Wednesday, 20 September 2017

Paths

  Twittering Tale #50 – 19 September 2017


                                 1476833681824





forest-path-238887_1280

                                                                keywest3 at Pixabay




Go to the left where nothing is right or go to right where nothing is left? Tread on either of them. Maybe they will merge together. 



Twittering Tales # 50- 19th september 2017. Thanks Kat Myrman.

136 characters.

Walk







                           Thank you Sarah Potter for the wonderful picture prompt.



“You need not have remained single to bring me up. I could have managed by myself”.

The old man’s proclivity for silence irks James.

“Dad, are you listening?”

The senior citizen draws an old battered suitcase and beckons his son to open it.

A pair of old shoes lay reposed wrapped in faded newspaper sheets.

He surveys the white canvas soles with a farrago of sadness and fondness and 

communicates with his eyes.

“These are old worn-out shoes and not my size. I cannot walk in your shoes”, blurts out 

the young son without realising the wisdom of the words. 


                  Written for :  Friday Fictioneers. Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

                                                

Tuesday, 19 September 2017

The Night.

Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
133rd Challenge





This week's photo prompt is provided by Pamela S. Canepa. Thank you Pamela!

25th March, 2017

20th floor apartment, Mumbai

8.30 pm

The tenebrosity of the night seems to hug her like a warm blanket. The Earth Hour has 

just begun.

As her gaze wanders up, the celestial twinkles seem to cast their glow a tad brighter.

The vehicular traffic appears to crawl, holding lanterns in the trajectory of darkness.

Anita turns inside to step into her cosy home. The aromatic candles are lit, mingling its 

scent into the urn of red floating rose petals. The gastronomical wafts beckons her to the 

table. He serves her the simple yet tasty food for soul and both eat with love in their 

eyes as the two decades of their flowering partnership melt in their hearts.

The next day the maid steps in with newspaper and milk while Anita is still in the 

embrace of slumber.


The maid notices the two plates in the sink and sighs, “Poor madam is missing her 

husband. So she eats from two plates”.


                           written for  : Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers

                                                  

word count  : 161

Notes : Earth Hour is a 60 minute period when all the lights are switched off voluntarily.

Read more about Earth Hour.

Sunday, 10 September 2017

bridging the gap


          Sunday Photo Fiction – September 10th 2017



211 09 September 10th 2017

                                                photo courtesy A Mixed Bag.


“A part of the proceeds of the sale of my property will be donated to the local 

orphanage, Girls’ school and library”, instructing her lawyer.

“The Temple renovations will be funded by me, Pandit-Ji”.

“I have finished all my duties and can join my late husband”.

“Have you made peace with yourself, Saraswati?” the retort from the holy man 

unsettled the septuagenarian.

She lowered her gaze and looked the other way, a farrago of anger and guilt.



Several thoughts criss-crossed her already confused mind.

Nandini’s daughter must be in her late teens. She staggered and held the window-bars for 

support. The inanimate bridge with water flowing placidly seemed to reach out to her. 

She had built an impenetrable wall around her. The stones from the obliterated wall have 

to be used to build a bridge, to bring her only daughter, closer.


Hobbling to her almirah, she caressed her jewellery and bridal sari. She pictured her 

grand-daughter in the antique splendour. Nandini will inherit a part of her ancestral 

estate and her love and blessings. Her ‘jamai’ has to be accorded a grand welcome.

“Another ten years and I will join you”, she says to her husband’s photograph.


Peace reigns.

                Written for  : Sunday Photo Fiction.

                                                     

                                            Click HERE to read all the SPF stories.

Notes : Pandit - Hindu priest

             Ji - addressing a person respectfully.

             Almirah - wardrobe

             Jamai - Son-in-law. In Indian households the jamai is treated like a King and is fed with the                            choicest of traditional food.       

Saturday, 9 September 2017

Abundant reap

       Weekend Writing Prompt #19 – Abundance


                                        Photo Prompt 

                             


word prompt : Abundance

Challenge
Prose Challenge – Write a story that focuses on a quality that you think the world could do with in abundance.  Word limit: 150 words.
The timely rainfall had the rivers overflowing its embankments. The bountiful crop filled 

the granaries and the bucolic scent bathed the simple peasants.

The Angel smiled brimming with satisfaction.

