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Uncategorized

The good wife

Just came across a very interesting creative writing initiative by Auset. She gives a prompt for each day, and you have 10 minutes to write about it. And write anything 🙂

So, Writing Prompt #1: Opening Line

Her mother always said she would make a good wife.

My take – as always, a 55-er, as that is the easiest way out 😉

———

‘Her mother always said she would make a good wife.
She was pretty, docile and had no bad habits. Atleast, no boys!
Years passed. Prince Charming hadn’t arrived.
Finally. ‘Mum, I’m getting married. I love Sam’
’Sam who?’ Mum asked excitedly.
‘Samantha’
‘What? You can’t!!’
‘But Mum, you always said I’d make a good wife!!!’’

Categories
Thought and Reason Wordless Wed

Fair or not?

I started this post as a lazy Wordless Wednesday but simply couldn’t NOT write a couple of lines about it!

Do take a look at the picture below ….

Is this fair?

And we don’t spare even London!

 

What is with our Indian mindset that ‘fair’ people are automatically considered ‘good looking’? Why this obsession with fair skin?! I have never understood this!

I know of so many girls/boys who are praised for their ‘beauty’ ONLY because of their skin colour (I say that because they utterly lack other features!). Just the same, I know some people, who are truly beautiful, but are not considered so simply because they have dark skin!

Why is someone with a ‘milky-white’ or ‘wheatish’ complexion considered to be a better human being than someone who is dusky or dark (worse!!)?

Why is a fair-skinned person rated higher on the matrimonial scale than a dark-skinned person??!!!

Westerners go all our to get a ‘tan’ and we layer ourselves with skin-lightening creams!

On my last trip to Chennai, a nice elderly gentleman mentioned that he was trying to find a groom for his daughter. His exact words were ‘She is very fair and good-looking, like your relative xyz’. I was amazed at his simplicity, naivete and crudeness all rolled into one. I don’t blame him. That is simply, a part of our culture! We are ignorant enough to assume that someone who is fair is indeed more beautiful than someone who is dark!!

I wished him well. And also wished his daughter had more to her than just fair skin! Like perhaps some inconsequential things like confidence, education, capability, etc.

I met someone the other day, who said something at the opposite end of the spectrum, but that was, in essence the same! This acquaintance casually mentioned a distant cousin who was an extremely intelligent and wonderful person, but was unable to find a bride because he was ‘extremely dark’. Well, what can I say! Had this been the ‘2000 pounds’ scene from ZNMD, I would have just laughed! But this is real.

We just seem to be obsessed with skin colour! Something makes us believe that being fair is an achievement in itself!! There is some underlying factor that makes us proud of our light (read: ‘superior’) skin-colour? I would really like to know what it is.

Is this ‘fair skin’ purely an Indian obsession? Or is this rampant world-wide?

Please, do share what you think!!

Categories
Friday Frolic

Friday Fun

Just saw this post on someone’s FB page:

Every Women is a Rani Lakshmi bai

Every Women is a Rani Lakshmi bai

Rani Before wedding

Lakshmi duing wedding

Bai after wedding

Hee hawwww 😆 🙄 😆

Happy Friday, folks! And happy long weekend (wherever applicable :-))

(PS: My apologies for not being regular at my blog or at yours!!! Will be back soon!!)

Categories
55-er Short story Thought and Reason

A cup of tea – a set of 55-ers – fiction

KING This post is published as an entry for the KING AND QUEEN OF 55F CONTEST – The first ever unique, challenge for the coveted title in micro fiction category. To catch the crowning moments and also be part of future editions and other contests, visit and register at Cafe GingerChai

Rules of the contest:

  • You have to write a set of three 55F.
  • The first two sets should be a story on its own.
  • The  two stories should  climax / conclude / inter-twine in the third set of 55F.
  • The story could be of any genre i.e, love, crime, mystery or thriller etc.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..


