Fiction

 The wicked human instinct comes in the way of the sanest minds who otherwise  would come up in the illusions of winning the race of life.  She looked up at  the book open  in front of him, her head was aching and she couldn't concentrate, but as per his schedule , which  she had set , she was to finish  fifty pages of the book each day.  It  was a huge book , she once again checked the remaining pages, still five hundred were left ,she  paused and tried to recall what she had read so far,  ...it was a seamless narration in a stream of consciousness  vein  with no  adherence  to the rules of grammar. She closed the book and consulted the google to find more about the author  in order to get dissuaded , but the critics there had   glorified  the author for his unique style which  was inimitable. She  went through the book  very slowly as to not amiss a word and waited for the spa...

It was all stillness outside. Not a single hawker  could  be heard today.  Everyday their shrill voices  caught her attention, and  she would , sometimes ,be disturbed. The extreme  summer heat  which was unbearable,  could almost scald them in the  hot Sun, yet they were there to eke out  a living in  such harsh weathers . But today it was  quiet outside. She asked her husband the reason behind it. He  told her that it was due to the Eid, the  festival  of muslims. But there should  be other venders  too, of other communities, to that he replied that they were few in number. And other businesses  too, small and  big were being  taken over by this community. The  resplendence  of the festival of Eid  brought joy to the people  who gathered in  the open markets  outside  the huge mosques . It created  an  enchanting world of  colour and gai...

It was a stormy night. It was raining hard, the thunder and lightening  almost blinded them. They were rushing towards the airport. The mother was in a sort of shocked state while her son was trying to navigate the route  with the passing flashes of the lights of vehicles or the chance  lightening , the rain and wind was lashing against the wind shield of their car.  With Every  passing moment  she had the  sheer hope  that her son would cancel her  ticket and they would  go back together . Yet he was driving in a  frenzy  working the wipers faster to make the vision clearer..It was pitch  dark outside,  and  thunder  and rain  turned the atmosphere fearful.  The lightening  seemed piercing but at the same time made it possible for her son to find  the right direction.   Hardly a word passed  between  them and there seemed a complete disconnect between them. She looked...

Meeta  is  in her seventies.  She is  full of  zest  for life and seeks every opportunity to be in the company of her friends. Her salt and pepper short hair goes well with her plump fat body. Her style of dressing accentuates  her care- free demeanour . Her age doesn't hamper her in anyway. She  often cracks  jokes which generally veer to obscenity, to make her friends laugh , which for a moment unsettles them ,but then they go with the flow. The instinct to deride  looks  meaningless  at such  an age.  Meeta   had lost her husband lately  and her only son  lived  in the U.S . She cultivated a large number of friends and revived the distant family  relations. She was awash with money and threw lavish parties. Generally all her friends are  retired  house wives  facing the same empty nest syndrome. They had  now ample time  to indulge their fancies  which the...