Showing posts with label short story 2015. Show all posts
Showing posts with label short story 2015. Show all posts
Sunday, 1 November 2015
Thursday, 1 October 2015
Tuesday, 1 September 2015
Short Story 2015, Featured Writer Debasish Mishra
The Insane Talisman
Whenever I travel back in time – sauntering through the lanes of my past, while standing leisurely in the balcony with a cup of coffee in hand – a strange kind of happiness overwhelms me. A smile prevails over my dry lips. The memories of that man flashes before my inner eye, uninterruptedly, as clear as a whistle. Here was a man who was by no means extraordinary; a man who was, in fact, a tad less than ordinary; a man who was a foe to his own fate; a man who was probably ignored by his own family. Queer yet cute. Silent yet eloquent. They called him the insane talisman. Yes, the insane talisman of Srabanpur!
Overburdened with the irritation of long hours of study, we sneaked out of the hostel, surreptitiously cleaving through the broken window and jumping over the not-so-high brick walls, and landed at the railway station, almost every night. Farhan – my best friend and my roommate in the New Hostel of Richardson University - always accompanied me in such dark adventures. The night view of the station portrayed the vivid panorama of life and refreshed our spirits. The to-and-fro of men signified the incessant and undying journey of life. Bodies sleeping helplessly in the platforms indicated the abject plight of poverty. Just outside the station, a few vendors – mostly selling tea, tobacco and cigarettes – waited sleeplessly in the pursuit of a customer, in the quest of some profit. They were a tad better financially in comparison to those who were sleeping inside. The big streetlights – there were just a few – sprawled their light to this obscure world in a bid to kill the darkness.
The crowd – only comprising of the night-travellers and the persons who were there to see them off, and a few insomniacs like us – was largely unsatisfactory from a businessman’s point of view. Yet, for most of the vendors, it was the extension of their hereditary profession or, in some cases, a lone source of livelihood. Some of them took up the business because they probably had nothing else to do. As a matter of fact, we rejuvenated ourselves with hot but insipid tea amid this trifling traffic, whenever we visited the station. On one such occasion, we came across a lunatic who speechlessly stood in a dark corner – in the mid of a dozen irate dogs - without even the slightest change of expression in his face; and who, after sometime, wobbled unsteadily from one point of the largely vacant area to another. The only constant agility that we saw in him was the endless flutter of his right hand, as though he was flying an invisible kite in the dark sky. Maybe, it was our first encounter with him.
Alternatively, maybe, we had never focused on this innocuous creature before, like the hundreds of passersby who passed him inadvertently as if he did not exist in their universe. After the hilarious discovery, we rummaged for him every night – strolling through the length and breadth of the area outside the station, waiting for him in the teashop, swilling two teas instead of one, and throwing a hundred questions about him to the tea-vendor who was hardly busy. Initially, the lunatic was an element of fun and humour for us. We laughed at his deadpan face, his unchanged dirty clothes, his torn and discoloured slippers, his dishevelled hair, his untrimmed beard, his shaking hand, his uncanny gait, his speechlessness….and, almost, at everything about him. Gradually, however, we were fond of him, as though our clandestine journeys to the station were meant to culminate with a glimpse of his countenance. We passed more of our time outside the station, either looking for him or, on the other hand, looking at him.
The vendors treated the lunatic with great love and affection. The owner of the teashop, a slender middle-aged man, occasionally handed a plastic glass of tea, which the lunatic promptly picked with his left hand, while his right hand continued to flutter like a flag dancing in the tunes of the breeze. The panwallah often tucked a paan in his mouth as soon as the tea was over. He chewed the paan rhythmically pouring out red spit in regular intervals. We stared at the indifference on his face – that never changed even by the slightest degree. There was neither a gesture of gratitude in return of a favour nor a grimace of dislike when someone threw a caustic remark.
“Is he always speechless?” I asked the tea-vendor, one night.
“He never says a word. Some say he is dumb by birth. Some believe that he was shaken by some incident, or accident, that had robbed him of his sanity and voice. I have never heard him producing any sound. Not even when the tea lacks sugar”, he laughed.
“Who is he, by the way?” Farhan asked with some seriousness.
“Nobody knows about him. He has no name to be specific. He comes out of the dark every night. Nobody has ever seen him in the day. He comes to this place only after midnight, stays here for an hour or two, and then, retreats to the same obscurity”, he delineated, while his eyes continued to search for a potential customer.
“Some people say he was a worker in some industry. The flutter of his hand bears testimony to that. After the industry ceased to exist, probably due to bankruptcy or enormous losses, this man was filled with utter disbelief. He had no idea what he would do. The sudden withdrawal of his bread and butter maddened him”, he added with a feeling of pity.
“Oh my God! Is it true?” I questioned with shock, as though my heart was coming out through my mouth. We had never imagined, not even in the wildest of our dreams, that the exhibition of humour had such a story of horror beneath it.
“They are several conjectures that I’ve come across. This is just one”, he quipped with a smile, probably directed at the passersby in a bid to impress them.
“What do the other versions say?” quizzed Farhan.
“Some people reckon that he is mad by birth and the movement of the hand is natural to him. Some reckon that he is a victim of one-sided love. Some others say that the destruction of life and property in the super cyclone obliterated his heart. He lost all his kith and kin and the house where he lived. This resulted in his madness.”
Before Farhan could put up the subsequent question, I gestured him to be quiet.
Too much of inquisition could have irritated the tea-vendor, just like the killing of the hen in the quest of the golden eggs as quoted in the famous fable.
I remember that incident when a drunkard – who was out of his senses – pelted a stone at the lunatic.
“Say something, you blackguard”, he yelled angrily.
The lunatic maintained his usual quietude, the flinging of his right hand to the air and the consequent dragging back continued. The face remained unchanged as though he was destined to swallow all the sorrow of the world without showing even the slightest expression of pain or discomfort.
Before the frail drunkard could hurl another stone – a little bigger one – we intervened.
Farhan held his wrinkled neck in the grasp of his palm and shoved him vehemently. He fell down like a broken branch. Despite the intoxication, he did not dare to meddle with us. He lurched towards the other side of the road, muttered incoherent abuses, and dissolved in the darkness. The receding noise of abuses dwindled with every step and, finally, melted with the silence.
The lunatic stared blankly as usual…but in the blankness of his face, we deciphered an unuttered ‘thank you’.
We accepted him as our friend. From that day onwards, we made it a habit to buy him a glass of tea and a paan whenever we chanced to see him. It was a strange kind of bond, which thrived on our one-sided-efforts to find him and please him as though he was the solace that we sought for, the panacea for our tedium.
As months passed, the hostel was renovated. The broken window was repaired. Security outside the hostel was beefed up in the wake of some untoward incidents that threatened the law and order of the university. A few guys had jumped into the ladies’ hostel in the night, on one occasion, and shouted extremely derogatory comments. In this regard, police-vans patrolled within the campus in a bid to nab the miscreants, especially the ones who broke free in the night. In a situation like this, our liberty, which previously extended to the station, was limited. Our trips to meet our speechless friend were hindered. We missed him a lot. Sleep evaded our eyes. Studies did not amuse us after twelve. The clock seemed to lose pace...its reluctant hands wobbled sluggishly. The nights appeared relatively longer. We were helpless. Unable to contain our impatience, we searched for the lunatic during daytime. Much to our distress, we garnered no clue at all as though he disappeared in the day, as though he was allergic to sunlight. Life without him became a boring entity. It is hard to believe how an insane fellow influenced our lives so much – defying logic, rationality and conviction.
Sometimes, the opportunity one craves for comes with the news of a tragedy. My desire to travel to the station was bestowed with a valid reason, though I would have never wanted the opportunity in the bargain of such a huge loss.
Farhan received a phone call just before midnight. He was petrified. The phone fell from his hand. I shrugged him. Tears trickled endlessly as if there was a painful leak, somewhere, inside him.
“What happened, buddy?” I asked.
“Abba is no more”, he muttered amid unending bouts of sobs.
Friendship is really a strange bond. My eyes became wet too in response as though I lost someone. I had never seen him in person, never talked with him over telephone. In fact, even Farhan talked excessively less with him. He was one of those persons whom we consider a man of few words. As we proceeded towards the railway station, a few policemen stopped us. Despite the moisture in the eyes of Farhan, and to some extent in my eyes too, they interrogated us, asked us for evidence, and hurled a hundred irrelevant questions. Farhan, against his usual demanour, joined his hands and implored them to cooperate. Before the impatience could lead to audacious intrepidness, another policeman, probably an inspector, intervened.
“Don’t harass them. Allow them to go”, he benevolently ordered. The other policemen saluted him at first and then agreed to his order. We thanked him and sped away.
As we reached the station, the tea-vendor announced in joy to the lunatic, “Your chums have come”.
The insane fellow wobbled towards us with a faintly changed expression, as though he was ecstatic to see us after a month or more. In contrast to our tear-smeared-faces, his face beamed under the huge streetlights that strove to kill the darkness. It was not exactly a smile but a little stretch of the lips forming a semi-curve. His right hand continued to swing in the air like an unstoppable pendulum.
The train towards Patna – the hometown of Farhan – arrived in Platform No. 3.
As the lunatic tried to come to our way, possibly beseeching for a glass of tea and a paan, Farhan pushed him aside. He fell on the ground. Perhaps, a tiny drop trickled from his eye. But we had no time to stop for him. The lake that sheltered in Farhan’s eyes outweighed that lone drop, even if it existed. Catching the train was far more important for us than lifting the lunatic.
We ran. Farhan quickly climbed the moving train – without a ticket though – as I waved my hands in the air, as though it was an endeavour from my side to efface the pain that choked his interior. The train melted into the distance…in the darkness. The sound of the wheels grinding the rails gradually died. The smokes disappeared. I came outside the station after some time.
“What happened, babu?” the tea-vendor asked caringly.
“My friend’s father has expired”, I expressed with a feeling of sorrow.
“I understood the fact that something must be wrong. Otherwise, you may not have pushed the lunatic,” he enunciated.
Whenever I travel back in time – sauntering through the lanes of my past, while standing leisurely in the balcony with a cup of coffee in hand – a strange kind of happiness overwhelms me. A smile prevails over my dry lips. The memories of that man flashes before my inner eye, uninterruptedly, as clear as a whistle. Here was a man who was by no means extraordinary; a man who was, in fact, a tad less than ordinary; a man who was a foe to his own fate; a man who was probably ignored by his own family. Queer yet cute. Silent yet eloquent. They called him the insane talisman. Yes, the insane talisman of Srabanpur!
Overburdened with the irritation of long hours of study, we sneaked out of the hostel, surreptitiously cleaving through the broken window and jumping over the not-so-high brick walls, and landed at the railway station, almost every night. Farhan – my best friend and my roommate in the New Hostel of Richardson University - always accompanied me in such dark adventures. The night view of the station portrayed the vivid panorama of life and refreshed our spirits. The to-and-fro of men signified the incessant and undying journey of life. Bodies sleeping helplessly in the platforms indicated the abject plight of poverty. Just outside the station, a few vendors – mostly selling tea, tobacco and cigarettes – waited sleeplessly in the pursuit of a customer, in the quest of some profit. They were a tad better financially in comparison to those who were sleeping inside. The big streetlights – there were just a few – sprawled their light to this obscure world in a bid to kill the darkness.
The crowd – only comprising of the night-travellers and the persons who were there to see them off, and a few insomniacs like us – was largely unsatisfactory from a businessman’s point of view. Yet, for most of the vendors, it was the extension of their hereditary profession or, in some cases, a lone source of livelihood. Some of them took up the business because they probably had nothing else to do. As a matter of fact, we rejuvenated ourselves with hot but insipid tea amid this trifling traffic, whenever we visited the station. On one such occasion, we came across a lunatic who speechlessly stood in a dark corner – in the mid of a dozen irate dogs - without even the slightest change of expression in his face; and who, after sometime, wobbled unsteadily from one point of the largely vacant area to another. The only constant agility that we saw in him was the endless flutter of his right hand, as though he was flying an invisible kite in the dark sky. Maybe, it was our first encounter with him.
Alternatively, maybe, we had never focused on this innocuous creature before, like the hundreds of passersby who passed him inadvertently as if he did not exist in their universe. After the hilarious discovery, we rummaged for him every night – strolling through the length and breadth of the area outside the station, waiting for him in the teashop, swilling two teas instead of one, and throwing a hundred questions about him to the tea-vendor who was hardly busy. Initially, the lunatic was an element of fun and humour for us. We laughed at his deadpan face, his unchanged dirty clothes, his torn and discoloured slippers, his dishevelled hair, his untrimmed beard, his shaking hand, his uncanny gait, his speechlessness….and, almost, at everything about him. Gradually, however, we were fond of him, as though our clandestine journeys to the station were meant to culminate with a glimpse of his countenance. We passed more of our time outside the station, either looking for him or, on the other hand, looking at him.
The vendors treated the lunatic with great love and affection. The owner of the teashop, a slender middle-aged man, occasionally handed a plastic glass of tea, which the lunatic promptly picked with his left hand, while his right hand continued to flutter like a flag dancing in the tunes of the breeze. The panwallah often tucked a paan in his mouth as soon as the tea was over. He chewed the paan rhythmically pouring out red spit in regular intervals. We stared at the indifference on his face – that never changed even by the slightest degree. There was neither a gesture of gratitude in return of a favour nor a grimace of dislike when someone threw a caustic remark.
“Is he always speechless?” I asked the tea-vendor, one night.
“He never says a word. Some say he is dumb by birth. Some believe that he was shaken by some incident, or accident, that had robbed him of his sanity and voice. I have never heard him producing any sound. Not even when the tea lacks sugar”, he laughed.
“Who is he, by the way?” Farhan asked with some seriousness.
“Nobody knows about him. He has no name to be specific. He comes out of the dark every night. Nobody has ever seen him in the day. He comes to this place only after midnight, stays here for an hour or two, and then, retreats to the same obscurity”, he delineated, while his eyes continued to search for a potential customer.
