Every morning, they find her in the hallway, with her luggage.
“My son is going to come to take me back home,” she tells the attendants at the old age home.
They smile knowing that Alzheimer had taken toll on her memory.
Her son had deserted her sometime back and never came back.
|
| - Vasu Gangapalli |
| |
She lingered for a
while. Her drooping shoulders, desolate eyes, sullen face were all of
no avail. Didn’t he need her at all? She had knocked on his door
twice... against her nature. Look at him – he was happy.
So, opportunity walked away. But who cared? |
| - Angelica Tara |
| |
Wrath Yatra
We watch the varying moods of rivers – almost human – in
the ceaseless cycle of the seasons: A narrow, slow, silvery streak
during the summer, a wide roaring, broad-bosomed spectacle during the
monsoons. He lives at the edge, and urges, “I can't support my family
without a flowing river. Please do not litter.” |
| - Bindu Saxena |
| |
She touched his cheek tenderly as Karthik smiled at her.
She had known him for 10 years but she still felt weak in the knees when she looked at him.
"Shikha! I need breakfast now!" her husband yelled.
Shikha returned the photo to its place, under her clothes.
"Coming! Eggs or Cereal?"
- Neha Malude |
| |
With her gun loaded, she now felt secured.
She had made up her mind, it was time for revenge.
Nimble footed, in a flash, she reached him and took him by surprise.
Before he could move a muscle, she pointed the gun at him and fired it forthwith.
She smiled with satisfaction shouting, “Happy Holi”.
|
| - Shashank Tiwari. |
| |
| The medical reports of
his ailing mother were delivered. When he read through, he had a smile
on his face. Her body was receiving the new medication pretty well.
They both were happy after a long time. He rushed outside. He returned
with a bouquet of white lilies and wished his mother, “Happy Mother’s
Day”. |
| - Salvwi Prasad |
| |
Sweat crawled down her neck,
just like the first kiss of raindrop. She had finally made it to the
Summit of the Echo Mountains. She had read about it… ‘The Eden of
earth’,’ Untouched by any man living’ and few myths.
“Hello anybody there?” She cried.
Her voice echoed but the words were “Yes, I am.” |
| - Amen Benjamin |
| |
Dervishes
Round and round goes the black carpenter ant, around
the wax candle; its flame flickering wildly in the whistling night
wind. I flick it away but it stubbornly returns and resumes its
ritual. A drop of hot wax drips curling the ant into eternal sleep. A
suicide bombing report in the newspaper below. |
| - Yesha Shah |
| |
Memoreel
Since the day he lost her in the dreadful fire accident, he has become aloof and lonely.
It is her birthday. In his dingy room, sitting on her
favourite rocking chair, with his faithful bottle on one side and an
old movie projector on the other, he dances his last waltz over and
over again. |
| Jayashree Maniyil |
| |
| Whenever he visited her,
he made her feel like a Princess. Escaping from the old age home,
dining together, long drive, clubbing; he took her wherever she wished
to go since her childhood, but could never go. He was not born to
her, but was a much better son than the one born to her. |
| - Shreya Naik |
| |
| And why is it that so
often you find yourself caught up in an eternal tango? Too tangled up
to have any power to do anything but dance on... Because taking a step
forward, might break it all... And there's no going back... Not
anymore..... |
| - Debdip Maitra |
| |
We play a little game every day, Maya and I.
I cook rice with sand, and make a dish of Tulsi leaves. I then call out to her.
She does not appear, until later in the evening, after I sleep.
But that is fine.
I can wait, until one of us forgets she is dead. |
| - Vidya Panicker |
| |
Like the past sixteen
days, every morning he’d leave me a small note. Sometimes, with just
the words ‘Dinner at nine tonight.’ or ‘Wear red today.’ which assured
me in some way that he’d return.
Today, the waiting had to stop. He had left me a huge stack of fresh and crisp currency notes. It was business, after all. |
| - Priyanka Dharamsi |
| |
| I handed over the keys of
the new bungalow to my mother and told her, ‘This is for you and with
this I have repaid the price of motherhood.’ It was then that the
quake came and the bungalow fell down to the ground like a pack of
cards. |
| - Arjun Mukherjee |
| |
"Is it too late to tell you that I love you?", he whispered to her sleeping form.
Seconds later, the heart machine beeped to life again.
|
| - Prachi Manchanda |
| |
| I asked her, “Are you
feeling better, love?” I could have sworn she sighed. “I’d like you to
leave me alone for some time”, she said as I replaced the jasmines
near her picture. She was livelier here than in her comatose decades
and had the same engagement ring on, the only unstolen thing of hers. |
| - Ceona Benjamin Salve |
| |
| Generations come,
generations go. Most of them spend their entire lives waiting for one
moment. The wait or the lack of it becomes a daily affair. For some,
it is a moment of victory; for others, a moment of indifference. There
aren't many experiences in life that are as incongruous as this-
validation from parents. |
| - Rafaa Dalvi |
| |
“Sis!”
The burqa-covered woman called softly.
The jeans-encased woman stopped.
The narrow corridor reeked of illness.
“Your hanky.”
A white slender hand came out of the black robe and pointed out the monogrammed pink hanky.
It was picked up promptly.
Both smiled and went away. |
| Sunil Sharma |
| |
| He cheated on her for
someone else the entire life. Today, when she decided to cheat him for
someone else, he couldnt even embrace death, for death was her secret
lover. |
| Ambika Prasad Mahapatra |
| |
| They say Angels were seen as being worthy to be carriers of love, but when it came about us, our demons did the honour. |
| - Divya Chauhan |
| |
Sonography
Identified: Female
Aborted
Murderers not arrested! |
| - Deepika Garg |
| |
| I wonder how you hide your bitterness in your mug of beer. I find the beer more bitter and spend my night awake. |
- Piyush Kumar.- Mother - Daughter by Dimple
Kaul
With
the patience of a saint, she spent sleepless nights catering to my infant needs,
carved me into adulthood through a nightmarish teenage. So why is it a surprise
that in the ripe years of her physical and emotional infirmity laced with
grouchiness, I, the daughter have become her mother?
- | | | |
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