The Satan winced with displeasure.

The war was declared and winning became inevitable.

Satan spread the shadow of his ugly claws.  Soon the village was dotted with liquor shops 

brewed from the excess grains. The simple hearts drowned themselves in sin, fighting, 

abusing and creating unrest. The Monster smiled stroking his claws.

The words of the clergyman soothed the disturbed minds. Realising their folly, they shed 

their vices and donned the cloak of righteousness. Peace reigned. The abundance was 

donated to the underprivileged, bridging the gap between the haves and have-nots. 

Philanthropy thrived.
The Angel waved his wand on the sleeping village. In the dark of the night, the shadow of 

Satan beat a retreat.

         Weekend Writing Prompt # 19 - Abundance.Thank you Sammi Cox.
word count : 144

Abundance


            Weekend Writing Prompt #19 – Abundance


Poetry Challenge – Write a non-rhyming poem, in 15 lines or less, that includes the words:

  • abundance
  • prosperity
  • plenty

She sowed a seed, 
on the fertile farm of motherhood.
She reaped an abundance of bounty,
the prosperity made her content.
her child's smiles, plenty,
the cup runneth over.

With wrinkled hands she waves, 
from the blue clouds.
A cocoon she have woven,
around him, protecting him,
from all lurking dangers.

Untie him from your apron strings,
wisely cajoles the angel.
Let him take risks, lead his life,
It is his life, after-all.

           Weekend Writing Prompt# 19 - Abundance. Thanks Sammi Cox

Epic Re-interpretation.

THE MASK – FICTION WRITING #FRIDAYFOTOFICTION SEP 8-13



fiction Writing Friday Foto Fiction



The dice was cast.

Duryodhana commanded, “Go and get that maid”.

She was dragged forcibly by vile hands and watched by men in power with helpless eyes.

As Duryodhana lunged forward indicating her to sit on his lap, Karna got up, standing in 

the way of his best friend and the lady “Stop Duryodhana”

“You are my mate, Karna”, blood-shot eyes thundered.

“My shoulders weigh down by your debts, Duryodhana. A lady’s honour is above 

friendship. I will not allow you to cross the threshold of immorality and indecency as a 

close friend.”

“I second Karna”, echoes Bhishma’s baritone.

“Me too”, choruses the court of Hastinapur.

A pair of feminine palms clap in the audience of the Experimental Theatre, Mumbai.


                          Image result for The court of Hastinapur with Draupadi


All feet arise to a standing ovation. The Director’s chest swells with success.

“What would be your reaction, Modern Draupadi, hadn’t you got unexpected support?” a 

critic asks.

Panchali whips out a can of pepper spray and hitches her sari high to demonstrate her 

marital skill.

The curtain falls with pride.


Written for :  Friday Foto Fiction -The Mask-Sep 8-13. Thanks Tina and Mayuri.


                                            Tina Basu


Google pic

Word count :  171.

I tried to stick to the prescribed word count of 150 but was forced to exceed it.









Friday, 8 September 2017

busy-bee








Aunt Charlotte being a very fastidious person, I am on tenterhooks about a slip.

The brownies and cookies are baked to perfection. Darjeeling tea is ready to be 

brewed. The expensive crockery is laid on the table. The curtains match with sofa 

upholstery.

How did I miss this? I station the wooden-stool and hitch my dress high to climb 

despite feeling giddy. I am busy cleaning the ceiling-fan. The landline-phone springs to 

life.

                                             Image result for Landline Phone ringing

I lower myself huffing, losing my balance to fall on the phone. I just pick the receiver.

“Okay Aunt”, I mumble.


She has cancelled her visit.


            Written for  : Carrot Ranch Flash Fiction. Thanks Charli Mills.

google pic

Thursday, 7 September 2017

Silver years


                   Three Line Tales, Week 84





three line tales week 84: glamping

                                                   photo by Niv Rozenberg via Unsplash


Silver was the colour of the day, for the two decades and half had just flown by, for the 

passionate couple who seemed to have walked down the aisle, just yesterday.

The bash was the talk of the town and the tabloids splashed the gloss as the celestial 

beings above, looked down at the celebrity, glitterati and literati assembled at the 

venue, decked in their finest attires and huge smiles.