“Some people say he was a worker in some industry. The flutter of his hand bears testimony to that. After the industry ceased to exist, probably due to bankruptcy or enormous losses, this man was filled with utter disbelief. He had no idea what he would do. The sudden withdrawal of his bread and butter maddened him”, he added with a feeling of pity.
“Oh my God! Is it true?” I questioned with shock, as though my heart was coming out through my mouth. We had never imagined, not even in the wildest of our dreams, that the exhibition of humour had such a story of horror beneath it.
“They are several conjectures that I’ve come across. This is just one”, he quipped with a smile, probably directed at the passersby in a bid to impress them.
“What do the other versions say?” quizzed Farhan.
“Some people reckon that he is mad by birth and the movement of the hand is natural to him. Some reckon that he is a victim of one-sided love. Some others say that the destruction of life and property in the super cyclone obliterated his heart. He lost all his kith and kin and the house where he lived. This resulted in his madness.”
Before Farhan could put up the subsequent question, I gestured him to be quiet.
Too much of inquisition could have irritated the tea-vendor, just like the killing of the hen in the quest of the golden eggs as quoted in the famous fable.
I remember that incident when a drunkard – who was out of his senses – pelted a stone at the lunatic.
“Say something, you blackguard”, he yelled angrily.
The lunatic maintained his usual quietude, the flinging of his right hand to the air and the consequent dragging back continued. The face remained unchanged as though he was destined to swallow all the sorrow of the world without showing even the slightest expression of pain or discomfort.
Before the frail drunkard could hurl another stone – a little bigger one – we intervened.
Farhan held his wrinkled neck in the grasp of his palm and shoved him vehemently. He fell down like a broken branch. Despite the intoxication, he did not dare to meddle with us. He lurched towards the other side of the road, muttered incoherent abuses, and dissolved in the darkness. The receding noise of abuses dwindled with every step and, finally, melted with the silence.
The lunatic stared blankly as usual…but in the blankness of his face, we deciphered an unuttered ‘thank you’.
We accepted him as our friend. From that day onwards, we made it a habit to buy him a glass of tea and a paan whenever we chanced to see him. It was a strange kind of bond, which thrived on our one-sided-efforts to find him and please him as though he was the solace that we sought for, the panacea for our tedium.
As months passed, the hostel was renovated. The broken window was repaired. Security outside the hostel was beefed up in the wake of some untoward incidents that threatened the law and order of the university. A few guys had jumped into the ladies’ hostel in the night, on one occasion, and shouted extremely derogatory comments. In this regard, police-vans patrolled within the campus in a bid to nab the miscreants, especially the ones who broke free in the night. In a situation like this, our liberty, which previously extended to the station, was limited. Our trips to meet our speechless friend were hindered. We missed him a lot. Sleep evaded our eyes. Studies did not amuse us after twelve. The clock seemed to lose pace...its reluctant hands wobbled sluggishly. The nights appeared relatively longer. We were helpless. Unable to contain our impatience, we searched for the lunatic during daytime. Much to our distress, we garnered no clue at all as though he disappeared in the day, as though he was allergic to sunlight. Life without him became a boring entity. It is hard to believe how an insane fellow influenced our lives so much – defying logic, rationality and conviction.
Sometimes, the opportunity one craves for comes with the news of a tragedy. My desire to travel to the station was bestowed with a valid reason, though I would have never wanted the opportunity in the bargain of such a huge loss.
Farhan received a phone call just before midnight. He was petrified. The phone fell from his hand. I shrugged him. Tears trickled endlessly as if there was a painful leak, somewhere, inside him.
“What happened, buddy?” I asked.
“Abba is no more”, he muttered amid unending bouts of sobs.
Friendship is really a strange bond. My eyes became wet too in response as though I lost someone. I had never seen him in person, never talked with him over telephone. In fact, even Farhan talked excessively less with him. He was one of those persons whom we consider a man of few words. As we proceeded towards the railway station, a few policemen stopped us. Despite the moisture in the eyes of Farhan, and to some extent in my eyes too, they interrogated us, asked us for evidence, and hurled a hundred irrelevant questions. Farhan, against his usual demanour, joined his hands and implored them to cooperate. Before the impatience could lead to audacious intrepidness, another policeman, probably an inspector, intervened.
“Don’t harass them. Allow them to go”, he benevolently ordered. The other policemen saluted him at first and then agreed to his order. We thanked him and sped away.
As we reached the station, the tea-vendor announced in joy to the lunatic, “Your chums have come”.
The insane fellow wobbled towards us with a faintly changed expression, as though he was ecstatic to see us after a month or more. In contrast to our tear-smeared-faces, his face beamed under the huge streetlights that strove to kill the darkness. It was not exactly a smile but a little stretch of the lips forming a semi-curve. His right hand continued to swing in the air like an unstoppable pendulum.
The train towards Patna – the hometown of Farhan – arrived in Platform No. 3.
As the lunatic tried to come to our way, possibly beseeching for a glass of tea and a paan, Farhan pushed him aside. He fell on the ground. Perhaps, a tiny drop trickled from his eye. But we had no time to stop for him. The lake that sheltered in Farhan’s eyes outweighed that lone drop, even if it existed. Catching the train was far more important for us than lifting the lunatic.
We ran. Farhan quickly climbed the moving train – without a ticket though – as I waved my hands in the air, as though it was an endeavour from my side to efface the pain that choked his interior. The train melted into the distance…in the darkness. The sound of the wheels grinding the rails gradually died. The smokes disappeared. I came outside the station after some time.
“What happened, babu?” the tea-vendor asked caringly.
“My friend’s father has expired”, I expressed with a feeling of sorrow.
“I understood the fact that something must be wrong. Otherwise, you may not have pushed the lunatic,” he enunciated.
I gawked at the lunatic who stood at a fair distance from me, amid the throng of dogs who licked his dark legs and pulled his trousers with their teeth. His eyes were fixed on the opposite direction, and his right hand swung as usual. I ambled to him with a glass of tea. As I extended the glass to his left hand, he deliberately dropped it. I could see the clouds of tears in his eyes, the bruises in his elbow. But the feeling of sympathy was somehow smothered by the sentiment of fury.
“What is wrong with you? Do not you see that I am aggrieved? My friend’s father has expired! What kind of human being you are?” I fumed with rage.
The panwallah came to me and handed a paan.
“Give it to him, Sir. May be, he is not interested to have tea”, he said with his typical smile. Here was a man who had a smile for every occasion. Praise him and he will smile. Abuse him and he will smile more.
After receiving the paan, I tried to tuck it inside the untidy mouth of the lunatic. The lunatic spat it instantly with the same blank expression on his face.
“What the hell is this?” the panwallah barked with ire. I pacified him.
After sipping my tea, and watching his endless actions for some time, I retreated to my hostel. The tearful face of Farhan occupied the canvas of my memory. In addition to that, the weird demeanour and the undying diffidence of the lunatic filled my thoughts. I felt as if sleep eluded my eyes. When I tried my best to dispel the thoughts, they sprang back even more prominently. I missed Farhan. His grief was my grief. I missed his Abba. I tried to imagine how he looked because I had never seen him. I framed an imaginary picture within my mind. On the other hand, the lunatic, whom I regarded as my friend, showed some sense and sensibility for the first time. It seemed as if his repulsion to take the tea and paan was a reaction to the blunt push that Farhan had resorted to before hurrying for the train. Farhan….His Abba….The lunatic. Amid the various divergent thoughts and the migraine that followed, my eyes succumbed to slumber.
Being the only son, Farhan was entrusted to look after his father’s business. He, in fact, never returned to the hostel. I was puzzled at his decision.
“What kind of wisdom is this?” I queried indignantly, when we talked over telephone after almost a month of his departure.
“My mother is alone. It is not possible for her to look after everything, you know!” he said.
“I understand… but leaving your studies in between does not seem apt”, I added.
“Even I realize that…but anyway, I was always expected to succeed my father. I do not have a way out. I cannot escape this”, he elucidated.
“Okay! It is your life. But do remember lesser mortals like us”, I implored.
“Jatin, I will at least miss these two persons from Srabanpur”, he added with a sudden diversion of topic.
“Who are those lucky fellows?” I asked.
“You are one, you nuts!” he coaxed with a smile.
I was flattered. “And the other one?”
“The lunatic of course”, he chortled.
We both laughed for sometime sharing some unforgettable memories of the insane creature. I told him how his blunt push had aggrieved the lunatic and the latter denied receiving tea and paan from me. He felt sorry for the incident and asked me to apologize to the lunatic on his behalf.
“The next time when I visit Srabanpur, I will bring a gift for him. Tell him,” he said.
I had no idea what “the next time” denoted. Maybe, it meant after eons of time. The departure of Farhan accentuated my loneliness. Amid all this stress and mental instability, my examinations were ruined. When sleepless nights and solitude precede a paper, the outcome is often predictable. It is awful.
After a few days, the issue of insecurity in the university seemed to dwindle. The presence of the police personnel within the campus was done away with. It is a common thing in our society. Seriousness often fades with time, and erupts back only when a mishap occurs. Sustained activities are rare in the world. There are only a few examples like the unstoppable right hand of the lunatic. I often wondered if his hand rested when he was asleep. The other question that perplexed me – did he ever sleep? The lunatic lingered in my subconscious mind too. Maybe, I missed him more after the departure of Farhan. In order to counter the loneliness that filled my room and my heart, the migraine that occupied me like a sprite, and the psychological imbalance, I went to the station – the place that promised solace to a jaded soul like mine.
The tea-vendor welcomed me with an affable smile.
“Where had you been, babu?” he asked.
“I was a bit busy in my life”, I replied.
A few moments of silence followed.
“The lunatic? I mean, where is the lunatic?” I questioned.
The tea-vendor stared at my face and pointed a finger to a distant corner where the glow of the streetlights struggled to reach.
“Ever since your last visit, he stands there solitarily with those dogs, denying to take tea or paan”, he informed with a pensive voice.
I was utterly scandalized.
“Really?”
“Yes, babu. The last time you were here, you saw how awkwardly he behaved. The rejection of tea and paan was extremely bizarre. We thought he was somehow affected by your blunt push. But then, we expected him to behave normally from the following day. Alas! He is damn diffident.”
I went to the lunatic, caressed his head by running my fingers through the bushes of his hair, patted his cheeks and asked, “What is wrong, dear?”
He speechlessly stared at my face and continued to move his right hand.
Tears poured out from his dark and unclean eyes. I took out my hanky and wiped them.
For the first time, I saw the manifestation of human emotions in the face of the lunatic.
I gently dragged him out of the vistas of darkness and catered him with a glass of tea and a bun cake. Later, I tucked a paan in his mouth. Along with the red spit, he possibly threw the anger that he carried within him.
My room was akin to hell as it inundated with silence and loneliness. Thus, I visited the station regularly. On many occasions, I ambled to the station with a book in hand. I turned the pages of my book under the big streetlights while the lunatic swivelled his hand. There was a strange kind of symphony, a connection in the events. Under his influence, I, unexpectedly, did well in my last semester examinations and qualified for a post graduation degree in the Delhi University.
My last day in Srabanpur was an emotional one. Looking at my luggage, the lunatic probably gauged that I would be leaving the town. In his speechlessness, I heard the story of unbearable agony. In me, he had found that rare friend. I gave him a pair of clothes – a blue full-sleeved cotton shirt and a black trouser – and said, “This will suit you. Change your stinking clothes.”
Refusing to accept my farewell gift, he walked away, with his unsteady gait, to the same abandoned area of obscurity where even the streetlights could not reach. I followed him sheepishly. Maybe, he felt like crying,”Please don’t go!”
I embraced him with abundant love just to be withdrawn by the faint announcement of the arrival of my train. I promised him that I would meet him whenever I visited my home. I turned and walked towards the station and never looked back, leaving him with the dogs, his timeless friends. I gave the new pair of clothes to the tea-vendor and requested, “Please see that he wears these clothes in lieu of his stinking attire.” He responded with a desultory nod. I entered into the train. A coolie helped me to lift the luggage. Slowly, the train left the station. I craned my neck out of the door as long as the last glimpse of the station was visible. I imagined how the lunatic would look with the new pair of clothes and smiled. The relentless grinding of the wheels continued, the smokes overflew, and I lay in the upper birth, eyes gaping at the metal ceiling, heart meditating on the mist of memories – that I left behind in Srabanpur.
I went to Delhi for my higher studies. New place. New people. New friends.
I was engrossed in the aura of academics. I used to spend many hours in the library – going through fat yellow books that were withered with time, wrinkled in the corners. I turned to a typical research scholar, alienating fun and frolic from my life. I became a slave to my routine. I never realized when my post-graduation transformed to a PhD. However, to lift my spirits, I now had someone. She was Ananya – my colleague, an alumnus of the Jadavpur University from Kolkata. After her arrival in my life, the loneliness, which usually ushered in memories of my family, Farhan as well as the lunatic, disappeared. Longer hours of study did not disinterest me. Infact, studies enchanted me. We often met in the evenings. Unlike the other couples, we talked of Shakespheare, Keats and Elliot. We expressed our adulation to each other in the form of Shakespherean dialogues or Keats’ sensuous verses. Our friends called us ‘the crazy couple’. Amid the busy schedule and the new-found-company, the memories of Srabanpur moved to oblivion.
One day, I received a phone call from an unknown number.
“You have completely forgotten me”, the voice grumbled.
It took a moment to comprehend that the speaker was Farhan.
I did not realize that we had not met in the last six years.
“How can I forget you, buddy?” I asked emotionally.
“You have changed your number. But you are too busy to call me or message me, even once”, he whimpered.
“Not at all… I lost my phone. Some bastard stole it from me in the Metro,” I defended myself.
I waited for him to respond but the silence lingered in between us.
“I bought a new number along with a new phone. Thus, I lost your contact”, I added, hoping to convince him.
“Leave it now. By the way, when are we meeting? You owe me a treat.”
“Treat?” I asked in a voice gravid with confusion.
“I saw the picture of your fiancé Ananya in a social networking site. You both are getting married if I am not mistaken,” he gushed.
I was embarrassed. He was a close friend, a best friend. He deserved to hear those announcements directly from me before anyone else would know. He had the first rights to listen to my secrets… But Fate had spread the cobweb of distance.
