Fingerprint

THE ULTIMATE BLOG CHALLENGE DAY 3

Sunny childhood days,

Fingerprint of memories

Printed in my heart.

Shared with Write Tribe - The Ultimate Blog Challenge - Day 3 and Haiku Heights - Fingerprint

An Accidental Kiss

The Ultimate Blog Challenge Day 2

Gentle touch, brush akin,

Skin to skin.

A moment's passion,

Sudden gone.

A kiss was it? Or accident?

Trembling lips,

A heartbeat skips.

A moment's dawn,

Sudden gone.

A kiss was it? Or accident?

Warmth in eyes,

The twinkle implies.

Ah! what bliss,

An accidental kiss.

Shared with Write Tribe - The Ultimate Blog Challenge - Day 2

The Smallest Things

The Ultimate Blog Challenge Day 1

 

It was that day in the year which made Oli happy. The gloomy monsoons had finally taken leave and the morning had bathed in the amalgamated beauty of the cobalt sky and the golden sunshine. It was the first weekend of autumn, and each year Ma gets out the old iron trunk on such afternoons to put all its contents out in the sun. To get rid of the monsoon dampness, she says.

The big old iron trunk - it is placed in the storeroom on the terrace. Ma says the trunk belonged to Oli's father's grandmother. She had received it as a wedding present. A now rusty brown box, embossed with floral motifs, it surely was once a beauty.

Ma drags the heavy trunk out to the terrace with Shyamali mashi's help. She flings the lid open and starts taking out the old items one at a time. Oli is glued beside her, not ready to miss any of the things that come out of the treasure chest! A silk blanket, moth-eaten at places, yet nice and soft. Her mother's wedding benarasi. The red had faded at places, but the golden zari border still glistened is the afternoon sun. Then out came Baba's Kashmiri shawl, Dadu's silver paan box, his old books - with silverfish marking the pages. There was a hand-fan, the ones which are made from Taal pata or palm leaves, with colourful motifs painted on it. More of her mother's sarees, Thamma's spectacle box, Dadu's hookah - gradually all of these were kept out in the sun. But what made Oli the happiest, was her first dress that Ma sewed when she was born. A tiny white dress with tiny red roses embroidered all over.  Oli pressed it to her cheeks for a long long time and inhaled deep. The naphthalene smell - the smell of a day twenty five years back.

Oli felt a strange pang of nostalgia. So much of memories, all locked up in a box. Probably that's what made the box so heavy. This winter she will be married and flying to the US of A with Amit. Oli realised that this yearly ritual was something that she will miss when she leaves this house. Given a chance, she would love to carry the whole box of memories with her. And on lonely afternoons in the new country, when Amit would be at work, she could just inhale and imbibe the old times.

The rusty old trunk, the inviting smell of naphthalene balls, the silverfish running in and out, the yellowed pages of the hard cover books - sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart - Oli let out a deep sigh.

Glossary

Ma - Mother

Baba - Father

Mashi - Aunt

Dadu - Grandfather

Thamma - Grandmother

Shared with Write Tribe - The Smallest Thing and Write Tribe - The Ultimate Blog Challenge - Day 1

The Circle of Life

Death took a walk around the meadow. He added a dash of chill to the wind. Lush green, dancing grasses and full-bloomed violets, turned a withered brown. Death smiled. This is how he liked it.

******

Buried deep into the earth, a group of seedlings were making plans to re-decorate their meadow which Death just destroyed.

This 55-fiction is being posted in reply to The Solitary Writer's challenge to write an allegory on Death.

Life's Like a Fairytale

 Leo's challenge was to write a post that started with
"Happily ever after" and ended with "Once upon a Time".
Leo, here it goes...

"Happily ever after", two-year old Yashini repeated as her Mom finished the fairytale.

"Ma, were you the beautiful princess and Pa the handsome prince?", her innocent voice rang from between the sheets.

Her Mom bent down and kissed her. The day she got divorced flashed across her eyes. "Yes darling, once upon a time."