He lay sprawled in usual drunken stupor. She stared unseeingly at the tea boiling in the pan. Fifteen years of abuse flashed before her. Last night however, he had stooped too low.

‘Bloody pimp’, she swore, but smiled harshly.

She did not need him anymore! A cup of tea (and some poison, perhaps) would suffice.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….


pic courtesy: evanatasha00 dot blogspot dot com

Sunlight momentarily blinded her. She picked up her torn dupatta, wound it tightly around her bruised shoulders, and entered Amma’s kitchen.

Their eyes met. Cold, vacant, almost chilling.

The young girl lowered her gaze. Ashamed.

‘Go now. Wash yourself. Come fresh and clean, for tea’

‘Clean? I’ll never be clean again…’ hot tears rolled, unrestrained.

…………………………………………………………………………………………..


Laila scrubbed herself until her skin burned.

Beauty!’, father’s ‘friend’ had grunted as he ravaged her last night.

Amma had been livid. Until, she had seen the money.

Drink!!!

Trembling, Laila brought the scalding tea to her lips.

A bitter smile. A quick flick of the wrist.

Splash!’

The cup of tea had indeed sufficed!

Pic courtesy: Dailymail dot co dot uk

…………………………………………………………………………………………..

Categories
Humour Incidents MommySpeak

Little Boys and Littler Girls

Once upon a time (to be more specific, this evening!), a little boy and a slightly littler girl were waiting for their respective parents to finish their work at photo studio.

The two kids started trying to communicate with each other. This is how.
Boy: Leans back on wall, hands tucked into pockets, stares at girl
Girl: Fiddles with her little Dupatta, smiles shyly at the boy
.
In a few minutes, Boy becomes bolder, walks upto Girl. Girl smiles, touches him on cheek. Boy did not expect this, hurries to hide behind his Mommy.
.
Boy asks (booming voice): ‘Why is she touching me?’
Mummy (embarassed): ‘No she isn’t touching you!’
.
Boy: ‘Oh yes, she IS. Why is she doing it?
Mummy (exasperated): ‘Er, because she thinks you are her friend’
.
Boy (does not look very convinced): ‘Is it because I am a Handsome Boy?’
Mummy: (Searches for place to hide her face)
.
A few minutes later, Girl prepares to leave with her dad. Turns back to give that final look, before she walks out through that door!
.
Boy (looking sad) – Turns to Mummy and asks: ‘Where is she going?’
Mummy (with a sigh of relief): ‘She’s going home’
.
Boy (looking perplexed): ‘But, Is she not going to marry me????’
Mummy: Aaaaaarrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!
.
………And to think the Boy is not even 4 years old !!!! Sigh!!!!!!!! ………
.
.
.
EDITED TO ADD (2-Sep-10):
.
This morning….
.
Mummy (asks teasingly): The girl didn’t marry you, huh?
Boy (rewinds to last night): Hmmm, no, she didn’t!
.

Mummy (being mean): Why???
Boy (unflinching): She changed her mind! She thought I was a rose-bush!!!
.
Mummy (explains patiently): ‘You can marry ONLY when you are 30 and not 4, GOT IT?????’
Blushing Boy: Nods, smiles, and casually mentions Princess Jasmine!!!
??!!!!*****@@///!!!!%%%@@@??!!!!!!!!!!!
Categories
Poem

Lie, sound, colour, number, etc. [a light exercise] from Caferati

I came across this delightful writing exercise on Caferati, on the Ryze network. Pushpee has written a lovely poem  on her blog here and it was so interesting that I took it up too.

These are the guidelines:

Lie, sound, colour, number, etc. [a light exercise]

Line 1 – Write down something that happened this morning. But make it an out and out downright lie.
Line 2 – In the spirit of 1 – write a sentence with a sound in it.
Line 3 – Write a sentence with a colour in it.
Line 4 – Write a sentence with a number in it.
Line 5 – Write a sentence with a character from a book in it
Line 6 – Write a sentence with an animal in it.
Line 7 – Write a sentence with an emotion in it.
Line 8 – Write a sentence to do with the past, present or future.