“Why not fix a meeting somewhere?” I asked, in a bid to overcome the feeling of guilt.
“Hmmm… If you really mean it, we can catch up at Srabanpur. By this way, we will refresh our memories”, he said, “and if fortune favours us, we can catch a glimpse of the insane talisman too”.
“Sure”, I smiled back, as my eyes twinkled with the myriad memories associated with the place.
“Done. We are meeting next month, by hook or by crook,” he observed with an air of sanguine desperation. As per our scheduled plan, I arrived in the Srabanpur railway station at around ten in the night after almost a month. The train – going by the changeless attribute of the railways – was late by three hours. However, amid the huddle of the population – comprising of fatigued travellers, their receivers, a few coolies and possibly some pickpockets – I came across this gentleman who sported an elegant strip of beard to complement his well-combed burgundy hair. Six years of adroit professionalism had transformed Farhan from a meek college-chaff to a complete businessman. He was a clear contrast to me in appearance. Unlike him, I wore a loose black T-shirt with blue denims. My unkempt hair, untrimmed beard and sweaty countenance bore testimony to the world where I belonged. Most of the onlookers must have identified me as a research scholar. To the other illiterate ones, I was more like a lunatic. I hugged him instantly, unable to contain the effluence of emotions. We walked out while exchanging the anecdotes and travails of each other’s lives.
As I came out of the station, I turned my head to take a cursory glance of the outside view. The station glowed like a palace when seen through the entrance. It had grown in stature and grandeur. I then looked around at the array of small shops located beside the gigantic streetlights, which had now grown in number. The place seemed organized and well managed. The entire cluster of vendors had changed faces. However, the tea-vendor still existed in an obscure corner, possibly pushed by government officials or mighty men of his trade, with enormous deformities in his appearance. Every inch of his visible skin was smeared with wrinkles. Black specks had filled his face. His hair had become grey, his eyes looked subdued and his lips convulsed incessantly. I then realized that five years actually meant a long time.
When we reached his small shop – which boasted of no other security other than the plastic roof above him that was held tightly by four bamboo-sticks of unequal sizes – he asked indifferently, “Tea?”
We nodded our heads in unison hoping to garner his recognition.
When the old man showed no signs of recognizing us, I volunteered, “Don’t you remember us?”
He looked at our faces with clinical scrutiny and shook his head in denial.
“We used to come to this place before five-six years. We were studying in the Richardson University”, Farhan spoke with a softened voice, possibly trying to undo the effects of aging.
He was still confused or, maybe, irritated because we were eating his time.
“We were friends of the insane talisman”, I said with a sudden stroke of memory.
A smile flashed in his flappy face as the toothless mouth was wide open.
“Oh! Where were you since such a long time?” he queried with vibrant enthusiasm.
“Well, we were busy in our lives. This gentleman is doing his research in Delhi and I am looking after my business in Patna”, Farhan expressed with an air of pride.
“I am so happy that you people have come here”, he gushed with a genial smile.
“Where is the insane talisman?” I asked instantly.
The old man stayed mum. His smile was hijacked by a sinister frown. It seemed as if his mind meandered through the tunnels of sorrowful memory.
We looked at each other in utter dismay.
Farhan repeated the query.
The old man, after a few moments of silence, said:
“Nobody knows where he has gone. There are so many rumours regarding him. Someone said that he has regained his sanity. He has returned to his village to lead his life with normalcy.”
This inference induced smiles in our cheeks. We were happy for him even if it implied his absence in our world forever.
However, our smiles were soon challenged by the several other conjectures of the tea-vendor.
“Some people also believe that the lunatic has left this town and fled to some other place. Some say he has been crushed by a truck or something,” he said before asking, “Whom will you believe?”
We hushed as though silence was the best answer for the question.
“We can only hope that God will take care of him no matter where he is”, the tea-vendor added with a profound thought.
I nodded my head in approval.
“How is your business going on?” Farhan asked, probably in a bid to drag the conversation to a different topic.
“Don’t say babu! He was our lucky charm. Our talisman. After his departure, our businesses have been doomed. Not only me but also the entire queue of vendors have been affected. All my compatriots have switched to other jobs, other places. But I have a deep sense of affinity for this place, this profession. At times, I doubt if he was a God in disguise and we, somehow, displeased him.”
Farhan and I looked into each other wistfully as we recollected the idiosyncrasies of the lunatic. His departure, just like the story of his arrival, remained a mystery. Infact, the lunatic was himself a mystery. Sorry, he was not an ordinary lunatic. He was the insane talisman!
We left the place, moved to a hotel, shared wine and memories, and recollected the golden days of our graduation. After a couple of days, we returned to our respective worlds. Even in his absence, the talisman helped us to bridge our differences…
Standing in my balcony, when I gaze at the distance with a cup of coffee in hand, there are no streetlights, no dogs, and no vendors. But I can clearly see the insane talisman donned in the new pair of clothes – with his deadpan expression – swinging his arm with unending intensity and staring at me through the corridors of my memory.
Short Story 2015, Longlist Vasu Gangapalli
The Empty Chair
Diary Entry – by Ankitha
Have you ever wondered that the little birds in some nest on some branch of some tree would grow up, learn how to fly with their little wings and one fine day, they would desert their loving parents and fly away to start a family of their own. They perhaps tend to forget or ignore the fact that with how much love and care their parents had brought them up! It is almost the same with the human children as well. They do the same thing to their parents, so it’s better not to have any expectations whatsoever on your kids or even think that they would return some part of the love and affection you had given them, when you grow old and they grow up!
***
Present
Abhishek sat on the couch, kept staring at the empty chair that was facing outside from the balcony of the apartment. The balcony was decorated with beautiful and colourful flowering pots by his mother. She used to spend her time in the evenings, seated on that chair and looking outside from the balcony.
Memories of the past started coming back to him like the waves of the sea. He tried to visualize his dear mother seated on that particular chair in the balcony. It was her favourite chair.
Past
‘Mom, why do you like this particular chair so much?’ Abhishek had asked her while he was a kid.
‘Well, you know something?’ She asked him back, smiling at him.
‘No, I don’t!’ He said.
‘My grandfather used to sit on this chair and tell me wonderful stories when I was a kid of your age!’ She replied retaining that wonderful smile on her pretty face. The smile added beauty to her face like the colours did to some beautiful painting on some wall.
‘You told all those stories to me, right?’ Abhishek asked, smiling back at her.
‘Most of them, I think,’ She said, ‘some of them are still hidden in some part of my brain and I am trying hard to find them so that I can narrate the same to you.’
‘Did your grandpa tell you his own stories?’
‘Well, I think his grandpa should have told him while he was young. It should have come down from the generations like that. I think one of them from the older generations had written them long time back.’
‘That’s really nice!’ Abhishek said, ‘I wish that you could tell me each one of the stories your grandpa had told you. I would like to write them down in a book, so that I could get them published someday. It would be really nice if the coming generations gets to read those stories as well.’
‘That’s a good idea!’ His mother said.
Present
Abhishek opened the old family album which was on the small table before him. His son of eight years, Vinay and wife Pooja were seated beside him on the couch. They too were looking at the pictures in that photo album. The album started with black and white pictures…one of the pictures was of his mother while she was seven years old.
‘Dad, you look so much like her…’ Vinay said.
‘Yeah, I know!’ Abhishek said, feeling the picture with his fingers. He had got used to people saying that when he was young. Then he used to protest that he was different fro her, but deep inside his heart he felt happy that he resembled his beloved mother whom he adored a lot!
The next picture was that in which his mother was on a swing. Maybe, it was taken when she was ten years old or so. She had told him that her father had clicked that picture then.
‘Where is this park, Mom?’ He had asked her then.
‘It’s in a small town far away from here!’ She had replied.
‘The swing is just like in the park you used to take me in New York, dad.’ Vinay said.
‘Yes, it used to bring me back the memory of this particular picture whenever I used to take you to that park over there.’ He said smiling.
The next picture was that of his mother dressed in a school uniform. She looked so cute in that picture that Abhishek had told her that he wanted to marry a girl like her when he grew up one day.
‘Well, then you need to travel back in time to find someone like me then, as I am sure that you won’t find one like me when you grow up.’ His mother had told him.
‘I will become a scientist when I grow up and invent a time machine so that I could travel back in time and find someone like you there..’ He said smiling.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, I would do that!’
‘I wish you could do that, so that I could travel back in time and relive my sweet memories once again.’ His mother replied, smiling at him.
Diary Entry – by Ankitha
My dear husband, Sanjay had passed away a few years back…and it was then that I had seen my son, his wife and my grand son, Vinay for the last time. My son had asked me to go along with him to America, but I couldn’t make up my heart to leave the place where I had spent so many years since my childhood…So, I have been living all alone in this apartment. I do chat with my son and his family online every now and then. We even have video chat once in a while, but I would rather prefer the person to be seated in front and talk to me..…I had asked my son to visit India and stay over here for sometime. He had been promising me to visit India and it hasn’t come true so far. Hope to see them one last time before my time comes to leave!
***
Present Day
The next picture in the photo album was his mother’s class photo. It was taken while she was in 4th standard.
‘Who was grandma’s best friend, dad?’ Vinay asked looking at that picture.
‘Swomya!’ Abhishek said, pointing his finger at a girl in that picture.
‘And who is that boy in that picture?’ Vinay asked him, pointing to another picture.
‘He is her pen friendm Mohan!’ Abhishek replied.
Abhishek remembered when he was a kid; he was looking for one of his toys in the attic when a bundle of letters fell upon him. He found that all those letters were written by a boy called ‘Mohan’. He went and asked his mother, who the boy in those letters was?
‘Oh, Mohan, he was my pen friend!’ His mother had said, smiling and taking those letters from him. She started feeling them with her fingers.
‘And you both wrote to each other...’ He said.
‘Yes!’ She said, ‘Mohan lived in another city which was quite far from mine.’
‘Did you get to exchange photos? How does he look like?’ Abhishek had asked her.
‘Oh, yes!’ She said, looking at the envelopes, ‘It should be in one of these envelopes. Let me look for it.’
Finally, she found the passport sized black and white photo of Mohan. She glanced at it for a few seconds, before handing it to her son, Abhishek.
‘He looks so handsome!’ Abhishek said, looking at the picture, ‘Did you fall in love with him?’
‘No, we were good friends then,’ She said, smiling at him. She took the glue stick and stuck that passport picture in the photo album.
‘So what happened to Mohan? Did they ever get to meet each other?’ Vinay asked his father.
‘Well, Mohan had another name and that was Sanjay!’ Abhishek said, turning and looking at his son.
‘So, grandma ended marrying Mohan, is it?’ Vinay asked, surprised.
‘Yes, she did! I came to know that that day itself.’ Abhishek replied, looking at his mother and father’s wedding picture.
***
Diary Entry – by Ankitha
One could always make money anytime, someway or the other, but not beautiful memories that could be framed and kept in one's heart for future remembrance and also for giving meaning to one's life!
I do have some beautiful memories from my past, but not any from the present which would become bitter past soon!
***
Abhishek went through all the pictures in that album with his son Vinay and his wife. The last picture in that album was Abhishek’s picture with his son and wife. He closed the album and stood up.
‘Time to leave, dad?’ Vinay asked him.
‘Yes, I have one last thing to do before we take leave..’ Abhishek said, walking towards the empty chair in the balcony. He bent and hugged the chair with both his arms, tears rolled down from his cheeks and he managed to whisper, ‘Sorry, mom, I couldn’t come early to see you!’
He turned back, wiped his tears and walked back towards his son and wife.
‘Come on, let’s go!’ He told them, who were ready on their feet.
‘One thing, dad!’ Vinay said, ‘You didn’t just hug the empty chair…you hugged grandma who is seated on it right now!’
‘Can you see her, son?’ He asked, rising his eyebrows in surprise, ‘what is she doing right now?’
‘She is looking away from the balcony with her diary in her lap…I think she is missing you a lot, dad!’ He replied.
'I know, son!' He said.
Abhishek turned and glanced at the balcony. All he could see was just the empty chair and not her. As they walked towards the main door…the page of the dairy which was on the lap of his mother flipped…
Diary Entry – By Ankita
My Son, Abhishek, his wife, Pooja and my grand son, Vinay had reached Bangalore, India from New York, America. They were coming home in a city taxi when they met with a fatal accident. Sadly, none of them survived. Now, I am waiting for my time to come... so that I could leave this world..leave my memories both good and bad behind- forever!
Diary Entry – by Ankitha
Have you ever wondered that the little birds in some nest on some branch of some tree would grow up, learn how to fly with their little wings and one fine day, they would desert their loving parents and fly away to start a family of their own. They perhaps tend to forget or ignore the fact that with how much love and care their parents had brought them up! It is almost the same with the human children as well. They do the same thing to their parents, so it’s better not to have any expectations whatsoever on your kids or even think that they would return some part of the love and affection you had given them, when you grow old and they grow up!
***
Present
Abhishek sat on the couch, kept staring at the empty chair that was facing outside from the balcony of the apartment. The balcony was decorated with beautiful and colourful flowering pots by his mother. She used to spend her time in the evenings, seated on that chair and looking outside from the balcony.
Memories of the past started coming back to him like the waves of the sea. He tried to visualize his dear mother seated on that particular chair in the balcony. It was her favourite chair.
Past
‘Mom, why do you like this particular chair so much?’ Abhishek had asked her while he was a kid.
‘Well, you know something?’ She asked him back, smiling at him.
‘No, I don’t!’ He said.
‘My grandfather used to sit on this chair and tell me wonderful stories when I was a kid of your age!’ She replied retaining that wonderful smile on her pretty face. The smile added beauty to her face like the colours did to some beautiful painting on some wall.
‘You told all those stories to me, right?’ Abhishek asked, smiling back at her.
‘Most of them, I think,’ She said, ‘some of them are still hidden in some part of my brain and I am trying hard to find them so that I can narrate the same to you.’
‘Did your grandpa tell you his own stories?’
‘Well, I think his grandpa should have told him while he was young. It should have come down from the generations like that. I think one of them from the older generations had written them long time back.’
