Food for the Soul

Done with her shopping, she glanced at her watch. 15 minutes till the next bus.

Can she make it in time?

She darted into the library, strode to the ‘Just Returned’ section with the practiced gait of a regular. There nestled books waiting to be picked up.

Aah, there were some interesting ones. Grabbed three and rushed to the issuing machine.

Job done with minutes to spare. Just in time for the bus, with the comforting, satisfying weight of the books in her backpack. Books just waiting to be savored, waiting to get lost in. Pure bliss. Food for the soul.

Lost Treasure

Nikhil sighed. His son, Akash had forgotten how to smile after his mother passed away.

Gone was the cheerful Akash. In his place was a sad, quiet, pale-faced boy. Nothing made him smile, or talk.

Lost in thoughts, Nikhil tripped and heard a squeal. ‘Dad! You almost hurt him,’ cried Akash, scooping up the little pup that ran into their way.

Nihkil stared, transfixed. For the first time in 2 months, he saw his son’s eye’s sparkle, and a smile lighting up his face as the little pup lay cuddled in his arms.

Seeing Akash smile was like finding lost treasure.

This was written for the prompt – Lost Treasure for 100 words on Saturday on Write Tribe.

Haiku – Celebrating Summer

Gardens in bloom
Sun worshippers galore
Summer sunshine warming hearts.

My first attempt at Haiku for this week’s prompt at Write Tribe.

Edited to add: Meena, picture added. Thank you 🙂

The Smallest Things

‘Rich doesn’t seem your style, Ellen. I was surprised when we met. Don’t you normally go in for more flamboyant men?  I mean, Rich is the sort of guy, you would normally steer clear of?’

‘Emma, he’s not the sort of person who I would normally go for, but he will make a wonderful husband.’

‘Yes. For someone else possibly, but for you?’

‘He’s rich’, said Ellen.

‘Yes, I have figured that his name is Rich’

‘No no, silly, he’s loaded!’

‘I cannot believe that we share the same set of parents! How can you be so mercenary? Don’t you realize that happiness is what matters, that money isn’t enough make you happy? You know, sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart!’

‘You know, sis, for a change,I agree with you. I was waiting until we meet Mum and Dad for this,but..’ Ellen fishes in her handbag and pulls put something.

A twinkling diamond engagement ring.

‘Small enough, my darling sis?’

Written as part of the Write Tribe Wednesday Prompts.

The Ritual

Picture Credit: MorgueFile (http://mrg.bz/LsH3I1)

Dave’s phone pinged. It was Mark, his mate, texting to let him know that they were heading to the local.

Their Friday evenings ritual. Its been over two decades since they started it, and they never let anything spoil their Friday nights. In the last few months though, Dave has been finding it tough to join Mark. Work has been crazy. What with migrations every week, and offshore to handle, a totally new environment for him. He longed for those days of yore when he just did things at his pace. His lovely nine to five job, and early breaks on Friday. Bliss!

‘On my way’, texted Dave back. He deserved a break! ‘One Friday evening out of office wouldn’t hurt’, he thought, starting to shut down the multiple windows open on his laptop.

The phone’s ring jarred into his thoughts. He peered at the caller id. It was his boss, Anil. Could he ignore it? And pretend that he is already out? No, this is Anil, he would personally come and track him down at that pub! He had no option but to pick it the phone

‘Dave, there is some issue that has cropped up. Could you call the offshore team and sort it all out before end of day? We need everything sorted so that the offshore can continue work tomorrow. Everything needs to be fixed before the client comes in on Monday. I’ve just got off the phone from Andrea, and she is livid that last minute issues are still cropping up!’

‘Can’t make it, mate’, texted Dave once more to Mike. Whatever was he thinking when he quit his easy job and joined this consultancy! Money, of course, but was it worth it, if a bloke couldn’t go out on a Friday with his mates?

This was written as this week’s prompt at Write Tribe.

7x7x7x7

This week’s Write Tribe Prompt is the 7x7x7x7 prompt. Here is how it goes.

Grab the 7th book from your bookshelf.
Open it up to page 7.
Pinpoint the 7th sentence on the page.
Begin a poem/a piece of prose that begins with that sentence
Limit it in length to 7 lines/7 sentences.

The seventh book on my shelf is Lucy Diamond’s Summer with my Sister. And the seventh sentence on the seventh page is

‘Not taking her eyes from the monitor.’

——————————————————————————————————————

Not taking her eyes from the monitor, Shobha yelled, ‘Maya, could you get the door, please!’

Silence. The door bell rang again, more urgently this time.

‘Maya, Maya!’

