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Showing posts from April, 2014


The minister entered the room, smiling. She was dressed elegantly for the press-meet. He smiled clumsily on seeing her, even as he adjusted the lens. There was too much light; he pulled back the curtains. There was a tiny flash of light. It was a good shot. He closed the window and disassembled the gun.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. Every weekend, we give out creative writing themes to rekindle the love of writing in all you creative writers.


Wordcount: 100
Genre: Fiction
    A dying father brought the brothers back in the same room on a smoky Diwali night. Vikram sat curled up in a corner, while Atul and his wife nervously fidgeted around on the sofa.     “Get up. Grab a guitar,” Vikram said suddenly. He started to play a tune and Atul joined in. Like old times. Before the fight.     Vikram looked at Atul’s wife. “I guess we are all just mortals… humans, no matter what we believe in. I was not very thoughtful before. I am sorry. Welcome to the family, Shazia.”     Shazia nodded in agreement, and wiped away a tear.

To anyone who is confused by the story, 'Vikram' and 'Atul' are Hindu names, while 'Shazia' is a Muslim one. Interfaith marriages are still not common in India.

This is a post for Friday Fictioneers A weekly picture-prompt for hundred word stories. This is my very first post for them. Hopefully I keep posting in the future. :)

Lights Out: Conversations Aboard the Last Train

It was past midnight, but the warm humid air felt suffocating and uneasy. Pranjal adjusted a bit, but the sweltering seat still did not offer any comfort. The stale air of the stationary train reeked of rusting iron and rotting fish.     The train was not very crowded; it was the last train of an underused route on an off-season day. There was just a single person in the compartment besides him. The man, in his mid-twenties and a specimen of perfect human health, was dressed in baggy jeans and a short worn-out green t-shirt that showed off his muscular arms. The man noticed Pranjal looking at him, and jerked his head back in a typical Indian 'hey-dude-what's-up' way.     "Where to?" he asked.     "The last station. You?" replied Pranjal.     "Same here. Alok"     "Pranjal"     The train whistled one last time and started to trudge like a giant beast awoken from a deep slumber. A cool fresh breeze flowed into the compartment and …

Sorry for Convention Rocking

As the curtain opened, the punk band receded into a collective stupor. The curious crowd was decades older than they had anticipated. Their first big gig, and a bigger miscommunication. Sayantani kept her guitar away, looked up at the lights, prayed and signalled the drummer for a slow beat. She crooned, “Tum ko dekha...”. Saved!

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda. Every weekend, we give out creative writing prompts to rekindle the love of writing in all you creative writers.

Dreaming of Her

"Every time?"
    "Every freaking time!"
    "And are you sure you don't want to see her in your dreams ever again?"
    "I mean.. Yea. I mean. Not never. She could come on weekends or something. I don't know."
    "You know that dreams don't work like that, don't you?"
    "Yes... I know," he said. "Why are you smiling like that?"
    "This is the first time you've opened up like this."
He twisted on the couch to face the doctor.     "Doesn't mean you've won over me or something, eh, doc? I just need to get back in the game. Need to find some action. It's been too long. I can't always keep dreaming of her like she'll come back."
    "You think it's been long enough?"
    "I guess. Yea."
The doctor fiddles with his pen. "What if I told you that there's a way you could get over her? That there's a way you'd forge…

How not to meet your girlfriend's parents

"So how did it go?"
    "Why yaar? Your dad started with his war stories again?"
    "I wish!"
    "Vinay did something stupid, isn't it?"
    "Yea... Well... Kinda."
    "What happened?"
    "Well... You know how nervous Vinay was about meeting my dad, right?"
    "Un.. Hunh.. Yea."
    "Well... He was sweating even before he got here. So when he reached, he went for the faucet in our back garden to wash his face."
    "And... it was a trap."
    "Your father knew he was coming?"
    "No. I mean an actual real-waala trap. Dad set it up for the vermin. Vinay got his toe stuck in the trap."
    "And then?"
    "And then what? Vinay started screaming and yelping. And you know my dad... He got his pistol out. When Vinay saw the pistol, he started wailing on the ground like we were the Al Qaeda or som…

A Tale of Sorcery

“Jay loved magic. So, when he got the tickets to the magic show, I couldn’t refuse. He was so excited about it.
    "Sleight of hand, optical illusion, visual trickery — call it whatever you want — Jay loved it. He even made my engagement ring materialise when he proposed.  I was never so interested, but I thought it was a good pastime for him.     “He had never heard of Zangora before, which was surprising, because he would follow magic with such gusto. He found out about the show through a gaudy flyer he saw at the bus station. The flyer announced the ‘greatest magician the world has ever seen’ in bright golden letters over a picture of a caped man enigmatically covering his face with the brim of his top hat. Jay figured it was a new magician trying to make his mark. He bought two front-row tickets to the show anyway. Our town did not host many magic shows.     “We reached the venue a few minutes late. The amphitheatre was bustling with people. There were muffled sounds of…