Thursday, 25 May 2017



 challenge is to write a story or poem in exactly 13 words inspired by/using the following image:

                                                 “boat on land 01” by malicia-stock via Deviantart

       Pablo's skeleton in watery grave.

             His boat's decaying ribs

               rest in sandy gravel.


Wednesday, 24 May 2017


I walked through
the open door
And a knock sounded
On my closed mind.
Is someone waiting for me outside?

My canvas is a riot
of angry colours.
I behold a rainbow
as I lift my gaze
Does someone want to talk to me?

The surf kissed my toes
deposit a bright-hued shell.
The Sun on the horizon
Caressed my wet cheeks.
Is there someone who cares for me?

Childhood flashes before me
pals, picnics , pens, swirl.
The phone rings
"Hello, hello dear" , I echo.
Yes, I count my blessings.

the beach


This week's photo prompt is provided by Louise with The Storyteller's Abode. Thank you Louise!

Maurice dug her heels into the moist grains of fine textured sand as she 

unwrapped the lettuce-tuna sandwiches.

"It is going to be a lovely day", gushed Edward. They had packed straw hats,

sunscreen lotions, a pair of clothes, towels to make most of the salubrious

weather. Two bottles of lemonade, baked Alaskan cake and sandwiches sat

snugly in their duffel bag to satiate their hunger pangs to stretch till evening.

Fifteen year old Janice played Frisbee as the breeze aided her endeavour. 

Little Ron built an impregnable castle digging a moat around it while their

parents kept a hawk-like vigil on them.

Away from this picturesque situation, under the blue awning a devious mind

was plotting akin to a droid. The man dressed in Armani suit and a diamond

studded watch seems incongruous with the surroundings. He doffed his hat,

an action that seemed innocuous but was a signal to an insidious action.

The subaltern sidekick nodded and aimed.

The blood stained the moist sand grains. With a piercing cry, orphaned Janice 

and Ron’s legs carried them towards the disaster. The half eaten sandwiches 

were strewn on the beach.

                 The Gun Control Lobby was poorer without its crusaders.

                                     written  for flash fiction for aspiring writers


word count : 199

Tuesday, 23 May 2017

grey wisdom

Combing my long silky tresses, I admired my reflection in 

the mirror.Tessie grimaced.

I turned to face her.

Her celluloid image had painted nails, each hair in place 

and a made-up face hiding all its flaws while my oils were 

a connoisseur’s prized possessions.

“Silver streaks in your hair”, almost gasping.

“I know”, a calm and confident me.

“Let me fix an appointment with Yasmine’s Colour 

Parlour”, Tessie panicking, “You have hit fifty”.

“I have accumulated streaks of wisdom in half a century 

and will unabashedly flaunt it”.

Thud...... Tessie’s cell -phone lay on the floor, broken, 


Saturday, 13 May 2017


our challenge is to write a story or poem in exactly 39 words inspired by/using the following word:


–  receive (money, property, or a title) as an heir at the death of the previous holder

I have inherited 
                        my blue eyes from my father,
                      black hair from my mother.

   my lips sing melodious strains.
        the strokes of my brush,
       aroma of strawberry crush

      are all cultivated by me.

     my kids will inherit 

     their own-self.


the golden touch


King Midas tried to shake his daughter violently hoping to infuse life into her

gold metallic body but alas, the golden pupils stared back at him lifelessly.

His working hours extended into evenings and slowly

nights too consumed him.

The CEO  hardly saw his little daughter and she 

desperately wished his presence on her birthdays,

school meetings and dance competitions.

He knew she would hug and kiss him today and he

would not disappoint her and he had ordered her

favourite chocolate cake.

She didn't wish him on Father's Day and the cake 

lay untouched on the dining table.

The teen's changed taste left a bad taste in the 

father's mouth.

                              written for : Six Sentence Stories

Miss Universe

In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about trading.
It can be the profession of old or of modern day traders on Wall Street.
It can be trading places or lunches at school. What is traded? 
Is it a fair deal or a dupe? Trade away and go where the prompt leads you.

“World peace is the need of the hour”, she mouthed and a thunderous

applause deafened the stadium.

She adorned the sparkling tiara, as the curve of her lips widened.

                                            Image result for google pics of tiaras

Uneasiness lies in the head that wears the crown, Mrs. Ruth’s words

buzzed in her head.

Her new itinerary made her travel through various time zones.


The little fingers generously dug into the sinful chocolate.

The anorexic frame balancing the crown bent down to kiss the orphaned

cheeks while television screens beamed her actions.

“Will you trade places for a day?” begged the Miss Universe.