You might want to go away, write it, cut and paste it. But write it quickly! Go for the first things that come into your head. But by all means do a little work on the finished result. The result may not be great poetry – but hey, it should be fun.

And this is what came out of it:

Just after his favourite breakfast, I killed him
Silence – is that the sound of the ‘seven-year itch’?!!
White walls splashed with red
Two bullets, the first had missed
He looked like the Ghost
And I, like a little rabbit, trapped
Afraid of what I had done
Unsure – of how I would use my new found freedom!!

 

Go on, all you budding writers and poets… give this exercise a shot!!

Hope your weekend is going on well 🙂

x

Categories
55-er Short story

Romance at the table (55-er)

Her gaze, to the floor. His, on her.

‘Pop’! Champagne.

‘What are we celebrating?’

‘Our seven-year-itch, honey’.

She shifts uneasily.

They plough through the four-course meal.

‘Burrrp’. She glares.

‘Sorry!’ he smiles, picking his nose.

The bill arrives. ‘ Crap!!!! 7000 bucks?’

She watches, aghast. And suddenly, laughs.

‘Happy Anniversary’. Hands him the yellowed divorce papers.

Categories
Short story

Lips unsealed (Short story)

Groups of ill-paid chauffeurs gossiped over a smoke. None of them paid attention to the car in the darkest corner. Nobody cared, really. It was just another car. Tinted glasses, fully rolled up.

From the rear seat came muffled sounds. Floundering hands, unsure of their next move. A young couple, in their early twenties. Half-children, half-adult. Clandestine visits to the local video store had resulted in them getting to watch several tapes that read ‘Tom and Jerry’ but which were more than just a cat vs. mouse tale. They had a vague idea of how lips were to be used. Lips that parted feverishly, lips that burned. Lips – old, but still amateur. It was no wonder, considering that ‘boys from good families’ would never dream of even looking at a woman, let alone kiss her!

As the boy finally moved to the driver’s seat, the girl whispered nervously ‘Are you sure?’

‘Don’t worry… they absolutely adore you!’, replied the boy, giving her a final kiss on her full lips. She smiled. They drove over to the old quarter of the city, where his family lived.

‘Our lord has finally arrived!’, a frail-looking woman taunted as he walked through the rusty iron gate, and splashed his face with cold water drawn from the well. He didn’t reply, but gave her a quick hug instead. ‘Hungry, Amma!’ he muttered. The girl joined her palms and bowed her bead, in a gesture of greeting. ‘Welcome home, dear daughter’, the older woman replied.

Dinner today was an extravagant affair. Different varieties of rice, dhal, coconut-garnished vegetables. A feast in honour of the girl who was to be daughter-in-law. Relatives of various shapes, sizes and age had been invited. They introduced themselves. She smiled, trying hard to remember their unfamiliar names. At dinner, he sat beside her, licking his lips as he relished his favourite dishes.

When he had gulped down the last sip of sweetened milk, it left a moustache of white cream. ‘Look at your future husband! Twenty-five years old and still such a child!’, they teased. She blushed. The evening regaled with laughter and fun! By the end of the evening, she actually relaxed a little, and enjoyed the teasing smiles and affectionate innuendoes from the older women of her future husband.

Soon, it was time for him to take her back home. ‘Girls coming from good families’ didn’t venture out this late at night, they emphasised.

They took a detour through an abandoned road. It suited them just fine. An hour later, he took her to her home. As she tossed about in her bed that night, unable to sleep with excitement, she ran her soft fingers over her cracked lips. She blushed, as her body tingled with excitement. She thanked her stars, that her mother, with eyes like a vulture, had not noticed anything unusual about her that evening.