After acknowledging the wishes from all, the couple flew to the Caribbean Island and 

made their way into the two different cottages readied for them, as per the guest's

instructions.

                                     Written for  : 3Line Tales. Thank you Sonya.


constant change

          Thursday photo prompt – Fading #writephoto


                             


Calm waters of azure ocean
tsunami with violent emotion.

every lash of the salty water
hard rocks erode with lather.

Dawn slowly embraces the gloaming
migrant wings return to nest, roaming.

branches shed green coat, hook
to don a bare naked look.

fluffy clouds change shape
from lion to ape , just gape.

your tenderness fills my heart
aches for the time apart.

fleeting glance of your sunshine
disappear, bleak days mine.

there is change of seasons
for whatever reasons.

ebb the tide of longing
expose the gap yawning.

'eternal' loves fades
to stain the weakest shades.

thawing of passion 
intimacy goes into hibernation.

Change is constant
at pace slow,never instant.


           Written for : Thursday Photo Prompt-Fading. Thanks Sue Vincent


                                          #writephoto

Wednesday, 6 September 2017

The Fort








                                                            PHOTO PROMPT © Danny Bowman

The pathway lay dusty and dishevelled. The shrubs sprouting presented an ugly picture.

“How long is the way ahead, Grandpa?”

“Yonder, the fort ruins on the hill”.

“This doesn’t look like a fort?”

“The fort was once impregnable, Harry. There was a moat around, infested with 

crocodiles”.

“Oh, really grandpa, it’s hard to digest. Did the enemy have to wage a long battle to 

conquer the fort?”

Harry shook the old man’s hand for he had a proclivity for silence when under stress”.

“Not really, Harry. A lone enemy inside was enough. My great-grandpa”. 

Tears swelled to blur the image.


                           written for  : Friday Fictioneers. Thanks Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.


                                          

word count : 100

oceanic warning




The bile regurgitated from the leviathan bowel was strewed on the Marina beach.

Environmentalists complained of oil stained sea-anemone carcass, stink and tonnes of plastic detritus. 

Karma, what goes around comes around. Beware.


                     Image result for environmentalists cleaning the beaches

                                           
                                          

Tuesday, 5 September 2017

Teacher, Guru

131st Challenge
Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers
175 words

This week's photo prompt is provided by artycaptures.wordpress.com. Thank you artycaptures!
Her fingers lay stiff as if rigor mortis has set in. Her eyes stare blankly into nothingness as 

if devoid of life and meaning. Decades ago she spread the fragrance with her smile and 

jasmine in her coiffure. The white chalk and wooden duster in her hand, she made our 

fingers move effortlessly to produce curves lines and dots on the blackboard. Patience 

was her adornment which rubbed subtly on us. The alphabets and the numbers were 

perfected under her tutelage and no mistake escaped from her sharp glasses. She cajoled 

us to chew our greens gently reminding us to leave biscuits and cookies in the picture 

books. Her nimble fingers moulded the children’s clay into fascinating figures and 

sculpted our tender minds too.


Today as she lay in the hospice, my fingers tend to her daily needs.

The keyboard has taken over but my neat handwriting garners praise. I thank her for my 

sound physical health.
My crisp nurse’s uniform is proud of her teachings and values imparted.

My first teacher, my guru. Dhanyawad.

Written for : Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks Priceless Joy.
word count : 175
Notes : 
This is a piece of fiction.
Guru - means teacher in Indian language.
Dhanyawad- means thanks.
In India, 5th September is celebrated as Teachers' Day as a mark of tribute to the contribution made by teachers to the society.
5th September is the birth anniversary of a great teacher Dr. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, who was a staunch believer of education, and was a well-known diplomat, scholar, the President of India and above all, a teacher.

Know more about Teacher's Day. 

courtesy Google

Monday, 4 September 2017

Prognosis

               Twittering Tale #48 – 5 September 2017




coffee-shop-1209863_1280

                                   Coffee Shop from “Free Images” on Pixabay.com

Serving coffee was a ploy.
She warned him to be careful. He ignored. A car hit him.Her prognosis never failed.She practiced tasseography.




                  written for  :  Twittering Tales # 48.Thanks Kat Myrman


                         1476833681824

140 Characters.



Read more about TURKISH COFFEE READING.

Read more about TASSEOGRAPHY.