Saturday, October 26, 2013

The struggle- 55 fiction


There she was, tucked snugly into one of her books, lost in a world of her own. Unmindful of what "those" people thought about her. How did being a girl deny you the pleasure of a book? She adjusted her veil over her head and sighed. 

This was going to be one long struggle. 
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The prompt for this 55 fiction came from Vidya Sury on Write Tribe.

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Where the mind is without fear....

An adventure trip with friends among lush green Dandeli forests and an amazing Kali river flowing by. Seemed like being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The waters and me have been polar opposites since time immemorial, me, not knowing how to wade in them and well, they not knowing how to withstand me without making me sink.

A coracle ride eased me considerably, not that I did much, except sit back and enjoy the cool waters as my friends rowed away. The waters seemed to beckon...and instinctively I hugged my life jacket that had wrapped itself around me like a shield. Satisfied, I smiled. I was safe.




They soon rowed us to a natural Jacuzzi amidst the rocks and the cascading waters looked inviting. Strapped to the life jacket, I confidently took a step forward ready to meet the series of mini waterfalls thunderously streaming down. Like a soldier who's lost a battle, I was promptly relived of my shield aka. the life jacket, and told how it wouldn't be necessary in there. Now how does one explain to those wild water loving jerks that I am capable of drowning even in one square inch of water? Nevertheless, off came the life jacket seeming to carry with it all hopes of saving my own life. Gingerly stepping under one lovely cascade and having managed to find a foot hold, (and a hand hold and a back hold) I must have looked like a spider precariously hanging in its web trying not to be blown away by the immense gusts of wind. Only it was water, in my case.
 It was immensely pleasurable no doubt, and when it was time to go, I found myself reluctantly being dragged out of water.


The water enthusiasts didn't seem to have had enough, because they had set eyes on conquering the rapids and rafting across it. They assured me I would enjoy White Water Rafting, just as I had enjoyed the coracle ride and the Jacuzzi. The jackets came on, I had bitten the bait. And after an oar was thrust into my quivering hands, a barrage of instructions delivered, my feet locked under a strap that looked like it could unstrap anytime, we were all set to raft across the frothy white waters under the thunder, lightening and rains.

'Team, row forrr..wad' barked the ace boatmen and like obedient school children we row, row, rowed our boat forwards. One sharp slap on my head and a mock later, I realised I had been rowing in the wrong direction! By the time I could adjust to rowing the right way, another order followed, "Team...oars in annndd duck." That meant we were going to cascade down a rapid. My heart pounded furiously and wildly, and I hoped the thumping would not upturn the coracle.


 A Whoosh and a Splash later we had descended down the rapid like a knife through butter. Water splashing inside had filled up everything, the coracle and our senses included. The coracle spun wildly out of control, and then we heard the orders again.."team, rowww...forrr...wad". Obedient as we were, we rowed again and luckily I did it right this time. I wondered what soaked me more- the waters or the rains or my excitement. The thrill of it all was exhilarating and I was sad that I spent my time being fearful instead of enjoying it. As if reading my mind, the boatman barked again, "team, row...baaackk...wads" and his command was greeted by a huge roar from all of us. We went back again and again for another six times and I was surprised how my fear seemed to have dissipated. Each time was more amazing than the previous one and by our sixth ride we were totally exhausted.

"More....?" barked the boatman. "Yes" we chorused. "Ok, then jump in...go ahead..." What? jump into the river? What if I drowned? I had voiced it loud enough for everyone to hear. All but me had dived in and I sat stuck to my place nodding my head and gripping the coracle ever so tightly. "Either you jump or I throw you in" said the boatman and he advanced menacingly towards me. Fearful of how I would land in water if thrown, I quickly climbed down. As quickly as I had gone in, I bobbed up, the buoyancy of the jacket holding me in place.



And then....a sense of calm set in.


The cool water enveloped me in its arms, the weightlessness of my own self was overwhelming and I felt myself go into a meditative trance. The fear of drowning was gone. I closed my eyes and floated, even danced a little.