Back in the car, the boy tuned in to his favourite radio station, and set the volume as loud as he could. He was so much in love. He was happy too, that his family had accepted the girl of his choice. Under normal circumstances, a boy of an upper-caste family marrying into a family that was not Brahmin, would have caused an outrage. Luckily for him, his parents accepted the girl without any visible animosity!

By the time he returned home, the lights were all out. Not wanting to wake up the sleeping family, he walked around the dusty path to the back door. He was surprised to notice an open window in one of the bedrooms. Silvery moonbeams cast long shadows, and carried out the soft sound of late-night whispers.

‘These women!’ he thought, and smiled to himself. ‘They seem so excited about my wedding! Chattering away at this late hour!!’ He discreetly edged towards the open window.

‘You are a fool!’, he heard an angry voice.

‘Hush!’ came the reply.

‘A bloody fool. Had I been in your place, I would have never allowed that lower-caste girl into the family!’

‘I am helpless’

‘Disgraceful! He wants to marry into those, whose impure names are never ever uttered by the same lips that chant our sacred texts!’

‘What to do? He just announced unceremoniously that he had DECIDED to marry this girl! We had no choice!’

‘Stupid woman. People of our caste do not allow untouchables into our house even! And here, we have that little vixen taking over our lives!’

He stared in disbelief. The evening had gone off so beautifully. They had all been so excited, and so happy. But behind all that, the unspoken truth was being unravelled.

He peeped into the window, and squinted until his eyes could see the shadows. A woman sat on a coir mat, her head in her palm, as if she had lost everything. In the light from the candle, her eyes seemed swollen, with crying. She covered her mouth with the edge of her crumpled cotton sari, as if she had lost everything, and had nothing left to say!

As he slowly recognized the shadow of his mother, his lips parted in shock. His mouth went dry. He desperately needed to get away. But he couldn’t move a step. He felt numb. A silent tear rolled down his cheek, and disappeared into the dust.

‘How could you…. Amma !!!’ he sighed, and walked back towards his car. After all that he had heard, he could not face his family, not just yet.

As he tiredly walked out into the night, he felt nothing but the relentless throbbing of his swollen lips.

 

Categories
55-er Short story Thought and Reason

The Golden Jubilee (55-er)

She was bold and intelligent. He was rich and charming.

They met by accident. Got along like a house on fire. Got married in a hurry.

On their golden jubilee, the children popped champaign. ‘The secret of your marriage?’, they asked.

‘Tolerate’, said she.

‘Ignore’, muttered he.

Balloons burst. The party ended early.

Categories
Short story Thought and Reason

The art of giving

A day after a wedding in the family…The hustle-bustle of the preceeding couple of days was over, and life looked somewhere near normal. The maid-servant had not turned up. “Typical Indian behaviour”.. commented one of the esteemed NRI guests. “Yes..yes..these maids are all the same.. no matter how much you give them, they still don’t want to work a little extra on days like these, when we most need them”, said the lady of the house, tired with mopping the floor.

That evening, the door bell rang. It was her. The lady asked “What happened to you ? Didn’t turn up!”. The girl looked a little ashamed, and said “Sorry madam, I couldn’t find the way to the wedding hall yesterday, so I couldn’t come. Just wanted to hand over this gift for the bride”. She gave a little plastic bag, containing a small cardboard box, and went away.

That night, the family sat down together excitedly, to open the gifts. Pots, pans, wall clocks, tea-sets, cash, gold earrings…they were all there… and a small cardboard box in a crumpled plastic bag. They opened it, and found a beautiful silver Ganesha.

They would have normally commented “that’s a lovely gift”. In this case, they said nothing. It was simply over-whelming. The beauty of the giver and the greatness in the action that is “giving”, were reflected in that gift.

To give, having money alone is not sufficient.. one needs a big, generous heart.

My mother has this saying framed in her house,

“When You let me receive, I am grateful. When You let me give, I am blessed”.