Fiction

The winter days were for ever the most weird of all other days for Subi.The entire valley looked one big expanse of shrouded contours. The white snow created its own snow scapes.Subi would always have the complete view of the outside scene from her window.The open courtyard could not be recognised.The heaps of snow had hardened into mounds of ice.One had to climb it in order to reach the other end of the courtyard where the toilets were situated.By walking over constantly a smooth path got etched into the hard ice. She could see the trees around turned into snow skeletons of various shapes.Nearby in the garden her uncles had dug a deep hole to preserve some tuberous vegetables for the deep winter when fresh vegetables were not available.The large cylindrical raddishes,the round and green khol-knols and the big white turnips.They would be dug out by her uncles when needed.It was a sort of adventure for her as she accompanied her uncles.She did not care about the snow and...

Subi was never tired of loafing. She knew almost all her neighbours. Not only that, she also knew the people who lived near the market place in small shanties. She remembered how one day while going through the corridors she found one shabby man lying flat on his stomach.He was frothing at the mouth and writhing in pain.She reached near him and wanted to know what the matter was with him .Soon she saw a crowd gathering there and one person pulled out his shoe and put it against his nose. Subi was amazed to see the person getting all right .The crowd dispersed but Subi got disturbed and curious about him .She followed him .He stopped and looked at her and grinned.It was a strange grin -a mixed expression of pain and aimlessness.He was frail and dirty and reeked of staleness.She turned and moved away from him. It was still the early afternoon and she had no inclinations to reach her home as yet.. Outside Subi experienced joy and gaiety and diversions from the moroseness of her home ...

Paradox of Modern Living There is one incident which comes to my mind time and again, whenever my little child comes to me and asks quite imploringly to be picked up and told a story. I try to dissuade her but to no avail.Her nagging persistence turns my soft persuation into repressed anger and, finally, I scold her and turn her away, telling her to be busy with any damn thing and leave me free to concentrate on my work in hand.The child whimpers and sadly enough turns disruptive. Oh what a heart rending scene. I realize later. I could have been a little more pursuasive, a little diplomatic and saved her the anguish.But alas the moment was lost and the harm done. It is after such episodes that I reminisce my past days when life seemed miserable and the days sordid, when craving for motherhood pushed away any other wish that the heart could desire.To achieve the status of a mother was the be all and the end -all of any type of romantic alliance.Nothing else mattered....

After This What After this what .What will be my next destiny.The small girl with wild eyes and indifferent deportment who lived the most part of her days in the wilderness of her grandparent's backyard had subconscious visions of a world which was a disconnect with now and then.Or perhaps this is the interpretation of my adult reasoning. May be my brain at that time was as blank as that of the street urchin who unmindfully follows his mendicant parents in whatever they do to subsist and which later becomes the main stay of his ensuing life.The difference between the two being that one could interpret and the other had turned comatose.The little girl tripped along the twisted terrains of her growing journey through life. She was untamed yet full of weird dreams which made her float into the realms of fantasy created by the visions of those great writers who wrote great romances and who wove the tales of woe and joy and filled her subconscious mind with a premoniti...

So much water has flown down the river since I last wrote on this paper.It has yellowed out and is turning ancient and haggard.My hand is trembling .Age and disuse is taking toll on my nerves.They, my fingers are running ahead of my thoughts.Today is the deadline for me to come forth with the creative quota.I will have to fix each day's quota otherwise Iwill stagnate.To day it is very closed though the sun is not sharp.It is shedding a gloominess around.The palm plant before me is patiently spreading its leaves askanse for any benevolence from the skies above. The rains were scanty this Monsoon. The little showers which poured could hardly take away the accumulated heat of the hard summer. The steely roads are smeared with the grime and concrete of the constructions going around perpetually.They are further ploughed through by the swish shiny brand new vehicles of all makes.They run and screech with impunity over the broken and shattered pathways which raise rubble and hit helples...