‘That’s really nice!’ Abhishek said, ‘I wish that you could tell me each one of the stories your grandpa had told you. I would like to write them down in a book, so that I could get them published someday. It would be really nice if the coming generations gets to read those stories as well.’
‘That’s a good idea!’ His mother said.
Present
Abhishek opened the old family album which was on the small table before him. His son of eight years, Vinay and wife Pooja were seated beside him on the couch. They too were looking at the pictures in that photo album. The album started with black and white pictures…one of the pictures was of his mother while she was seven years old.
‘Dad, you look so much like her…’ Vinay said.
‘Yeah, I know!’ Abhishek said, feeling the picture with his fingers. He had got used to people saying that when he was young. Then he used to protest that he was different fro her, but deep inside his heart he felt happy that he resembled his beloved mother whom he adored a lot!
The next picture was that in which his mother was on a swing. Maybe, it was taken when she was ten years old or so. She had told him that her father had clicked that picture then.
‘Where is this park, Mom?’ He had asked her then.
‘It’s in a small town far away from here!’ She had replied.
‘The swing is just like in the park you used to take me in New York, dad.’ Vinay said.
‘Yes, it used to bring me back the memory of this particular picture whenever I used to take you to that park over there.’ He said smiling.
The next picture was that of his mother dressed in a school uniform. She looked so cute in that picture that Abhishek had told her that he wanted to marry a girl like her when he grew up one day.
‘Well, then you need to travel back in time to find someone like me then, as I am sure that you won’t find one like me when you grow up.’ His mother had told him.
‘I will become a scientist when I grow up and invent a time machine so that I could travel back in time and find someone like you there..’ He said smiling.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, I would do that!’
‘I wish you could do that, so that I could travel back in time and relive my sweet memories once again.’ His mother replied, smiling at him.
Diary Entry – by Ankitha
My dear husband, Sanjay had passed away a few years back…and it was then that I had seen my son, his wife and my grand son, Vinay for the last time. My son had asked me to go along with him to America, but I couldn’t make up my heart to leave the place where I had spent so many years since my childhood…So, I have been living all alone in this apartment. I do chat with my son and his family online every now and then. We even have video chat once in a while, but I would rather prefer the person to be seated in front and talk to me..…I had asked my son to visit India and stay over here for sometime. He had been promising me to visit India and it hasn’t come true so far. Hope to see them one last time before my time comes to leave!
***
Present Day
The next picture in the photo album was his mother’s class photo. It was taken while she was in 4th standard.
‘Who was grandma’s best friend, dad?’ Vinay asked looking at that picture.
‘Swomya!’ Abhishek said, pointing his finger at a girl in that picture.
‘And who is that boy in that picture?’ Vinay asked him, pointing to another picture.
‘He is her pen friendm Mohan!’ Abhishek replied.
Abhishek remembered when he was a kid; he was looking for one of his toys in the attic when a bundle of letters fell upon him. He found that all those letters were written by a boy called ‘Mohan’. He went and asked his mother, who the boy in those letters was?
‘Oh, Mohan, he was my pen friend!’ His mother had said, smiling and taking those letters from him. She started feeling them with her fingers.
‘And you both wrote to each other...’ He said.
‘Yes!’ She said, ‘Mohan lived in another city which was quite far from mine.’
‘Did you get to exchange photos? How does he look like?’ Abhishek had asked her.
‘Oh, yes!’ She said, looking at the envelopes, ‘It should be in one of these envelopes. Let me look for it.’
Finally, she found the passport sized black and white photo of Mohan. She glanced at it for a few seconds, before handing it to her son, Abhishek.
‘He looks so handsome!’ Abhishek said, looking at the picture, ‘Did you fall in love with him?’
‘No, we were good friends then,’ She said, smiling at him. She took the glue stick and stuck that passport picture in the photo album.
‘So what happened to Mohan? Did they ever get to meet each other?’ Vinay asked his father.
‘Well, Mohan had another name and that was Sanjay!’ Abhishek said, turning and looking at his son.
‘So, grandma ended marrying Mohan, is it?’ Vinay asked, surprised.
‘Yes, she did! I came to know that that day itself.’ Abhishek replied, looking at his mother and father’s wedding picture.
***
Diary Entry – by Ankitha
One could always make money anytime, someway or the other, but not beautiful memories that could be framed and kept in one's heart for future remembrance and also for giving meaning to one's life!
I do have some beautiful memories from my past, but not any from the present which would become bitter past soon!
***
Abhishek went through all the pictures in that album with his son Vinay and his wife. The last picture in that album was Abhishek’s picture with his son and wife. He closed the album and stood up.
‘Time to leave, dad?’ Vinay asked him.
‘Yes, I have one last thing to do before we take leave..’ Abhishek said, walking towards the empty chair in the balcony. He bent and hugged the chair with both his arms, tears rolled down from his cheeks and he managed to whisper, ‘Sorry, mom, I couldn’t come early to see you!’
He turned back, wiped his tears and walked back towards his son and wife.
‘Come on, let’s go!’ He told them, who were ready on their feet.
‘One thing, dad!’ Vinay said, ‘You didn’t just hug the empty chair…you hugged grandma who is seated on it right now!’
‘Can you see her, son?’ He asked, rising his eyebrows in surprise, ‘what is she doing right now?’
‘She is looking away from the balcony with her diary in her lap…I think she is missing you a lot, dad!’ He replied.
'I know, son!' He said.
Abhishek turned and glanced at the balcony. All he could see was just the empty chair and not her. As they walked towards the main door…the page of the dairy which was on the lap of his mother flipped…
Diary Entry – By Ankita
My Son, Abhishek, his wife, Pooja and my grand son, Vinay had reached Bangalore, India from New York, America. They were coming home in a city taxi when they met with a fatal accident. Sadly, none of them survived. Now, I am waiting for my time to come... so that I could leave this world..leave my memories both good and bad behind- forever!
Short Story 2015, Longlist Ummul Fazal Fatima Khan
The Curse Bore The Boon…
It's a story of one insignificant year of my life spread overseven hundred years. That little part of my long life is too important to me, it has changed my outlook towards a particular species.
An old banyan tree has been providing the comfort of home to my family since ages. Its thick and long roots held us together; whenever one of us is born, a new root grow out and with his death it dissolve into nothingness. I was the 72nd member in my family; we aren't born as frequently as human, I joined this world after hundred years of the last birth. The celebration of my arrival were carried out for the whole week and the banyan tree roots were decorated with dead branches, twigs and crushed leaves. When my mother wrapped me in her hands, she gasped with excitement as I had the rarest set of eyes, diamond eyes. When I grew up a little, she would often tell me about it and would say, 'You are different for our kind my child. Your ways and thoughts are not that prevail in our species'. I never understood what she had meant untill the fall of that insignificant year.
I had to spent five years of my life on the tree; hanging on the roots, circling the trunk and playing alone as all of my siblings were already adult. The family would leave the tree at noon and would return as soon as the first ray of sun would touch the ground. Whenever I would ask my mother to take me with her, she would tell me to wait till the right age come. I have heard several stories of outer world from my brothers, they would constantly talk about 'human', whom my mother says we are essential.
When I turned five, my father announced my 'come of age celebration', I didn't know what it was but a feat was organised for me and it was called 'Zolo's first step ceremony' named after me. My father hung from the thickest root and presented a speech; welcoming me to the 'new world', informing about the rules of our kind.
'You are all set to explore the world of humans, my dear son!', I heard the soft whisper in the coarse voice of my mother. She was the only one whom I have ever seen talking a little softly in our whole family.
As the rituals concluded, I hopped down the tree and walked ahead. The unknown world was affecting me in a strange way. My family slipped from the tree to wish me luck on my first step towards the life destined for me. I took cautious steps and crossed our land in a jiffy, nervously I turned backwards to gain moral support from my family but no one was there, the ground under the tree was almost bare. A lump stuck in my throat and with it, a loud cackle filled the atmosphere. With a loud pop, my cousin Zeoni appeared.
'You are nervous brother', he exclaimed.
'No, I am not', I tried gulping the lump away.
'Yes, you are and I saw it in your diamond eyes' He seemed bemused. 'But brother fear is not for us, we pour it in human eyes. So flush it out of your system.'
I didn't have a slightest idea who fear was but somehow I admired the idea that this parallel species called human have quite a liberty.
'I have to go and you stop following me' I glowed my eyes with extra efforts and glared at him.
'Ok, even I am not interested. But we should remain invisible bro, remember we are shape shifters' saying the last sentence with a wink he swooshed away.
He was right to some extent, something was stopping me from going. I took one of his many advice seriously and shifted to my another shape; a four dimensional, which according to my father couldn't be seen through human eye.
On my first day I saw several things that amazed me; colourful blocks moving onto the land and there were lights on it too, twinkling in different colours, tall blocks like home in which human were residing etc.
In the life history of the banyan tree, it was very unusual for a demon to be friends with a human, I knew sooner or later, my father would find out about it and then I would have to face his anger and my sibling's teasing. I wanted to end this episode on a good note.
Hanging from the banyan roots I tried focusing my abilities of sucking memories and would run my experiment on the humans who would occasionally walk beside the tree. It took tiring practice of months when I considered myself strong enough to carry out my plan. I had mastered quite a mental focus.
It was time to meet Arnav, I ran towards the college lawns, our usual hang out place. I had to wait for his class to end and when he sat on the bench I stood beside him, invisible yet could be felt. I saw him scrutinising his eyes, it was time for me to act.
I focused on my inbuilt abilities and molded their direction. I took away his memories but not the happy ones. The memories which stopped him from proceeding towards new relations, the rememberance which resisted him from experimenting, the reminiscence which had instilled a kind of fear in him, the recollections which took away his ability to fly and breath freely. I freed him of all the memories which had kept him buried under the ice sheet of fear, hesitation, frustration and nervousness.
Lastly I erased my existence from every scene of his last one year; and trust me that was the hardest part. Leaving a dear friend behind, knowing that I will never forget him and simultaneously being aware that he will never remember me.
I threw a last glance at his face; the dullness of his eyes was replaced with a sparkling gleam, the somber expression was now hopeful, the downward curve of his lips has turned upwards, and his body felt active, emitting the radiance of recently found courage and freedom. I can't cry, otherwise I would have shed some tears that day. He looked a new version of Arnav and I craved to interact with him but went against the wish and ran back to the banyan tree before any second thought could hit me.
Back at the tree, I shared my decision with my mother.
'That's the most generous thing you have done, a demon can never even dream of it.Today I again repeat with a lot more confidence, 'you are different for our kind Zolo' She patted my back and with it I extracted that she was proud of me. Otherwise her same plain stern look and coarse voice couldn't even steal a single hint of pride.
God!! I am going to miss those thousand kinds of expressions and tones humans conjure. Huh!!!
It's a story of one insignificant year of my life spread overseven hundred years. That little part of my long life is too important to me, it has changed my outlook towards a particular species.
An old banyan tree has been providing the comfort of home to my family since ages. Its thick and long roots held us together; whenever one of us is born, a new root grow out and with his death it dissolve into nothingness. I was the 72nd member in my family; we aren't born as frequently as human, I joined this world after hundred years of the last birth. The celebration of my arrival were carried out for the whole week and the banyan tree roots were decorated with dead branches, twigs and crushed leaves. When my mother wrapped me in her hands, she gasped with excitement as I had the rarest set of eyes, diamond eyes. When I grew up a little, she would often tell me about it and would say, 'You are different for our kind my child. Your ways and thoughts are not that prevail in our species'. I never understood what she had meant untill the fall of that insignificant year.
I had to spent five years of my life on the tree; hanging on the roots, circling the trunk and playing alone as all of my siblings were already adult. The family would leave the tree at noon and would return as soon as the first ray of sun would touch the ground. Whenever I would ask my mother to take me with her, she would tell me to wait till the right age come. I have heard several stories of outer world from my brothers, they would constantly talk about 'human', whom my mother says we are essential.
When I turned five, my father announced my 'come of age celebration', I didn't know what it was but a feat was organised for me and it was called 'Zolo's first step ceremony' named after me. My father hung from the thickest root and presented a speech; welcoming me to the 'new world', informing about the rules of our kind.
'You are all set to explore the world of humans, my dear son!', I heard the soft whisper in the coarse voice of my mother. She was the only one whom I have ever seen talking a little softly in our whole family.
As the rituals concluded, I hopped down the tree and walked ahead. The unknown world was affecting me in a strange way. My family slipped from the tree to wish me luck on my first step towards the life destined for me. I took cautious steps and crossed our land in a jiffy, nervously I turned backwards to gain moral support from my family but no one was there, the ground under the tree was almost bare. A lump stuck in my throat and with it, a loud cackle filled the atmosphere. With a loud pop, my cousin Zeoni appeared.
'You are nervous brother', he exclaimed.
'No, I am not', I tried gulping the lump away.
'Yes, you are and I saw it in your diamond eyes' He seemed bemused. 'But brother fear is not for us, we pour it in human eyes. So flush it out of your system.'
I didn't have a slightest idea who fear was but somehow I admired the idea that this parallel species called human have quite a liberty.
'I have to go and you stop following me' I glowed my eyes with extra efforts and glared at him.
'Ok, even I am not interested. But we should remain invisible bro, remember we are shape shifters' saying the last sentence with a wink he swooshed away.
He was right to some extent, something was stopping me from going. I took one of his many advice seriously and shifted to my another shape; a four dimensional, which according to my father couldn't be seen through human eye.
On my first day I saw several things that amazed me; colourful blocks moving onto the land and there were lights on it too, twinkling in different colours, tall blocks like home in which human were residing etc.
I was walking through a grassy ground, inspecting each and
everything, when I happened to see a human up close. He had hands, eyes,
mouth, nose, feet and all other parts like us. But they were slightly
different; eyes were much smaller and dull than ours, hands and feet
were smaller too. They had a pointed shape for a nose instead of our
round one, two lids covered the slit of their mouth. And they had a
variety of hair instead of our uniform purple ponytail. The whole torso
seemed small in comparison to ours. I went near him and looked into
his eyes; there was something there, a very strange dullness that
engulfed the brown shade of his pupil. I didn't know what it was but he
stood there confused and suddenly started looking behind as if to make
out someone, he took some careful steps. I was watching him closely
when he brought out a block shaped instrument and beat his fingers on
it and put it to his ears.