Isn't life exactly the same? We face problems and we begin doubting the existence of God. God and his mysterious way. He always knows how to reach out to his children, doesn't he? He gives us troubles and we become fearful. We don't see that life jacket that he firmly wraps around us in whatever form it might be. And when the life jacket is not around, then we can be sure that he knows that we'd be able to handle it very well....like in the Jacuzzi. It is when you surrender that he takes off all your load....just like how I had felt that weightless in the water.

All we need to do is to trust him. Trust that he will see us through.


Tuesday, October 22, 2013

100 words on a Saturday -7

Image: Pixabay.com




I knew it was my last day there,
My hearth and home that I was leaving behind,
Glistening eyes, mirroring my heart,
Drenching my soul in grief sublime.

Glimpses of a life less lived,
Belaboring the veneer that I hid beneath,
Exposing the despicable being I was,
Filling me with melancholy and regret.

The wheels turned and all was gone,
That last day perishing like I had,
What meaning could it hold anymore?
Those tears that could not be shed in time.

Take me back,
Turn the clock behind,
Let me live again,
And it would be right this time

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Linking back to Sugandha's prompt on write tribe for 100 words on a Saturday-7

Sunday, October 6, 2013

The brown belt.

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 42; the forty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is "COLOR"



Abhay pulled up his trousers for the umpteenth time, like every day. He almost did it subconsciously like it was akin to breathing. Any trouser was a misfit on those skinny hips of his. But he never wore a belt. Wearing a belt brought back memories.

Image: Pixabay.com


Painful Memories.

Those of his father. Of the putrid smell of alcohol mixed with smoke. Of his towering, overpowering presence in their shanty. Of being thrashed mercilessly. That snaking brown belt. Around his father's rotund belly. How he dreaded it when his father ripped it off it's favourite perch! How he cowered when it found its way on to him! Of the blue and red strips on his back and hands, and his legs and face. Across his ears. Yeah, that incident had left him partially deaf. And partially blind. He remembered withering away slowly. The years of wetting his bed after evenings of whippings.  The feeling of sleeping on a bed of thorns. The ache penetrating every nerve ending in his body. 

The belt. The brown belt.


Why him? he wondered. Was it his mother? Was it because she ran away? Or was it because she ran away with his best friend? Maybe he reminded him of his mother. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was the penury. 

Memories.

Beads of perspiration began to form on his forehead as he thought about them. He felt a pool of water forming at his feet. His trouser soaking in the warm wetness. His slippers starting to smell.

Memories.

Shalini. The only love of his otherwise drab life. What a breath of fresh air she was! Warm like the sunshine, untouched like the morning dew, and delicate like a flower. He smiled as he thought of her and how much colour she had added to his life. And then the smile turned to a cry as her lifeless body spun around in his head. His piercing cry rented the air as he buried his face into his palms letting the tears of anguish flood them. The black burns of cigarette butt on her unblemished skin, the teeth marks that had left behind red blood clots, and the look of terror on her face had shattered him. And then he saw his father. Lying next to her, consumed by alcohol, consumed by lust, consumed by his own apathy. The brown belt lying next to him. 


He had run out and retched till his stomach hurt. The years of being thrashed seemed painless now. 

He returned a little while later. He looked at her body lying limp on the ground, terror still evident in her eyes. He sat down beside her and wept. The beast still lay asleep. Abhay reached into his pockets and felt the silver cold metal against his warm hands.  His fingers slid effortlessly into the groove underneath. They landed a string of six messengers of death into his father’s head. The smell of burnt flesh pervaded his senses as he bent down to feel his father’s pulse. There was no sign of life.

Then he closed her eyes shut. She had seen enough. Enough for redemption. He removed the ragged brown belt lying next to the beast and fastened it around his neck like a noose. Pulling it tight till he felt the neck snap.

Just to be sure. 

Just symbolically.

He smiled. And pulled up the trouser weighed down by the wetness. The smell didn’t bother him any more.

The brown belt. It was no more.

They were now just memories.
The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 04
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