She would have to get it herself. Self absorbed teenagers!

Opening the door, she saw Maya. Her clothes were covered with blood.
‘Mum, I had to run out, a car hit him’,explained Maya, cradling her new cotton-lined laundry basket, in which nestled a tiny pup, badly injured and whimpering.

Why I Write.

So many reasons, and all difficult to put in words, I find. Then again, when I think of myself, I wouldn’t dare think of myself as a writer, I’m just a blogger.

So why do I write on my blog? Well, because I need to. It has become such a part of who I am, that I just need to. Sometimes my writings stay as drafts, some deleted, some languishing on as drafts forever, some see the light of the day. Whether my posts get published or not, just writing down stuff helps. I guess it gives my thoughts some clarity. And it has, given me a direction, of sorts. My writing has become a place for me to voice opinions, views and have discussions with so many like-minded people. With my writing, I think I can say, that I know who I am, what I stand for, a little bit better.

My blog has become a place for recording things, everyday things that I would have definitely forgotten otherwise. I hope that one day Daughter would enjoying reading it. The only thing I would wish is to record more diligently, but that’s the thing with me. I can only write when I am in that mood. I find it really difficult to write on schedule or with any sort of planning. There are times when I just don’t write anything. And other times when I write, but I don’t feel like sharing. Some things/events that are just special, that I want to hold close and keep to myself.

The best part of being a blogger, the biggest reason I write is, of course, you guys. You make me want to write, to share. It is that feeling of being part of a community, of belonging, knowing that there are people who read my crazy writings, that makes me write, makes me share, ask for advice and have fun, loads of it.

A few years ago, I would have laughed if someone told me that I would share so much online. It was just not me. But today, I can’t think of a time before I started blogging. Although, even today, the place I share the most, is here on the blog. For some reason, this is the place I feel most comfortable in. It is the place where I’ve found so many like minded friends. It is my happy place. I have reached a point that when I am intensely happy, or sad, or outraged or just peacefully happy, I turn to write. Yes, I might not publish them all,as I mentioned already, but I like being able to put my feelings down in words.

I write because it keeps me sane and happy and fulfilled.

Petals of Strength

Anita stepped carefully, quietly into her garden. Her haven, the one place where Sunil wouldn’t follow her. The one place that was her own.

She knew she would have to pay for it, when she went back indoors, but it was worth it. Her only defiance was her garden. Little had she imagined, as a young bride,10 years ago, that this would be her life. Of course she blamed herself, Sunil wouldn’t have become so violent if she had presented him with a baby. He was just this way because he yearned to be a father. At least he did not divorce her, as her mother kept telling her. So what if he got a little angry? So what if she got a little hurt sometimes. Did she want for anything? ‘Just some love and not having to worry about tiptoeing around your husband’, whispered the annoying little voice in her head, but she was quick to silence it.

All the love that she had inside her, she poured into her plants. Her plants became the children she never had. Every seed that sprouted would make her heart dance with joy. When Sunil was away at work, she would spend hours, weeding, pruning, watering her plants, and sometimes just sitting at the little bench that the previous owners of the house had left there. Yes, there had been times when she wished for her husband to join her, relax, and enjoy the beauty, but of course, those were just dreams, dreams she knew now, would never come true. She knew now not to anger Sunil in any way. Even a small request could result in him blowing up. Of course, he was careful to never strike in places that people could see, yes, he was considerate that way. He never humiliated her in front of others. Her neighbours wouldn’t have a clue that their marriage was anything but perfect. The only person who knew was her mother, who lived in fear of the day that Sunil would walk out on her daughter. She just prayed that her daughter had better sense than annoy her son-in-law.

Lost in her thoughts, Anita pulled at some stubborn weeds, when she felt her head yanked back. ‘Have you gone deaf now?’ Shouted Sunil, his other hand landing on her cheek. ‘ It is a bit too much to expect a wife to get her husband a cup of tea in this place!’.

Fuming, he pulled at her biggest rose, and flung it at her, hitting her on her face. Some rose petals fell into her hands, and as she raised her stunned and stinging face, she found herself looking into her neighbour, Malini’s shocked face from the other side of the fence. But funnily, instead of feeling ashamed as she always did after one of Sunil’s out bursts, she felt light, liberated and strangely unburdened. That slap in the garden felt like fate was trying to knock some sense into her. She walked, not towards her house, but out. She walked out, head held high, the rose petals in her hands giving her some strange strength. She did not know where she was headed, but she definitely knew the place that she was leaving forever.

Picture Credit – http://sarabbit.openphoto.net/gallery/

Written as part of the Write Tribe Prompt