potato and elandampazham. All of which, presumably, occupied the lowest rung of edibles. And everyday I was left looking longingly at the wooden cart piled high with elandampazham as it did brisk business outside our school.

For about 10 paise, you would get a paper coneful of sour-sticky, ripe berries sprinkled generously with salt and chilli powder. I never, ever bought a cone but sometimes, on rare occasions, a classmate would offer me a single pazham. I would grab it quickly before she had a chance to change her mind. And once in my hand, I would roll the fruit in my palm, fully aware of the rule I was about to bre…

Lost in Post

To a little boy

It cannot be easy being you. A follow-up act to your more devilishly charming, flamboyant older brother. Before you were born, I was convinced that no child could ever take the special place your brother had come to occupy in my life. I used to argue with your father you would always be a second-born. A runner-up. A bridesmaid (or a best-man, as you turned out to be). That you could never be the prized, cherished, celebrated apple of my eye that my firstborn child was. But how easily you tore down my flimsy little conviction. The minute I saw you, I knew I was gone. What was worse, I succumbed willingly.

My fears that you would be overshadowed by your brother have proven unfounded. Over the past year, you have come into your own as a person. Your brother demands and challenges our love and attention. You, on the other hand, are much more accepting of our distractions with him. It is almost as if you understand that he is used to being the star of the show for much of his…

A quick tale 225

Moving story

When did it happen? How did we manage to gather so many things? Look, here's a gift you got me for my last birthday. I've barely opened it. The expiry date is still some months away. Don't throw that away just yet. And here's something else you bought me because it was winter and I'd gone out without a coat. It's okay, you had said, don't worry about the price. I just want you stay warm. The coat has still got the price tag on it. And do you remember who gave us this one? I think we should keep it in her memory. It seemed like such a nice gesture at the time. How come we never used it again? And look where this has been hiding all this while. I had looked all over the house and couldn't find it. In the end, I just ended up buying a new one. Do you think it still works? What about these two? It was your idea. I had protested against buying it. But you were convinced that we needed them at home. I can count the number of times you used it - on…

Congratulations, ARR & Resul Pookutty!

And now, for no reason other than to show off, here's a photo of my son and ARR taken at Heathrow last summer.

55

Theme: Cheating
Word count: 55

-

Alright, so I don't look like my photo. The hair's different and the waist is not what it used to be. Okay, so the photo was taken when I was 16. Okay, okay, the girl in the photo is not exactly me.
She's my cousin. Your ad said you were handsome. Who was it describing?

-

This is one of my entries for the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival. My other entries are here. If you wish to enter the competition, details here. Hurry, deadline Sunday 8th Feb 2009.

Flash Drama

Theme: Truce
Word count: 350

Fair Trade

Mother with twin wailing babies.

Phone rings. She grabs a child, cradles phone receiver on crook of neck.

Yes?

Good evening, madam.

Who’s calling?

Is that Mrs. Krishnan?

Who’s calling?

I’m calling from Eternal Insurance of…

*Click*

-

Mother asleep on sofa. One baby asleep on chest. The other nestled in her arm.

Phone rings. Mother wakes up with a start. Feels around for the receiver.

Fuck off!

She collapses back on sofa.

-


Mother is sitting on living room floor playing with kids. Phone rings.

Yes?

Am I talking to Mrs. Krishnan?

Yes. Who’s calling?

Good evening, madam. I’m calling from Ignite Gas and Electricity company. Would you like to save on your gas and electricity bills every month?

No.

Mrs. Krishnan, you can save nearly £500 every year by simply switching your service provider.

I don’t care.

*click*

Phone rings.

Yes?

Mrs. Krishnan, it’s me again…from Ignite…

Listen, you’re wasting your time…

Madam, please listen to me.

No…what’s your name?

Sam.

What’s your Indian name?

Mmm…

55

Theme: Cheating
Word count: 55

--

I watch you tuck into the lasagne noisily. It dribbles down your chin. You chew away. Mmm, you say approvingly. I don’t think you’d want to know the recipe. You scrape the bottom of the pan and empty it onto your plate. The dog will starve tonight. I can only feed one of you. Sadly.

--

I hunt every last one of them. It’s a surprise attack. I strike on a Tuesday morning. Not on a Sunday when they’d have expected me and gone into hiding. I watch their blood spill and feel proud. It’s a victory for humanity. My predatory instincts are on a high today. Another down. Bloody nits!

-

You’ve always hated them. So I don’t tell you where we’re going. You walk ahead of me. Your legs barely supporting your weight. You stop to catch your breath. You bump into trees. You don’t hear me calling out. I carry you inside. I lay you down on the table. It’ll be over soon. Sorry.