The Immortal Death

---

My friend Biswadeep gave me a challenge to write about

something morbid, yet not depressing. What can be a better 
choice than the life of a Phoenix, the one who rises from death.

DG, this post is for you...!

---

So delicate and frail was I, My youth had been lost,

Death was round the corner, My soul had been frost.

They call me the Sun's bird, For a five hundred year I live,

I die to live again, My death they never bereave.

Sun, my glorious sun, I sing my song for you,

I was always your bird, Since the world was new.

Weakness turns into strength, As old age into youth,

My red-and gold dazzles, Its time to face the truth.

I am born a thousand times, And a thousand deaths I die,

I rise from my ashes, I spread my wings and fly.

I am the bird of fire, Immortal as forever,

The world is my play ground, Death can touch me never.

I soar up in the sky, My heart devoid of sorrow,

With my new found zeal, I am the angel of tomorrow.

The phoenix is a mythical sacred fire bird, which has a vibrant plumage and a tail of gold-and-scarlet. It has a  500-1000 year life-cycle, after which it ignites itself, burns fiercely and reduces to ashes. A new young phoenix arises from the ashes, reborn anew to live again. 

Friday Night Music

Rahul Miglani, a fellow blogger gave me this challenge to write a fiction in not more than 

3000 words which must include the following -  A honeymoon couple, tears , 
kinky, dwell, sincere, sky, lipstick, cherish, breezy, rose and satin.

Rahul, here it goes...!!

Tony comes here every Friday night. Mostly the same old drunk faces greet him. Maybe sometimes a few new ones too. He doesn't remember faces much. He is too drunk each Friday.

As Tony entered the dimly lit, smoky pub, he could hear Rose already making music. Her usual numbers. She was strumming her guitar, in a way that was as pleasant as her looks. Tony looked closely at her. Her dusky skin, red dress, high heels and matching lipstick made her look attractive. 

'Those drunk swines will pounce upon her in no time', he muttered .

Tony went over to the bar and asked for his drink. It'll be a while till Rose starts becoming careless and sloppy with her music. It will be his turn then. He looked around the pub. Cigars had been lit, smoke had filled up the tiny room. The low powered fancy light bulbs enclosed by ergonomically designed satin light-shades where hanging dangerously low from thin,kinky-looking metal chains. The blinds on the two small windows had been shut tight enough to hide every evidence of a breezy evening and a starry sky outside. All in all, it was a perfect ambiance for a Friday night drink.

In the table by the window, there were two men in their mid-forties, down with their third drink. They were rolling their own cigarettes and were talking in hushed tones.

A couple, most likely a honeymoon couple, had taken the corner table and were engrossed in a sincere lip lock. Her wine remained untouched and his beer unnoticed.

A large group of men had taken the big table in the centre. Their pink health and porky hands told they were well-off, but with a troubled horizon. Four drinks down, the philosophers in each had started to peek out!

None in this small, dingy pub cherished music.

Rose drank while she sang. It was her fourth when her words started slipping and her tune started tripping. Sounds of laughter and mockery were the only thing that reached her ears. Tony silently walked up to the small wooden stage and took over. He was drunk, yet his voice was as smooth as a satin.

Rose walked up to bar and sat down quietly. Her eyes had welled up with tears. She let them flow. After what seemed like an eternity, Rose felt a soft touch on her shoulder. She looked up to find Tony. He planted a light kiss on her lips.

"Tony...", she choked on her words.

"Hush Rose, don't cry. It'll be our day soon", he whispered into her ears as he held her close, "when we will make music for the world".

Music dwells in their heart. They were no different from each other. They were two unrecognized, struggling, starving, musicians who kept returning to the pub every week for the same goddamned reason.

"Rose..."

"Yes, Tony...", she whispered in her hoarse voice.

"We got an offer to perform in a show at Texas next weekend", Tony's voice cracked as he broke the news to Rose.

A speechless Rose looked at Tony. Her tears were uncontrollable now. The only difference being they for shed with joy. Tony's eyes welled up too.

'It's a small step towards our big dream Rose".

After a long time they smiled. They were happy. They clinked glasses.

"To Friday Night Music."