The next thing I remember was his voice, the type that I have never heard, with different pitches, low and high, 'Hello Amar. I don't know what happened but I actually forgot my way to burger's shop. Can you please help?'
I could sense shock and confusion both rising in his voice. I wanted to accompany him and to find out more about humans but then a shrill sound diverted my attention. I headed in it's direction, it was that moving block from the morning which had a blowing light on its head. I lost that man in my quest of that beep.
All went well that day and later I found out the names i.e the moving blocks were called vehicles and calling instrument was mobile and many more. Human all have distinct names like we do but they could be seen in different shapes and sizes unlike us. The most amazing thing as my cousin had mentioned, was their fear. They get afraid at the sight of cat, dog, big teeths and sometimes they get scared of invisible things. Amazing creature they are!
I started enjoying my visits to the city post that particular day and spent my days roaming around the place, learning new names and about new things.
On my 16th day I was walking aimlessly when I heard a familiar voice, 'Yes, amar go grab your lunch, I am not coming'
He was the same guy whom I had seen on my first day. I went closer, I couldn't fathom the reason but I liked him and wished to observe him and a sudden desire to talk to a human arose in me. But before I could proceed, his expression changed, 'Amar I think I forgot what I was going to do', He spoke in his mobile.
I laughed loudly, what a forgetful person he was. He was turning out to be an interesting person and I wanted to converse with him. To fulfil the desire, I went behind the tree and shifted to the human form.
'Hey', I spread my hand infront of him the way I have seen humans greeting each other.
'Hello', he grabbed my hand smilingly but soon her face lost colours and he murmured, 'why I am here?'
I suppressed my smile and asked his name, Arnav he was.
He was a college student, the name of which he had forgotten. Amar was his roomate. He had no friends maybe due to his habit of forgeting or maybe he has but he didn't remember any of them. I enjoyed his company and so I decided to befriend him. And then we would spend hours at the college lawns and would talk around.
Hanging out with him I gathered so many things about him; his reserved nature, negligible amount of friends and that his memory issue was lot bigger than I had expected. I felt pity for him, so I started accompanying him everywhere and would keep record of his important things and later I would pitch in and help him organize his activities properly.
Apart from the attributes of reserved nature he had a certain hesitancy which would cause hurdles for him in effectively mingling with people. As the days witnessed our friendship reaching heights, he shared some dark and hidden stories of his life. The retalition would be broken and badly precised but I found answers to many of my queries related to him.
His past was still tormenting him, the dark and disgusting past. His father had always tortured his mother for giving him a girl child after marriage. After her daughter, it took her several years to be a mother again. When Arnav was on his way to enter this world, a wise old lady of their family prophesied, 'Rukmani will again bear the girl child' and her announcement snatched away every ounce of happiness left in Rukmani and her daughter's life. Arnav's father's wrath befell onto their lives. His father divorced his mother before even his arrival and then heaven laughed over the wisdom of human, dropping Arnav in his mother's lap. He didnt saw his mother thrown out of her husband's house, he didn't witnessed Rukmani's brothers turning their back on their only sister and his two infant children. However since the day he started percieving his surroundings, he only saw his mother working effortlessly and his sister loosing her childhood under the burden of responsibilities. He had heard the accounts of the brutality his mother had faced from her own family and unknowingly he accused himself for her state, considering himself as the reason of his mother's suffering. Though Birth of a boy had given hope to her mother and she built a castle of dreams; a brighter future for herself and her two kids laying its foundation on Arnav's shoulders. The burden of repaying his family's hardships would leave him breathless. I liked him more, when I found out his history; humans posess a lot deeper layers than us.
Arnav's friendship was teaching me new lessons everyday and I learned caring for someone which even my family couldn't teach me.
One pleasant day I was forced to tread the path leading me towards my truth and it took away the most precious thing from me. Arnav took me off guard when he told me about his habit of forgeting. He claimed that he never was like that but one day he forgot his way to burger's shop and then after a break he started forgeting on regular basis. He also added, 'Since the day I have net you, I am losing more and more. Initially I would forget but later it would get recalled and everything would come back but now it seems I am losing my memories permanently. Yesterday Amar asked me why I was not attending the english class, to which I had no answer because I couldn't recall having an english class ever.'
He had shared all his worries in a go, but had provided me food to worry. The day he accused to be the first day when he forgot was the day when I first set my eyes on him. My mother used to say that we are useful to human then why I am harming him? It couldn't be possible that I have affected him in such a bad way.
Later that day I confronted my mother and shared my worries. And to my surprise she said that we actually are the memory sucker demons. I was deeply shattered to hear the truth, 'how can a memory sucker be useful mother?'
"Because we help human loose their bad memories. We dim their memories of their loved ones whom they have lost, we help them forget what they have experienced in their mother's womb and infancy, we diminish all their memories so that the emotions attached to them couldn't be felt fresh all the time as every memory holds some kind of emotions and if they are kept fresh, human would feel several emotions at once. If we aren't here to help them, they wouldn't forget the sorrow of their lost loved ones and the pain of bad times, they wouldn't come out of the joy of happy moments and thus wouldn't be able to respond to their present situation accordingly.
We reduce their burden by removing the old and unimportant memories to make space for the new ones', She looked at me, a stern stare emitting from her ruby eyes.
'It's still hurting me mother that Arnav loses his memories when I am around.' I couldn't digest the harm I had caused him.
'Son! a demon and human can never be friends. If a demon stays too close to a human, it could cause permanent damage to his memories which in human's language is called memory loss or alzheimer etc.' She plainly stated in her coarse voice.
'He is my friend and I enjoy spending time with him.' I tried my every bit to defend my relation with Arnav, a human.
'Like I said a human and demon can't be friends. He has to learn to be with his kind and you should stick with your family', I could sense finality in her tone.
I was totally broken with the news and spent my days afterwards hanging from the banyan tree. Although I couldn't keep myself away from Arnav, so I kept an eye on him from a distance. He seemed happy maybe due to his memories back but I would occasionally find his eyes searching for me.
How could I go near him? And how could I tell him that I am the reason behind his memory loss, how could I disclose my truth?
Finally I decided to meet him one last time. He was sitting on the same bench where we chatted for the first time. I popped into human form and walked beside him.
'Hey pal! Where have you been?' I heard his voice coated with happiness.
'Hello', I replied cautiously this time remaining at a mile's distance as I didn't want to take away his memories anymore.
We met like two good old friends meeting after decades. He was happy to see me, why wouldn't he? I was the only friend he had. His experience with life, his tormenting past and the responsibility he had to carry out, had taken away his courage to meet new people and have relations with them. My gaze followed his every move and expression, he was the kind of person I couldn't tolerate hurting, instead I would give anything to help him, to diminish his burdens.
And then It was the Eureka moment for me, an idea had struck me. I took a proper final leave from him and biding him adieu, came back to the tree.
The next thing I remember was his voice, the type that I have never heard, with different pitches, low and high, 'Hello Amar. I don't know what happened but I actually forgot my way to burger's shop. Can you please help?'
I could sense shock and confusion both rising in his voice. I wanted to accompany him and to find out more about humans but then a shrill sound diverted my attention. I headed in it's direction, it was that moving block from the morning which had a blowing light on its head. I lost that man in my quest of that beep.
All went well that day and later I found out the names i.e the moving blocks were called vehicles and calling instrument was mobile and many more. Human all have distinct names like we do but they could be seen in different shapes and sizes unlike us. The most amazing thing as my cousin had mentioned, was their fear. They get afraid at the sight of cat, dog, big teeths and sometimes they get scared of invisible things. Amazing creature they are!
I started enjoying my visits to the city post that particular day and spent my days roaming around the place, learning new names and about new things.
On my 16th day I was walking aimlessly when I heard a familiar voice, 'Yes, amar go grab your lunch, I am not coming'
He was the same guy whom I had seen on my first day. I went closer, I couldn't fathom the reason but I liked him and wished to observe him and a sudden desire to talk to a human arose in me. But before I could proceed, his expression changed, 'Amar I think I forgot what I was going to do', He spoke in his mobile.
I laughed loudly, what a forgetful person he was. He was turning out to be an interesting person and I wanted to converse with him. To fulfil the desire, I went behind the tree and shifted to the human form.
'Hey', I spread my hand infront of him the way I have seen humans greeting each other.
'Hello', he grabbed my hand smilingly but soon her face lost colours and he murmured, 'why I am here?'
I suppressed my smile and asked his name, Arnav he was.
He was a college student, the name of which he had forgotten. Amar was his roomate. He had no friends maybe due to his habit of forgeting or maybe he has but he didn't remember any of them. I enjoyed his company and so I decided to befriend him. And then we would spend hours at the college lawns and would talk around.
Hanging out with him I gathered so many things about him; his reserved nature, negligible amount of friends and that his memory issue was lot bigger than I had expected. I felt pity for him, so I started accompanying him everywhere and would keep record of his important things and later I would pitch in and help him organize his activities properly.
Apart from the attributes of reserved nature he had a certain hesitancy which would cause hurdles for him in effectively mingling with people. As the days witnessed our friendship reaching heights, he shared some dark and hidden stories of his life. The retalition would be broken and badly precised but I found answers to many of my queries related to him.
His past was still tormenting him, the dark and disgusting past. His father had always tortured his mother for giving him a girl child after marriage. After her daughter, it took her several years to be a mother again. When Arnav was on his way to enter this world, a wise old lady of their family prophesied, 'Rukmani will again bear the girl child' and her announcement snatched away every ounce of happiness left in Rukmani and her daughter's life. Arnav's father's wrath befell onto their lives. His father divorced his mother before even his arrival and then heaven laughed over the wisdom of human, dropping Arnav in his mother's lap. He didnt saw his mother thrown out of her husband's house, he didn't witnessed Rukmani's brothers turning their back on their only sister and his two infant children. However since the day he started percieving his surroundings, he only saw his mother working effortlessly and his sister loosing her childhood under the burden of responsibilities. He had heard the accounts of the brutality his mother had faced from her own family and unknowingly he accused himself for her state, considering himself as the reason of his mother's suffering. Though Birth of a boy had given hope to her mother and she built a castle of dreams; a brighter future for herself and her two kids laying its foundation on Arnav's shoulders. The burden of repaying his family's hardships would leave him breathless. I liked him more, when I found out his history; humans posess a lot deeper layers than us.
Arnav's friendship was teaching me new lessons everyday and I learned caring for someone which even my family couldn't teach me.
One pleasant day I was forced to tread the path leading me towards my truth and it took away the most precious thing from me. Arnav took me off guard when he told me about his habit of forgeting. He claimed that he never was like that but one day he forgot his way to burger's shop and then after a break he started forgeting on regular basis. He also added, 'Since the day I have net you, I am losing more and more. Initially I would forget but later it would get recalled and everything would come back but now it seems I am losing my memories permanently. Yesterday Amar asked me why I was not attending the english class, to which I had no answer because I couldn't recall having an english class ever.'
He had shared all his worries in a go, but had provided me food to worry. The day he accused to be the first day when he forgot was the day when I first set my eyes on him. My mother used to say that we are useful to human then why I am harming him? It couldn't be possible that I have affected him in such a bad way.
Later that day I confronted my mother and shared my worries. And to my surprise she said that we actually are the memory sucker demons. I was deeply shattered to hear the truth, 'how can a memory sucker be useful mother?'
"Because we help human loose their bad memories. We dim their memories of their loved ones whom they have lost, we help them forget what they have experienced in their mother's womb and infancy, we diminish all their memories so that the emotions attached to them couldn't be felt fresh all the time as every memory holds some kind of emotions and if they are kept fresh, human would feel several emotions at once. If we aren't here to help them, they wouldn't forget the sorrow of their lost loved ones and the pain of bad times, they wouldn't come out of the joy of happy moments and thus wouldn't be able to respond to their present situation accordingly.
We reduce their burden by removing the old and unimportant memories to make space for the new ones', She looked at me, a stern stare emitting from her ruby eyes.
'It's still hurting me mother that Arnav loses his memories when I am around.' I couldn't digest the harm I had caused him.
'Son! a demon and human can never be friends. If a demon stays too close to a human, it could cause permanent damage to his memories which in human's language is called memory loss or alzheimer etc.' She plainly stated in her coarse voice.
'He is my friend and I enjoy spending time with him.' I tried my every bit to defend my relation with Arnav, a human.
'Like I said a human and demon can't be friends. He has to learn to be with his kind and you should stick with your family', I could sense finality in her tone.
I was totally broken with the news and spent my days afterwards hanging from the banyan tree. Although I couldn't keep myself away from Arnav, so I kept an eye on him from a distance. He seemed happy maybe due to his memories back but I would occasionally find his eyes searching for me.
How could I go near him? And how could I tell him that I am the reason behind his memory loss, how could I disclose my truth?
Finally I decided to meet him one last time. He was sitting on the same bench where we chatted for the first time. I popped into human form and walked beside him.
'Hey pal! Where have you been?' I heard his voice coated with happiness.
'Hello', I replied cautiously this time remaining at a mile's distance as I didn't want to take away his memories anymore.
We met like two good old friends meeting after decades. He was happy to see me, why wouldn't he? I was the only friend he had. His experience with life, his tormenting past and the responsibility he had to carry out, had taken away his courage to meet new people and have relations with them. My gaze followed his every move and expression, he was the kind of person I couldn't tolerate hurting, instead I would give anything to help him, to diminish his burdens.
And then It was the Eureka moment for me, an idea had struck me. I took a proper final leave from him and biding him adieu, came back to the tree.
In the life history of the banyan tree, it was very unusual for a demon to be friends with a human, I knew sooner or later, my father would find out about it and then I would have to face his anger and my sibling's teasing. I wanted to end this episode on a good note.
Hanging from the banyan roots I tried focusing my abilities of sucking memories and would run my experiment on the humans who would occasionally walk beside the tree. It took tiring practice of months when I considered myself strong enough to carry out my plan. I had mastered quite a mental focus.