-

These are a few of my entries to the 55-word flash fiction contest, part of the Kala Ghoda Art Festiv…

Cult of Bad Momma

I am not a good mother. This is what I tell myself every day. Every time I put myself ahead of my children. This is the damning sentence I hand out to myself every morning I stay in bed putting off parental responsibilities that loom closer and closer like a hangman’s noose. Parental chores that include screaming fits with a six-year old who demands to know why he cannot wear yesterday’s underwear. And trying to reason with an unreasonable toddler who will insist on chomping on detergent. I cannot be a good mother, I reason. Good mothers do not wish they hadn’t become mothers at all. Sure, they may sometimes wish they could go back to being single and fancy-free and all that. But they would say things like ‘I love my children endlessly’ and ‘the joys they bring to my life are boundless’ and other time-worn phrases that ring true when they say it and sound hollow coming from my mouth. Unlike other good mothers out there, at this point of time I honestly wish I had not become a mother. …

A quick tale 224

Gap year in Congo

Oh, the ideas she had once upon a time! No TV till the child’s 10. Only organic food for life. Libraries not play stations. Reusable nappies. Baby Mozart on Wednesdays and Toddler yoga on Fridays. No Barbies and certainly no guns as toys. Fluent in three languages by the fifth birthday. No birthday parties with clowns. Private education with extra lessons for Maths and Science. Gap year in Congo. And so forth.

Today she stands in the toy store watching her daughter rolling on the floor. Kicking the display shelves, pulling her hair out and retching violently. All because her demand for a toy was turned down. Chee, chee, her mother disapproves rather loudly to no one in particular, what kind of a mother would let her daughter behave like this in public. She swings her handbag on her shoulder and struts out of the store purposefully. She turns a corner and waits for her child to emerge.

Lost in Post

Dear walker of Simba/Lucy/Holly

I confess, I have never had a pet and chances are, never will. So I do not know what it is like to have one. But I do have children and I have heard from pet-owning friends that the two are in many ways similar. Now, if I were to take my child out for a walk and if they ran riot, terrorizing innocent joggers by snarling at them, chasing them and almost knocking them to the ground, I wouldn't smile and say 'Oh, he's just being playful'. I wouldn't then tut-tut and make it seem like the person who stands terror-stricken in front of me was making a big deal out of a small innocent game my child was playing with them. I certainly wouldn't laugh at their reactions and belittle them.

Let's say, during our walk in the park, my son did his 'business' somewhere (for the record, my son wouldn't just do it anywhere. But this is hypothetical), I would take a plastic bag, gather his deposits and dispose it. I wouldn't leave …

A quick tale 223

Heirloom

She knew from the minute she opened her eyes that morning that today would be the day. Something about the way the sunlight distilled its way through the curtain and met her on her bed, told her that it had to be done then. Not later but now. She raised herself cautiously from bed as if the weight of the day's events were already pressing her down. As she readied herself, she rehearsed her lines. Would she reveal its entire history? However sparse her own knowledge of it was? Or would she simply let her daughter into the secret circle that she had been part of ever since she was a young woman? And let her daughter find out more about it if she wished to?

Her own experience had been all too brief. Shortly after her thirteenth birthday, her mother had called her to her room one day. The look on her mother's face told her that it was something important. Her mother simply handed it to her with no further explanation. She held it in her hands knowing better than to ask que…

A quick tale 222

Odd, very odd

This is a strange story. It leaves you wondering why. You will raise your brows, purse your lips and sometimes scratch your nose in puzzlement. As it happened to me. This could take some time. So why don’t you grab a seat and draw your chair close? I cannot raise my voice like I used to. And I don’t want you to interrupt me every now and then when you cannot hear a word or two. And I’d have to clear my throat and repeat what I just said. It will tire me, you understand.

This is about a certain young woman who went to the bank a while ago. She withdrew a large amount of money from her account. She did not meet the eyes of the cashier who seemed curious about her reasons for such a withdrawal. Hot outside, is it?, he asked in attempt to get a conversation going. His eyes were still looking down at the wad of cash he was counting. Mmmm, she answered. Summer is fast approaching, he tried one more time. Mmm, was all she would say.
Be careful, he said placing the thick bundles …

I will take your money and run

Look what I have been upto.



Nought to ten in 8 weeks
I do hope you will join in the efforts. Thank you!

A long forgotten incident

The day I became a railway announcer

A good many years ago, I made a work-related trip from Calcutta to Mumbai by train. It was a long, long, seemingly never-ending journey of some 36 hours which had been further complicated by a series of inexplicable delays. A friend/colleague was supposed to pick me up from VT station upon my arrival. So when the train finally pulled into VT, I could barely wait to get to the guest house, get cleaned up and call it a day. But when I got down from the compartment, I couldn’t see him. It was fairly late in the night and I knew he had been working long hours. So I just decided to wait a little longer to see if he’d turn up. Half-an-hour later, I was still waiting.

Now, I only had a landline contact number for my friend and when I rang the number, there was no answer. Wearily, I picked up my bags while trying to decide what to do next. Perhaps, I thought, my friend had fallen asleep while waiting for me. May be an announcement on the PA system would wake…

A quick tale 221

An odd little story that just popped into the writer's head one day

It is not what you would call an epidemic. Its spread was neither wide nor rapid. It began gradually, quietly creeping on you when you were looking the other way. One Wednesday here. The following Sunday there. It was so random that if you weren't paying attention, you too would've attributed its occurrence to chance. Like Myria did, back in November one day as she was getting ready for work. I could have sworn, she thought to herself as she looked around the dining table, I left it here just a minute ago. And noting that she was already a few minutes behind schedule, Myria sighed and quickly ran upstairs to grab a different pair.

Later that morning, as Jem was walking his dog, he noticed a single glove nestled inside the barren limbs of a hedge. It was black and would fit snugly around a child's hand. He looked around to see if the other one was anywhere nearby (he had a little boy at home and times wer…