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Short Stories

Short Stories

The boy who dared to dream!

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All those wasted hopes are now all that’s left to hold on to!

 

“Dreams are for losers” stated the boy’s father in his very unique uncharacteristic manner. “What a lackluster he is” he murmured underneath his breath. SOCIETY has no place for losers! something that has been deemed into him since his gullible days. Extravaganzas like books or dreams were never meant for a prejudice soul like his. The only bit of passion he ever tasted are still clenched to those bookstore’s windows he spent countless hours looking at. one thing he is quiet definite about is that they hold some kind of majestic beauty that attracts all these contrasting personalities together. One thing his father was never short of was money, still why couldn’t he afford all these you ask?, well the answer is rather simple than you think, its because of his incorrigible attitude of course.

He tried to argue once “What’s the difference between a man a machine then dad?” crying out perilously. Enraged by his sons outcry he said “Is this how you speak to your father you inconsiderate fool!” “Is this why I spent hundreds and thousands of hard earned cash on you!”. Then he added more of his scuffing underwhelming words “Young man! dreams don’t get you warm food on the table or those cozy bed sheets where you lay your enormous carcass on.” Those hard stricken words shattered every bit of dream he ever dreamed off. Sobbing softly he left his father’s study filled with honors one can only dreamed off.

“Wealth and passion destroys a man!” a tradition his family loomed over for years now. Sitting in his coveted brandy shaded bedroom, he thought of his self-contaminating fate. His petition to dream was declined , sigh!. It’s not like he never got to read. The only bit of literature his subtle mind ever tasted are still captivated inside his now deceased text books. “There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve it’s the fear of failure”- Paulo Coelho. This quote! no one quiet understood how well his life allied to it. Now he just lays blankly in front of his delusive window panels and dreams a passion…………..

 

That someday he will be known as the boy dared to dream!

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Short Stories

That Boy In The Vest!

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*THE BOY IN VEST*

I was on a trip with my cousins to Kotdwara, Uttarakhand. The houses were constructed in traditional ways. There was a tap outside our cottage, which was devoid of the running water. It was January. We were just finishing off with the climax scene of the movie, and half of us already dozed off. About an hour later, I too started feeling drowsy and relaxed my legs under the warm cosy quilt, and fell asleep thinking about the summer of the plains. When the fresh green leaflets sacrifice their youth to the burning heat and turn brown, trees, heavily laden with summer’s full bloom of leaves seemed to be hanging their heads, no breeze to disturb the sun’s relentless, burning attack.
When the perspiration beaded one’s forehead and ran in rivelets down one’s face, even when one is standing still. When the ice -cream turns into flavoured liquid within seconds. That are the summers of my place.
I was busy dreaming about it when my dream was ruptured by the splashing sound of water which was coming from outside. I went to the window and opened it and saw a little, extremely fair-skinned boy of about 7-8 years, who was in his white vest and shorts. He was busy splashing water and was playing with the water which was running through the tap, situated outside.
I was still in my dizzy state.

“Hey boy!” What are you upto? Why are you playing with water in the middle of this icy night.”

 

The little boy looked at me, muttered some incomprehensible words and ran down the lane and disappeared, in the darkness of that chilled foggy night. After few seconds, when I came back to my consciousness, all I could feel on my tender fragile skin was freezing cold air. It was dark ,mystifying and the moon was sheltered by the murky looming clouds. I could smell the coldness that was penetrating through my blocked nose. I brought my hands closer and started rubbing them to generate the heat flow on my exposed skin. The shivery fog was stabbing through my sweater. Every surface, every blade, of grass and twig were growing like long ice crystals.

Then what was that little boy doing here in the midnight, splashing and playing with the icy cold water at the mid of December night, in the hills, and wearing only a vest and a pair of shorts.Doesn’t he feel the cold? Was it a living child or was it a spirit

I experienced a fit of goosebumps! The sound of silence around me was chilling and frighting in every possible way. I stood there frozen under the mid-night moon, fighting with the uncontrollable gush of questions, regarding the existence of THAT BOY IN THE VEST.

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Short Stories

A TRAGIC INCIDENT – 24 MAY 2014

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Her long twirls of hair, tumbled over her shoulder. Her dark yet thin eyebrows had a rising arch. Her beautiful wide forehead always had her flicks falling over. Her hazel eyes that usually sparkled with bliss, turned out sometimes, red underneath, out of fury. Her chalky pink lips, curled upwardly. She had small cluster of broken veins over her high cheek bones, which added a blush… Her clear and fair complexion was as fresh as a raindrop. Her small squinting eyes, her beaked nose, flattened slightly when she smiled. Curls fell on her dimpled cheeks and hung around her slightly jutting ears. Her face with silent features and lack of cosmetics, used to glisten with sweat. Everyday, she seemed to be fresh as new untouched green leaf personified.
This was ritu… the crush of my teenage. She was not materialistic and qualified yet dignified and inebriating.
It had been six years, today I shall meet her.
” Ritu.. Open the door..see it’s me Vivaan!!”
Then a girl completely wrapped up in a shawl came and asked,”Who is it there..?”, in a steady, lifeless voice.
” Ritu? Hey it’s me, you don’t recognise me or what? And , why have you covered yourself? “, I said and simply gave a jerk to her stole, which concealed her face..
What I saw was breathtaking!!!! There was no trace of ‘Ritu’ in that face!! There was a totally devastated face…
Her face had a layer of unevenly thick, flesh which had shades of brown clustered veins which covered her forehead skin, and had no traces of eyebrows at all. Her nose was packed under by a tightly stretched skin which had up and down horizontal impressions. Her eyelashes had vanished, nearly making her one-eyed. Her nose, was covered by tightly stretched light textured skin and it had clusters of flesh which were protruding out from several portions of her face. Her lips, had lost the curl and the elasticity. Her neck, had a texture of tightly carved stagnant unclear ripples of burnt flesh, somewhere rising and somewhere dissolving.
She suffered an acid attack, on 24-May-2014!!! Her father passed away meanwhile… and she lost her mother in her early childhood. Now she has devoted herself by working as a cook in a nearby restaurant, so as to collect capital for herself for her surgeries….for her treatment!
I stood there horrified and scandalised, unable to accept the reality and her burnt lips smiled, depicting the revolting flame , of surviving in this ruthless world, inside her.