It was time to meet Arnav, I ran towards the college lawns, our usual hang out place. I had to wait for his class to end and when he sat on the bench I stood beside him, invisible yet could be felt. I saw him scrutinising his eyes, it was time for me to act.
I focused on my inbuilt abilities and molded their direction. I took away his memories but not the happy ones. The memories which stopped him from proceeding towards new relations, the rememberance which resisted him from experimenting, the reminiscence which had instilled a kind of fear in him, the recollections which took away his ability to fly and breath freely. I freed him of all the memories which had kept him buried under the ice sheet of fear, hesitation, frustration and nervousness.
Lastly I erased my existence from every scene of his last one year; and trust me that was the hardest part. Leaving a dear friend behind, knowing that I will never forget him and simultaneously being aware that he will never remember me.
I threw a last glance at his face; the dullness of his eyes was replaced with a sparkling gleam, the somber expression was now hopeful, the downward curve of his lips has turned upwards, and his body felt active, emitting the radiance of recently found courage and freedom. I can't cry, otherwise I would have shed some tears that day. He looked a new version of Arnav and I craved to interact with him but went against the wish and ran back to the banyan tree before any second thought could hit me.
Back at the tree, I shared my decision with my mother.
'That's the most generous thing you have done, a demon can never even dream of it.Today I again repeat with a lot more confidence, 'you are different for our kind Zolo' She patted my back and with it I extracted that she was proud of me. Otherwise her same plain stern look and coarse voice couldn't even steal a single hint of pride.
God!! I am going to miss those thousand kinds of expressions and tones humans conjure. Huh!!!
Short Story 2015, Shortlist Sufia Khatoon
The Blue Moon
‘’The blue moon in its glory,
Hidden behind the night’s veil of fury,
Stood waiting for its time,
To light the twin heavens,
Merging blue water with dark night.’’
Dear Sebastian once you had asked me why I had fallen in love with the blue moon? I had thought about it quite often and I came to this conclusion that the blue moon was a rare sight to my sour eyes. Something which tied me to this world, what else is there to keep me believing that this world is beautiful? Only the blue moon has the answers to my maladies, to my restlessness and my chaos. These lines by you have kept my faith unmoved all these years. You must me wondering that why I wrote a letter of this length to tell you about the blue moon, I want you to read this tale that I am going to tell you, read it with your heart and then you shall get your answer.
Once there was a toad that lived in the mushy farmlands of a farmer in Paris. His best friend, a caterpillar was his only eyes through which he saw the world outside. On learning that the world was going to end some day, the toad decided to travel the various lands before he died. Biding goodbye to his friend, the toad left for new adventures. The cater pillar made a point that he wrote to his friend everyday sharing his experiences as he was scared of leaving his cosy home in the trees. But as fate would have it, things began to change around the garden of the farmer. Seasons changed and the farmer uprooted the older trees to plant new ones which could bear more delicious fruits.
The caterpillar was forced to leave his home and travel like a wandered on the grasslands fearing every now and then that he was going to die. When the sun bid adieu, the caterpillar being tired of his journey rested under the shade of a tree, very soon he spotted a toad standing at a distance staring at the blue moon in the sky. He was constantly staring and singing songs of love, unmoved by the world’s mysteries for his beloved. The caterpillar thought that he was his friend Mr toad; jumping in joy he scaled towards him only to realize that he was some other toad.
Curious to know his story, he asked why he was staring at the moon. The toad replied that he had fallen in love with the blue moon as it was bright blue and shining with love. He was sure that the blue moon also loved him and to unite with his lover he had to be also blue in colour. The caterpillar got confused and wondered how he would be able to do that. The toad begged him to assist him in his quest. Expecting something exciting would happen, the caterpillar agreed and together they hopped to the farmer’s house. The farmer too engrossed in his lose didn’t notice them entering through the window. The new plants had not bore the fruits he had expected for which he had uprooted the older ones and now he had nothing left with him.
The toad showed an opened bottle of blue ink to the caterpillar and explained his plan. He was sure that once he would dip himself in the ink, he would turn blue and unite with his blue moon the next night. So he dipped himself in the ink bottle the whole night and chatted with the caterpillar, who obviously was regretting making that hasty decision; while listening to the toad’s song, he was soon fast asleep.
The birds chirped the next morning waking the world once again.
The farmer woke up with a hope to plant his older uprooted trees to see if they were still alive but the new ones had started flowering, he thanked the lord and plated the older ones too. The caterpillar opened his eyes and to his amusement he saw that the toad had came out of the bottle and was in fact red in colour. He hadn’t realized that the ink was red and now he was red from top to bottom, so red that which was his face and which was his bottom was hard to locate. Cursing the passion of love, the toad walked away with a chameleon when he realized the red colour would never go away and if he left the opportunity he won’t get a chameleon also in the end. The caterpillar laughed hysterically at the silliness of the toad and left for his new home. He wrote back to his friend Mr Toad telling him about his adventure and pleading him not to fall in love with him when he returned as he had transformed into a blue butterfly. In the end every night the blue moon remained where it was and like a faithful lover shined brightly for his beloved night.
You see now Sebastian like the toad and the farmer you are making a hasty decision to leave Paris because Rose died on you. But see the caterpillar who took a risk and went outside his comfort zone, he had learnt the biggest lesson of his life, he learned to take life as it came and to have faith that something unexpected would happen soon and like the blue moon to be always passionately in love with the sky.
Love is something which none of us can understand or everyone can, but sometimes we should free ourselves from the burden of experiencing pain in love because only love can free our soul, only through love can we attain wisdom and become a better human.
Think about what I said and be that blue moon my child. Whatever maybe your decision, I shall always love you.
Love, your grandmother
Amanda Jones.
P.S: I am certain that now you would to let go of your pain if you had truly loved Rose ever.
Sebastian looked at the one way ticket to London in his hand and tore it into pieces. Sighing deeply at what he had read he folded his grandmother’s letter gently and preserved it in his memory. His grandmother was a woman of values who had lived her life to the fullest with 20 children and 50 grandchildren. Sebastian loved the way she said such meaningful things with such ease. He had to let go of Rose, it almost had been a year since she had died in a train accident in Paris. Sebastian, a travel reporter by profession had married his childhood sweetheart Rose after they had graduated; they had a beautiful six year old daughter named Mary and two years old son named Tyler. They were happy till Rose was gone from their lives, it was so weird that at one moment one breathes and the next moment one is lying motionless, as if the heart forgets to pump life’s body and the soul goes in deep sleep. He had only one thing to do now, to focus on bringing up the kids, even though he missed Rose, he would have to let go of the pain and remember their beautiful time together.
…………………………………….
Mary was standing at the entrance of Paris Museum of Art and Culture observing the round glass gate opening and closing at the same time, and his little brother Tyler believing it to be a merry go round entertaining the guests who had come in for the painting exhibition of artist Sofia Anderson. Sebastian wasn’t interested to join in the commotion of people showing off about art when they hardly knew what the real essence of a painting was, always considering it as a product of the elite and fashionable but never a meaningful inspired art. While his friend Peter kept pulling him to talk to the known celebrity faces to get clients for his travel agency, he detested them, he was a travel reporter for God sake, and he had no business in such a place.
Putting his children in the care of his grandmother, Sebastian left for the central gallery to have a look at the paintings at the request of Peter who claimed it could change his life and his entire perspective about things if he looked at them for once.
Sebastian browsed through the exhibits carefully, first lightly then seriously, each painting forwarding a unique thought, a dream like sequence where he could feel his spirit was floating away to unknown lands. He could feel the strength of the universe which cleverly weaved each subject to one another; the universe was God’s master piece indeed. How love overpowered every sensible idea and unbridled the chained desires to reach the climax of love.
“Anything you liked, I have been observing you for quite some time, and your expression tells me I have succeeded in showing you what I saw myself”
Sebastian turned and saw Sofia calmly addressing his awe and surprise.
“Hi, yes I was really speechless at the depths of these paintings; it’s amazing how you have brought such complicated truths on a canvas. In fact I was quite taken aback.”
“Oh really, well that is then indeed a pointer for me, next time I’ll blow your mind away” she laughed saying so.
Mary came running towards Sebastian complaining that Tyler was trying to eat the painting of an apple. Sofia laughed at their innocence; children could be so full of life, she always wished she could see the world as they did; it was a different perspective all together.
“You have adorable children; hope you had enjoyed your stay, goodbye.”
Mary waved goodbye heartily as Sebastian took his leave and accompanied Peter to his office.
Later that night Sebastian bought some of Sofia’s paintings, especially the one which portrayed the climax of love.
Passion made us not a slave to our life but a soul full of hope to be able to add some colours to our dull existence. Sebastian hadn’t touched his camera for a very long time, photography was his passion and Rose his love. He looked at some of the photos of Rose with him and the children when they were just born; a whimsical photo of his grandmother, Peter washing his dog while he ran after the neighbours cat and all the beautiful memories rushed in his blocked senses. He believed photos had the amazing quality to tell stories, magical stories which gave meaning to life. Holding his camera Sebastian set out towards the grand park to capture life once again on a colourful Sunday with his kids.
Sofia had received a message from Sebastian a month back requesting to allow him to photograph her for his portfolio about artists working in their studio around the city completely immersed in their passions. Sofia really liked people who believed in their creative capabilities, she had always felt only art could change the rigid ideas binding us.
This was the perfect way to let Sebastian get an idea about the artistic endeavours.
Sebastian was enjoying himself, his pent up rage was subsiding slowly as he worked towards his upcoming project totally immersed in the power of art. He had never felt like this before, so energetic and powerful while working with Sofia.
Sofia was working on her visual art project where she wanted to incorporate the power of senses on psychological development.
First it had sounded really difficult but eventually he understood the sheer brilliance of the concept. She had got a few elements representing the various senses like discarded light bulbs represented light. She had made Sebastian run all around the city with her to gather thousands of these light bulbs and stacked up in her studio.
Her studio was a broken down warehouse on the outskirts of the city which gave her the freedom to use the space without any troubles. Since it was huge she could use big section to incorporate the various art pieces. The exhibition was just about a month away.
She created a big circle with the light bulbs like the sun which was ignited at the edges portraying the depths of light and darkness.
The sense of sound was represented through a gramophone build out of a big church gong which she had bought from a scarp dockyard.
Sebastian had helped in the placement of the elements and organizing the exhibition. In such a short time they had become good friends.
The exhibition had been a success; everyone had praised Sofia’s keen observation and the entire town had come down to look at the exhibits. Sebastian had been able to meet other artists through Sofia in the past month and his portfolio was something to look at. It had been able to capture the small details of an idea forming the core of an artistic vision.
Sofia had showcased some of Sebastian’s works to her clients and it was liked by some advertising agencies.
It was time to celebrate their grand success and a positive association of creativity.
......................................
A week had passed after the grand exhibition, things were working well.
They were now working on a project for the Creative Art gallery where a photographer and a painter were amalgamating to celebrate the galleries motto of supporting creativity.
It had been a long day, after some hours of work they had sat together to have lunch in the open garden at the backyard of her home studio to chit chat about things going around them. To their amazement they had found they had very different tastes but were glued to the creative things. As evening slowly mellowed in, the blue moon rode to its thrown in the sky, making them feel enchanted. The wine had worked its magic; they were floating in their dreamy world, each trying to live their fantasy.
Sofia had never seen a man who thought so deeply about things, a sensitive man who loved his wife more than his life, who had such adorable children and who was a true lover. She had only loved one thing in life, painting; she had no idea what it meant to really fall in love. She was 25 years old, a grown up beautiful and intelligent artist who had travelled extensively, had seen various kinds of men, some wired, some power hungry, some mad and some sad but Sebastian was different, he wasn’t fake, what he was inside his eyes reflected the purity of his heart outside.
Sofia kept staring at him, he was fast asleep, the glass still in his hand, sitting on the chair, the moon’s light touching his innocent face. What a beautiful moment to capture in her canvas she thought. And not losing a moment she started working, she had to capture that innocence; she meticulously painted each movement, every thought, and every desire till she was exhausted and fast asleep.
She woke up the next morning feeling like shit and her head swinging like a yoyo from side to side, holding her head she got up from the floor of the balcony and made her way to the shower. When she was done having a strong lemon tea, she saw her painting, she had managed to capture Sebastian’s child like expression, the moon kissed glow, the silky hair, everything. She was ecstatic and she ran towards the balcony to wake up Sebastian and show him her master piece but he was gone. A little taken aback she looked for him everywhere only to find a note written in his hand lying on the table. It read,
Dear Sofia,
It has been a wonderful experience working with you. Travelling with you in your world and showing you mine. Only after meeting you I realized how much I had missed living life for the past one year. My Rose was the most humble soul that I had ever loved. She had completed me and she had given me the strength to carry on with my life alone. Her death had happened suddenly, I was not prepared for it, and I hadn’t thought she would just die, she was like this always surprising me with things, and she did that in her death too.
My world was shattered but I had my kids and life was going slow. Even though I was breathing I wasn’t doing justice to my little ones, they are what I have left of Rose now, and I cannot lose them as I lost her. Yesterday I was happy; I had seen a glow in your eyes, a friendly glow. I was touched at the way you were trying to help me leave my pain behind and walk forward, live each moment, you’re the reason I took to photography again. I cherish our friendship but last night I felt things started changing between us. I don’t know how to explain it but something’s should remain unexplained I guess. I love what you did with my face; I didn’t know I looked like an owl when I slept. Hope you could understand it.
Best Wishes,
Sebastian
Sofia sat on the floor a little confused, she thought love was a gift, but it was painful, she understood that now, but she didn’t cry, there was nothing to shed tears on, she had known and touched the depths of love. Love had many forms; Sebastian’s love was also like that. Though he knew that she had fallen for him, he had the dignity to accept it and reject it at the same time, men were strange, smiling at the thought of that she began painting again to see if she could reach that depth which she had felt before.
…………………………………….
A year had passed,
Sebastian had been travelling to various cities to work on his solo photography exhibition.
Sofia had just received an honorary award form the City Museum for her latest installation on ‘Silence’.
Life had never been better; initially they both had missed each others company.