The innocent eyes stared disinterestedly. 

written for : Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction

Friday, 5 May 2017

comfort food

Spreading his ample bottom on the cushioned chair, his gaze caressed the colorful bowl. 

The taste buds tickled and saliva lubricated the cave of his mouth.

The smile widened to form wrinkles at the corner of his spectacled eyes.

The unsteady shivering hand brought the spoonful close and the dentures chomped

away greedily the crisp bell peppers and lettuce.

Image result for bowl of salad

The slightly chilled yogurt dressing brought solace to his mouth ulcers.

“Comfort food”, he uttered under his breath, his companion for the past six decades. 

And so is the constipation, a faithful shadow.

The salad bowl was licked clean.


                                    written for : Carrot Ranch flash fiction

pic courtesy google image

Friday, 13 May 2016

Wheels of fortune.

Opportunity,  he cadge

Dame Luck smiled.

Roulette hits jackpot.


Wife squeezes alimony.

Saturday, 7 May 2016

The battle of Haldighati

Rana Pratap's coruscant bravery slashed every

 head that came in his way on the battlefield.  But the sheer force of the Mughal enemy reduced his belligerent mood and his small troop.

Sensing the situation, Chetak galloped , leaving the centre-stage.

Fatigued , he died in harness.

Rana built a memorial of his faithful Chetak.

Presenting a slice of Indian history, read more about
Chetak .

Monday, 2 May 2016


Carpe Diem Tan Renga Challenge month May 2nd (2) "shadows of leaves"

shadows of leaves
cover the open holes
her flute forgotten
©  Jane Reichhol
her lips forlorn 
yearning for Lord Krishna

© Jane Reichhold

Written for :Carpe diem tan renga challenge

                                         Image result for radha with flute
Google Image

Sunday, 1 May 2016


old pond
 frog jumps in
sound of water (basho)

creases of ripples
princess flashes dimples

Written for : Carpe DiemCarpe Diem

Friday, 29 April 2016

House hunting woes

                                                           Purple wall by dancsec

After sniffing the odour of the paint, my nose cringed at the colour of the walls.

Even the lampshade was painted with the same brush.

"The apartment rent is rock-bottom er Miss........."

"Miss Purple . Do i have a choice?"

Tuesday, 26 April 2016

Trust broken

Happy anniversary.

Music and  wine failed to assuage the  tempest in my heart. The sip of infidelity 

combined with mendacity set the marital boat rocking.

My tired oar failed to keep it  afloat.

The Titanic sank with my trust.

Three's a crowd.

                             Image result for Three's a crowd



As I turn the starched stiff pages of the sepia toned images of the frozen moments of my infant days, my vision becomes blurred. I gently dab my eyes with Kleenex. Advancing age is another issue.

I caress the already worn out images with my trembling hands. I must have done this exercise a million times before. I can still feel the soft cotton fabric of my baby frock with dainty lace. My grandmother had hand-stitched it for me, her first born grand-daughter.
Image result for One set of old faded baby clothes in black and white images             Image result for One set of old faded baby clothes in black and white images
Those were the days of custom made clothes with the labour of love. Mass factory produced goods hadn't made inroads.

I pushed the bulky photo-album towards the other edge of the table.

The neatly folded pile of tiny frocks and bloomers reposed in the mahogany cabinet. Shrinking mothballs rested besides them.Gingerly picking them, I lay them on the table and a quick glance at the images in the album. Time stood still. It seemed just a day before that I had adorned them  and the smell of the newly sewed clothes permeated my nostrils.

Smile stretched on my wrinkled face as I placed another set of baby clothes on the table besides the old set of clothes. Generations separated them but love and affection reigned as the common factor.These branded factory made clothes are personally chosen by me. Shopping on-line is a new feature added to my skills.

                                       Image result for One set of old faded baby clothes
The old faded pile would be passed on as heirloom to the newest addition of my family.
NAY NAY.... , my values and blessings would be her legacy.

The old worn-out clothes will go with me: to the grave.

(Google Images)

Friday, 22 April 2016


In this photo taken Wednesday, July 3, 2013, a Chinese tourist covers himself with seaweed on a beach plagued by an algae bloom in Qingdao in eastern China's Shandong province. (AP Photo) CHINA OUT

"Grass is greener on the other side".

As Doubting Thomas stepped on the green carpet, the monster swamp  

engulfed him into the abyss of negative emotion.


Wednesday, 20 April 2016

Save our planet

                                      Image result for save planet earth images

The iron fangs mechanically sink deeper into her womb aborting

life. The bare surface devoid of foliage with parched throat cries 

to quench. A lone concerned voice protests over the monstrous din.

Million hands join the movement to conserve what is left.