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Short Stories

It was SHE,an angel!

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A little girl of about four years of age,entered the hospital along with her grandparents. They were looking tensed. That lovable, sweet girl was holding a doll in little hands, as soon as she saw her father, she ran towards him and concealed herself in the strong arms.
“Don’t worry Karan( father of little girl), Nima will be completely fine, don’t worry my son!”, said Karan’ s father. There was no loud sound in the hospital, yet everyone was moving and not talking. Karan walked back and forth, by the door of the I.C.U. He was constantly answering the calls from his cell- phone. Scratching his head, he was repeating the same bunch of words again and again. This recapitulation, was acting as a catalyst to his nervousness.
In the private ward ,near the operation Theatre, the atmosphere was completely different. The air had a perfumed scent. Every surface was dustless. The nurses were unhurried and they moved with a serene purposefulness from room to room… Their peacefulness, may be because it wasn’t there agony.
Anxiously, Karan was trying to communicate with the nurses coming out of the O.T and was asking about the condition of his wife, but the nurse, ignoring his question, handed him a list of medicines.
After a while, Karan, came back with a poly- bag of medicines, and requestioned, ” Sister…! Please tell me, how is Nima now?”

“Sir! Let the Doctor come, he will explain you everything…! Till then you wait in the waiting room.”, and she banged off the door.
The murky atmosphere was making his parents nervous too…as they were looking at the little chubby girl, who was lost in her own world of dolls.
Karan’s parents proceeded to the waiting room,holding the hand of their little girl. Her doll dropped…. A woman with long hair, picked up the doll and extended her hand to give the doll with a smile….. The little baby smiled too…but she was grabbed by her grandmother. “Don’t touch her…!!”, she said and took the little girl to opposite of the seating set-up. That woman was wearing a saree…but she had a trace of masculinity… Yes…she was an EUNUCH!
The waiting room had a replication of the seating arrangement on the other side, and were whispering abhorrently about the eunuch, which was sitting in the front row all alone.. Karan was busy talking over the phone and without noticing his surroundings, he sat in the row where the eunuch was sitting…
His mother gave him a repugnant gesture, and Karan got up from the seat as soon as he could, when he saw the person sitting right next to him. She was being realized that she was as alien amongst them, lacerated deeply, she absorbed everything.
” Doctor! Doctor! How is Nima now…”, asked Karan distraughtly.
” You? Are you Mr. Karan?”
” Yes! Doctor “, said Karan.

” No need to worry! She is out of danger now… But the conditions wouldn’t have been under control, if there was a little more delay. Thanks, to Laxmi(eunuch)!! Nima, was bleeding profusely, Laxmi brought her on the right time.
Karan and his family were shamefaced and guilt-ridden. Laxmi,stepped forward, held Karan’s fist and gave him a pendant of his wife….
“Stay Blessed…”, she said, and proceeded to the exit door of the hospital.

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Short Stories

Homecoming

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A MONTH BACK:-

It was all good and happening. We were all enjoying our favourite movie after dinner. The main door firmly locked, just in case if a thief would try to rob our house despite Ramsingh guarding our apartment every night. We’d rarely sit like this, the whole family, four of us together. Paa’s working hours used to change regularly and Maa’s kitty parties and parlour business kept her busy all day long. So it was always the two of us, my brother and me, who got along as something you can call a family. By the end of the movie, we had my favourite ice cream and then at around 12:30, we went to sleep. It was hard for me to understand if I was dreaming or if it was real when Maa shook me hard to wake me up, because my brother, aged 26 was suffering from severe chest pain. We went quickly to the nearest hospital but to no avail, my brother passed away in the ambulance because of a heart attack.

To my parents, they had lost someone they’d have reached out to as their first support when they’d have grown old and to me, I had lost someone whom I had always looked up to.

Even as he laid on his deathbed, he looked as handsome as ever, bright as the sun with a beaming smile for which all girls could fall easily.
TONIGHT:-

The three of us sit together. I feel as if one leg of a firm, beautiful armchair has been cut off and the armchair is asked to stand normal. The main door is locked as usual. Maa is sitting with old albums, showing Paa each and every picture of Bhai. Spring is approaching and strong winds are blowing outside, bidding farewell to winter. Winds so strong that they occasionally shake the doors of our balconies and seldom give a mild tremor to our main door as if all those winds want to rush inside our home.

Irritated by this constant disturbance, my mom asks to shut all the doors tightly to which I wonder, what if this is him?
What if this is Bhai, trying to get inside our home again and this is just his own way of homecoming?

-Purvang J.

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