Though Sofia never spoke about the effects of the letter with Sebastian, he always felt she was deeply saddened by his sudden dismissal of things which could have made them happy.
His constant travel kept his mind away form that night but she constantly struggled with it, and her paintings became darker and darker.
She understood what an emotion like ‘love’ could do to a person, either it changed them or consumed them.
But she was tough, she knew she needed to touch that depth of love to know love completely and her journey with emotions became intense and quite realistic.
She was a little nervous today, she was invited to Tyler’s birthday party by Amanda, she secretly wished Sebastian was there but at the same time dismissed and regretted her decision to go.
Sebastian too felt quite awkward, he was content about the fact that somewhere Sofia still remembered that night. When he had heard about her honorary award in an her interview, it took him sometime to hold realize that she was indeed in love with him, the paint that everyone talked so extensively about was his dishevelled body on that moonlit night.
The taxi halted in front of the restaurant in the alley, one which both of them loved to hang around in.
The kids sat in the restaurant waiting for Sofia to arrive and take them to see a movie. They were singing when Sebastian came running with gifts for both of them. It was Tyler’s birthday and everyone had come to celebrate it. Sofia came in with the clowns and magicians accompanying her, singing and dancing for the birthday boy.
Sebastian had remained aloof; he wasn’t ready still to accept life as it came. One look at Sofia and he knew something had happened; he wasn’t the old Sebastian anymore, but a more powerful person.
Amanda took a close look at both of them, each trying to avoid the other’s presence, it was saddening to see how people ran away from love believing they had all the time in the world to live and find it again. Love was a powerful portion which once consumed couldn’t let the consumer sleep in peace till it was had worked its magic and the lovers were united. She sighed in seeing both of them like that, each yearning for the other, each building harder walls around the beating heart.
She had to do something, life was too short for second chances, and they both deserved that.
She took hold of Sebastian arm and dragged him outside, the blue moon was partially visible from beneath the clouds, and it was too waiting to be united to his beloved night.
“My dear, child, why are so stubborn and blind? Don’t you see what I see? I don’t believe you don’t love Sofia, if you do love her it doesn’t mean you are betraying Rose. I think Rose too would have wanted you to take this chance, go tell her before I announce it to in front of everyone. ” she patted his back, kissed him and walked back towards the children.
Sebastian breathed in constantly arguing with himself about his reasons to not tell Sofia and at the same time tell her about his confusions, he hesitantly walked towards Sofia. He had been away for such a long time and he had no idea how she would react, but as Amanda said, he had to take this chance.
“Hi, long time”
“Yes, long time, I thought you must have been dead, but here you are, in front of me, giggling, I guess” she said in a sullen mood. This was going to be tough he thought.
“Ok, now that’s encouraging, a good start.” her look still passive at his remark.
“ I was thinking if you, I mean, if you were free to go have dinner with me, tomorrow or anytime next week” he started to walk away seeing her face drop, the canary was about to sing.
“And I thought you would never ask, men I tell you, what took you so long?” Amanda laughed seeing Sofia’s expression.
Sofia decided looked at Amada as Sebastian was about to kiss her and smiled knowing she was going to paint a better world for him. Amanda and everyone joined in the celebration as the two kept their guests entertained by their cat and dog fight, lover’s quarrel, the funniest thing one could ever come across. It was indeed a start of an interesting journey when the blue Moon finally kissed the dark Night.
‘’The blue moon in its glory,
Hidden behind the night’s veil of fury,
Stood waiting for its time,
To light the twin heavens,
Merging blue water with dark night.’’
Dear Sebastian once you had asked me why I had fallen in love with the blue moon? I had thought about it quite often and I came to this conclusion that the blue moon was a rare sight to my sour eyes. Something which tied me to this world, what else is there to keep me believing that this world is beautiful? Only the blue moon has the answers to my maladies, to my restlessness and my chaos. These lines by you have kept my faith unmoved all these years. You must me wondering that why I wrote a letter of this length to tell you about the blue moon, I want you to read this tale that I am going to tell you, read it with your heart and then you shall get your answer.
Once there was a toad that lived in the mushy farmlands of a farmer in Paris. His best friend, a caterpillar was his only eyes through which he saw the world outside. On learning that the world was going to end some day, the toad decided to travel the various lands before he died. Biding goodbye to his friend, the toad left for new adventures. The cater pillar made a point that he wrote to his friend everyday sharing his experiences as he was scared of leaving his cosy home in the trees. But as fate would have it, things began to change around the garden of the farmer. Seasons changed and the farmer uprooted the older trees to plant new ones which could bear more delicious fruits.
The caterpillar was forced to leave his home and travel like a wandered on the grasslands fearing every now and then that he was going to die. When the sun bid adieu, the caterpillar being tired of his journey rested under the shade of a tree, very soon he spotted a toad standing at a distance staring at the blue moon in the sky. He was constantly staring and singing songs of love, unmoved by the world’s mysteries for his beloved. The caterpillar thought that he was his friend Mr toad; jumping in joy he scaled towards him only to realize that he was some other toad.
Curious to know his story, he asked why he was staring at the moon. The toad replied that he had fallen in love with the blue moon as it was bright blue and shining with love. He was sure that the blue moon also loved him and to unite with his lover he had to be also blue in colour. The caterpillar got confused and wondered how he would be able to do that. The toad begged him to assist him in his quest. Expecting something exciting would happen, the caterpillar agreed and together they hopped to the farmer’s house. The farmer too engrossed in his lose didn’t notice them entering through the window. The new plants had not bore the fruits he had expected for which he had uprooted the older ones and now he had nothing left with him.
The toad showed an opened bottle of blue ink to the caterpillar and explained his plan. He was sure that once he would dip himself in the ink, he would turn blue and unite with his blue moon the next night. So he dipped himself in the ink bottle the whole night and chatted with the caterpillar, who obviously was regretting making that hasty decision; while listening to the toad’s song, he was soon fast asleep.
The birds chirped the next morning waking the world once again.
The farmer woke up with a hope to plant his older uprooted trees to see if they were still alive but the new ones had started flowering, he thanked the lord and plated the older ones too. The caterpillar opened his eyes and to his amusement he saw that the toad had came out of the bottle and was in fact red in colour. He hadn’t realized that the ink was red and now he was red from top to bottom, so red that which was his face and which was his bottom was hard to locate. Cursing the passion of love, the toad walked away with a chameleon when he realized the red colour would never go away and if he left the opportunity he won’t get a chameleon also in the end. The caterpillar laughed hysterically at the silliness of the toad and left for his new home. He wrote back to his friend Mr Toad telling him about his adventure and pleading him not to fall in love with him when he returned as he had transformed into a blue butterfly. In the end every night the blue moon remained where it was and like a faithful lover shined brightly for his beloved night.
You see now Sebastian like the toad and the farmer you are making a hasty decision to leave Paris because Rose died on you. But see the caterpillar who took a risk and went outside his comfort zone, he had learnt the biggest lesson of his life, he learned to take life as it came and to have faith that something unexpected would happen soon and like the blue moon to be always passionately in love with the sky.
Love is something which none of us can understand or everyone can, but sometimes we should free ourselves from the burden of experiencing pain in love because only love can free our soul, only through love can we attain wisdom and become a better human.
Think about what I said and be that blue moon my child. Whatever maybe your decision, I shall always love you.
Love, your grandmother
Amanda Jones.
P.S: I am certain that now you would to let go of your pain if you had truly loved Rose ever.
Sebastian looked at the one way ticket to London in his hand and tore it into pieces. Sighing deeply at what he had read he folded his grandmother’s letter gently and preserved it in his memory. His grandmother was a woman of values who had lived her life to the fullest with 20 children and 50 grandchildren. Sebastian loved the way she said such meaningful things with such ease. He had to let go of Rose, it almost had been a year since she had died in a train accident in Paris. Sebastian, a travel reporter by profession had married his childhood sweetheart Rose after they had graduated; they had a beautiful six year old daughter named Mary and two years old son named Tyler. They were happy till Rose was gone from their lives, it was so weird that at one moment one breathes and the next moment one is lying motionless, as if the heart forgets to pump life’s body and the soul goes in deep sleep. He had only one thing to do now, to focus on bringing up the kids, even though he missed Rose, he would have to let go of the pain and remember their beautiful time together.
…………………………………….
Mary was standing at the entrance of Paris Museum of Art and Culture observing the round glass gate opening and closing at the same time, and his little brother Tyler believing it to be a merry go round entertaining the guests who had come in for the painting exhibition of artist Sofia Anderson. Sebastian wasn’t interested to join in the commotion of people showing off about art when they hardly knew what the real essence of a painting was, always considering it as a product of the elite and fashionable but never a meaningful inspired art. While his friend Peter kept pulling him to talk to the known celebrity faces to get clients for his travel agency, he detested them, he was a travel reporter for God sake, and he had no business in such a place.
Putting his children in the care of his grandmother, Sebastian left for the central gallery to have a look at the paintings at the request of Peter who claimed it could change his life and his entire perspective about things if he looked at them for once.
Sebastian browsed through the exhibits carefully, first lightly then seriously, each painting forwarding a unique thought, a dream like sequence where he could feel his spirit was floating away to unknown lands. He could feel the strength of the universe which cleverly weaved each subject to one another; the universe was God’s master piece indeed. How love overpowered every sensible idea and unbridled the chained desires to reach the climax of love.
“Anything you liked, I have been observing you for quite some time, and your expression tells me I have succeeded in showing you what I saw myself”
Sebastian turned and saw Sofia calmly addressing his awe and surprise.
“Hi, yes I was really speechless at the depths of these paintings; it’s amazing how you have brought such complicated truths on a canvas. In fact I was quite taken aback.”
“Oh really, well that is then indeed a pointer for me, next time I’ll blow your mind away” she laughed saying so.
Mary came running towards Sebastian complaining that Tyler was trying to eat the painting of an apple. Sofia laughed at their innocence; children could be so full of life, she always wished she could see the world as they did; it was a different perspective all together.
“You have adorable children; hope you had enjoyed your stay, goodbye.”
Mary waved goodbye heartily as Sebastian took his leave and accompanied Peter to his office.
Later that night Sebastian bought some of Sofia’s paintings, especially the one which portrayed the climax of love.
Passion made us not a slave to our life but a soul full of hope to be able to add some colours to our dull existence. Sebastian hadn’t touched his camera for a very long time, photography was his passion and Rose his love. He looked at some of the photos of Rose with him and the children when they were just born; a whimsical photo of his grandmother, Peter washing his dog while he ran after the neighbours cat and all the beautiful memories rushed in his blocked senses. He believed photos had the amazing quality to tell stories, magical stories which gave meaning to life. Holding his camera Sebastian set out towards the grand park to capture life once again on a colourful Sunday with his kids.
Sofia had received a message from Sebastian a month back requesting to allow him to photograph her for his portfolio about artists working in their studio around the city completely immersed in their passions. Sofia really liked people who believed in their creative capabilities, she had always felt only art could change the rigid ideas binding us.
This was the perfect way to let Sebastian get an idea about the artistic endeavours.
Sebastian was enjoying himself, his pent up rage was subsiding slowly as he worked towards his upcoming project totally immersed in the power of art. He had never felt like this before, so energetic and powerful while working with Sofia.
Sofia was working on her visual art project where she wanted to incorporate the power of senses on psychological development.
First it had sounded really difficult but eventually he understood the sheer brilliance of the concept. She had got a few elements representing the various senses like discarded light bulbs represented light. She had made Sebastian run all around the city with her to gather thousands of these light bulbs and stacked up in her studio.
Her studio was a broken down warehouse on the outskirts of the city which gave her the freedom to use the space without any troubles. Since it was huge she could use big section to incorporate the various art pieces. The exhibition was just about a month away.
She created a big circle with the light bulbs like the sun which was ignited at the edges portraying the depths of light and darkness.
The sense of sound was represented through a gramophone build out of a big church gong which she had bought from a scarp dockyard.
Sebastian had helped in the placement of the elements and organizing the exhibition. In such a short time they had become good friends.
The exhibition had been a success; everyone had praised Sofia’s keen observation and the entire town had come down to look at the exhibits. Sebastian had been able to meet other artists through Sofia in the past month and his portfolio was something to look at. It had been able to capture the small details of an idea forming the core of an artistic vision.
Sofia had showcased some of Sebastian’s works to her clients and it was liked by some advertising agencies.
It was time to celebrate their grand success and a positive association of creativity.
......................................
A week had passed after the grand exhibition, things were working well.
They were now working on a project for the Creative Art gallery where a photographer and a painter were amalgamating to celebrate the galleries motto of supporting creativity.
It had been a long day, after some hours of work they had sat together to have lunch in the open garden at the backyard of her home studio to chit chat about things going around them. To their amazement they had found they had very different tastes but were glued to the creative things. As evening slowly mellowed in, the blue moon rode to its thrown in the sky, making them feel enchanted. The wine had worked its magic; they were floating in their dreamy world, each trying to live their fantasy.
Sofia had never seen a man who thought so deeply about things, a sensitive man who loved his wife more than his life, who had such adorable children and who was a true lover. She had only loved one thing in life, painting; she had no idea what it meant to really fall in love. She was 25 years old, a grown up beautiful and intelligent artist who had travelled extensively, had seen various kinds of men, some wired, some power hungry, some mad and some sad but Sebastian was different, he wasn’t fake, what he was inside his eyes reflected the purity of his heart outside.
Sofia kept staring at him, he was fast asleep, the glass still in his hand, sitting on the chair, the moon’s light touching his innocent face. What a beautiful moment to capture in her canvas she thought. And not losing a moment she started working, she had to capture that innocence; she meticulously painted each movement, every thought, and every desire till she was exhausted and fast asleep.
She woke up the next morning feeling like shit and her head swinging like a yoyo from side to side, holding her head she got up from the floor of the balcony and made her way to the shower. When she was done having a strong lemon tea, she saw her painting, she had managed to capture Sebastian’s child like expression, the moon kissed glow, the silky hair, everything. She was ecstatic and she ran towards the balcony to wake up Sebastian and show him her master piece but he was gone. A little taken aback she looked for him everywhere only to find a note written in his hand lying on the table. It read,
Dear Sofia,
It has been a wonderful experience working with you. Travelling with you in your world and showing you mine. Only after meeting you I realized how much I had missed living life for the past one year. My Rose was the most humble soul that I had ever loved. She had completed me and she had given me the strength to carry on with my life alone. Her death had happened suddenly, I was not prepared for it, and I hadn’t thought she would just die, she was like this always surprising me with things, and she did that in her death too.
My world was shattered but I had my kids and life was going slow. Even though I was breathing I wasn’t doing justice to my little ones, they are what I have left of Rose now, and I cannot lose them as I lost her. Yesterday I was happy; I had seen a glow in your eyes, a friendly glow. I was touched at the way you were trying to help me leave my pain behind and walk forward, live each moment, you’re the reason I took to photography again. I cherish our friendship but last night I felt things started changing between us. I don’t know how to explain it but something’s should remain unexplained I guess. I love what you did with my face; I didn’t know I looked like an owl when I slept. Hope you could understand it.
Best Wishes,
Sebastian
Sofia sat on the floor a little confused, she thought love was a gift, but it was painful, she understood that now, but she didn’t cry, there was nothing to shed tears on, she had known and touched the depths of love. Love had many forms; Sebastian’s love was also like that. Though he knew that she had fallen for him, he had the dignity to accept it and reject it at the same time, men were strange, smiling at the thought of that she began painting again to see if she could reach that depth which she had felt before.
…………………………………….
A year had passed,
Sebastian had been travelling to various cities to work on his solo photography exhibition.
Sofia had just received an honorary award form the City Museum for her latest installation on ‘Silence’.
Life had never been better; initially they both had missed each others company.
Though Sofia never spoke about the effects of the letter with Sebastian, he always felt she was deeply saddened by his sudden dismissal of things which could have made them happy.
His constant travel kept his mind away form that night but she constantly struggled with it, and her paintings became darker and darker.
She understood what an emotion like ‘love’ could do to a person, either it changed them or consumed them.
But she was tough, she knew she needed to touch that depth of love to know love completely and her journey with emotions became intense and quite realistic.
She was a little nervous today, she was invited to Tyler’s birthday party by Amanda, she secretly wished Sebastian was there but at the same time dismissed and regretted her decision to go.
Sebastian too felt quite awkward, he was content about the fact that somewhere Sofia still remembered that night. When he had heard about her honorary award in an her interview, it took him sometime to hold realize that she was indeed in love with him, the paint that everyone talked so extensively about was his dishevelled body on that moonlit night.
The taxi halted in front of the restaurant in the alley, one which both of them loved to hang around in.
The kids sat in the restaurant waiting for Sofia to arrive and take them to see a movie. They were singing when Sebastian came running with gifts for both of them. It was Tyler’s birthday and everyone had come to celebrate it. Sofia came in with the clowns and magicians accompanying her, singing and dancing for the birthday boy.
Sebastian had remained aloof; he wasn’t ready still to accept life as it came. One look at Sofia and he knew something had happened; he wasn’t the old Sebastian anymore, but a more powerful person.
Amanda took a close look at both of them, each trying to avoid the other’s presence, it was saddening to see how people ran away from love believing they had all the time in the world to live and find it again. Love was a powerful portion which once consumed couldn’t let the consumer sleep in peace till it was had worked its magic and the lovers were united. She sighed in seeing both of them like that, each yearning for the other, each building harder walls around the beating heart.
She had to do something, life was too short for second chances, and they both deserved that.
She took hold of Sebastian arm and dragged him outside, the blue moon was partially visible from beneath the clouds, and it was too waiting to be united to his beloved night.
“My dear, child, why are so stubborn and blind? Don’t you see what I see? I don’t believe you don’t love Sofia, if you do love her it doesn’t mean you are betraying Rose. I think Rose too would have wanted you to take this chance, go tell her before I announce it to in front of everyone. ” she patted his back, kissed him and walked back towards the children.
Sebastian breathed in constantly arguing with himself about his reasons to not tell Sofia and at the same time tell her about his confusions, he hesitantly walked towards Sofia. He had been away for such a long time and he had no idea how she would react, but as Amanda said, he had to take this chance.
“Hi, long time”
“Yes, long time, I thought you must have been dead, but here you are, in front of me, giggling, I guess” she said in a sullen mood. This was going to be tough he thought.
“Ok, now that’s encouraging, a good start.” her look still passive at his remark.
“ I was thinking if you, I mean, if you were free to go have dinner with me, tomorrow or anytime next week” he started to walk away seeing her face drop, the canary was about to sing.
“And I thought you would never ask, men I tell you, what took you so long?” Amanda laughed seeing Sofia’s expression.
Sofia decided looked at Amada as Sebastian was about to kiss her and smiled knowing she was going to paint a better world for him. Amanda and everyone joined in the celebration as the two kept their guests entertained by their cat and dog fight, lover’s quarrel, the funniest thing one could ever come across. It was indeed a start of an interesting journey when the blue Moon finally kissed the dark Night.
Short Story 2015, Longlist Sudha Narsimhachar
The Unwanted Success
I knew this would change everything but as I stood there transfixed, I felt helpless.
I could not believe that something which I aspired for would ever happen in my life, because disappointments had always been the end result of my endeavors till that day. But when I really hoped that the end result should be negative, because a positive result at that juncture would ruin my life, God had blessed me with success! What an irony!
When I wrote that letter to Deepak, who had almost been erased from my memory last month, it was only out of sheer disgust and anger at the way my husband Rajat had behaved on our 25th wedding anniversary.
In fact, I had lost touch with Deepak, who was my first romance, immediately after my college. I was shocked to see him flirting with Sheela right in front of my eyes, though he had promised me moon and stars just a few months before that day. 'Infatuation' was what he called our relationship and I spent nearly a month of mourning for that heartbreaking episode. It took nearly three years for me to recover from that disappointment, though I never found it worthy of giving up my life! Later, I obeyed my parents and married Rajat. We led a pretty compatible life, with a few quarrels now and then, which, as all married couples claim, only strengthened our love. On the very first day, I had spoken to Rajat about Deepak and I was surprised when Rajat just brushed the matter aside and said, 'don't ever talk about the past. I am not bothered. I too had such crushes. How we live now is what matters to me. I expect total devotion from you, just as I have pledged to be totally devoted to this relationship. Let us make this marriage a successful one.'
Seema and Sahil made our lives meaningful and I had no time or occasion to ever remember Deepak or my romance, until Jeevan entered Seema's life and reminded me of my youth.
Just for the heck of it, I tried to find out through my college friends, as to what happened to Deepak after college. Agnes called me up the other day and told me that Deepak was in fact in the same city and had never married. Surprising! I got his contact number and spoke to him, after thirty years.
That was an emotional reunion and Deepak was almost choking.
'Why are you single yet Deepak? What happened to Sheela?'
'Sheela was just flirting with me, just as I flirted with you. The moment she found a better match, she ditched me. It was then that I realised that I in fact was in love with you. But by the time I decided to come back to you and express my love, you were married. I was disappointed and I never felt like settling with anybody else. I got busy with my career. I am happy this way.'
This kept bothering me. Had I been a bit too hasty in marrying Rajat? Of course Rajat is a good man, a good husband and a good father. But he was never romantic. I felt my marriage was just a successful contract and not a marriage of minds. I started remembering all our quarrels since that day and seeing all demerits of Rajat through a magnifying glass.
On that day I fell sick. I was down with severe cold and fever. Rajat abstained from his work, took care of the home and attended on me for three full days. I was stunned when he even held his hands when I suddenly threw up. The children were busy with their studies.
After that, I started recollecting all the days when Rajat was so supportive to me in all my activities of writing and social work. I was amazed as to how I had conveniently forgotten all that when I wrote to Deepak. Rajat explained one night as to what true love was.
'I don't believe in expressing words of love. I believe that love is something which can only be felt and shown by deeds and concern. Of what use is empty romance? A good family is one in which love is nurtured through the concern that the members show for each other.'
What a maturity! Just as we both were discussing about Seema's love and her marriage on that day, entered Deepak with a red rose in his hand. He was taken aback to see Rajat there, because it was a working day and he had expected me to be alone.
I knew this would change everything but as I stood there transfixed, I felt helpless.
I knew this would change everything but as I stood there transfixed, I felt helpless.
I could not believe that something which I aspired for would ever happen in my life, because disappointments had always been the end result of my endeavors till that day. But when I really hoped that the end result should be negative, because a positive result at that juncture would ruin my life, God had blessed me with success! What an irony!
When I wrote that letter to Deepak, who had almost been erased from my memory last month, it was only out of sheer disgust and anger at the way my husband Rajat had behaved on our 25th wedding anniversary.
In fact, I had lost touch with Deepak, who was my first romance, immediately after my college. I was shocked to see him flirting with Sheela right in front of my eyes, though he had promised me moon and stars just a few months before that day. 'Infatuation' was what he called our relationship and I spent nearly a month of mourning for that heartbreaking episode. It took nearly three years for me to recover from that disappointment, though I never found it worthy of giving up my life! Later, I obeyed my parents and married Rajat. We led a pretty compatible life, with a few quarrels now and then, which, as all married couples claim, only strengthened our love. On the very first day, I had spoken to Rajat about Deepak and I was surprised when Rajat just brushed the matter aside and said, 'don't ever talk about the past. I am not bothered. I too had such crushes. How we live now is what matters to me. I expect total devotion from you, just as I have pledged to be totally devoted to this relationship. Let us make this marriage a successful one.'
Seema and Sahil made our lives meaningful and I had no time or occasion to ever remember Deepak or my romance, until Jeevan entered Seema's life and reminded me of my youth.
Just for the heck of it, I tried to find out through my college friends, as to what happened to Deepak after college. Agnes called me up the other day and told me that Deepak was in fact in the same city and had never married. Surprising! I got his contact number and spoke to him, after thirty years.
That was an emotional reunion and Deepak was almost choking.
'Why are you single yet Deepak? What happened to Sheela?'
'Sheela was just flirting with me, just as I flirted with you. The moment she found a better match, she ditched me. It was then that I realised that I in fact was in love with you. But by the time I decided to come back to you and express my love, you were married. I was disappointed and I never felt like settling with anybody else. I got busy with my career. I am happy this way.'
This kept bothering me. Had I been a bit too hasty in marrying Rajat? Of course Rajat is a good man, a good husband and a good father. But he was never romantic. I felt my marriage was just a successful contract and not a marriage of minds. I started remembering all our quarrels since that day and seeing all demerits of Rajat through a magnifying glass.
My children and friends were demanding a grand party for our
25th Wedding Anniversary and when I broached the topic with Rajat, he
said, 'You know I do not like such farcical celebrations. Have we ever
celebrated birthdays or wedding anniversaries? What is so different
now? If you want to treat your friends, you can call them home any
time. Have I objected? But, I will definitely not agree for a formal
celebration.'
My children and I tried to convince him but he would not budge. We exchanged a spate of angry expressions and the tongues started getting sharper and sharper. At a point, Rajat got really enraged and slapped me and walked out of the house. I spent hours crying my heart out. My children tried to console me but they could not. All my hidden feelings surfaced and I started repenting for not waiting for Deepak. I thought why I should be wasting my life, serving Rajat's family, when he has no concern for me. I did not want to waste the rest of my life. At least I could give my company to Deepak, who was sincerely waiting for me all these years. So, I quickly booted the computer and shot a mail to Deepak, pouring my heart out. I expressed my love for him and wrote that I had decided to quit the marriage and go with him. Everything happened in seconds and I pressed the button, 'send', without even revising my mail.
Rajat returned at night. We never spoke to each other for a week. Then Rajat slowly started making up. He lovingly made me understand why he did not like such empty celebrations. Though I never got convinced, I could not now show the same anger as I did on that day. Strange! As the house started getting back to normalcy and my children were enjoying the company of both me and Rajat, I started thinking, whether I did a foolish thing by writing that letter to Deepak. I only wished Deepak ignored the mail or the mail did not reach him at all. I did not want to write to him again, as he had not responded and by writing again, I might be giving him hints, if he had not received my earlier mail!
My children and I tried to convince him but he would not budge. We exchanged a spate of angry expressions and the tongues started getting sharper and sharper. At a point, Rajat got really enraged and slapped me and walked out of the house. I spent hours crying my heart out. My children tried to console me but they could not. All my hidden feelings surfaced and I started repenting for not waiting for Deepak. I thought why I should be wasting my life, serving Rajat's family, when he has no concern for me. I did not want to waste the rest of my life. At least I could give my company to Deepak, who was sincerely waiting for me all these years. So, I quickly booted the computer and shot a mail to Deepak, pouring my heart out. I expressed my love for him and wrote that I had decided to quit the marriage and go with him. Everything happened in seconds and I pressed the button, 'send', without even revising my mail.
Rajat returned at night. We never spoke to each other for a week. Then Rajat slowly started making up. He lovingly made me understand why he did not like such empty celebrations. Though I never got convinced, I could not now show the same anger as I did on that day. Strange! As the house started getting back to normalcy and my children were enjoying the company of both me and Rajat, I started thinking, whether I did a foolish thing by writing that letter to Deepak. I only wished Deepak ignored the mail or the mail did not reach him at all. I did not want to write to him again, as he had not responded and by writing again, I might be giving him hints, if he had not received my earlier mail!
On that day I fell sick. I was down with severe cold and fever. Rajat abstained from his work, took care of the home and attended on me for three full days. I was stunned when he even held his hands when I suddenly threw up. The children were busy with their studies.
After that, I started recollecting all the days when Rajat was so supportive to me in all my activities of writing and social work. I was amazed as to how I had conveniently forgotten all that when I wrote to Deepak. Rajat explained one night as to what true love was.
'I don't believe in expressing words of love. I believe that love is something which can only be felt and shown by deeds and concern. Of what use is empty romance? A good family is one in which love is nurtured through the concern that the members show for each other.'
What a maturity! Just as we both were discussing about Seema's love and her marriage on that day, entered Deepak with a red rose in his hand. He was taken aback to see Rajat there, because it was a working day and he had expected me to be alone.
I knew this would change everything but as I stood there transfixed, I felt helpless.
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