Spinner of Tales

For three days, I‘ve been watching the preparations with the shock and horror of an animal caught unawares. I need some warmth, some love. I desperately want to have Dad comfort me, Mom caress me and for me to strengthen them. But I know that I’ll have to control myself. This battle is personal and we’ll have to face it alone. So, I stand a little distance away, watching and waiting for the final moment. Though the weeping has stopped; I know that it’s only a matter of time before it begins again. Occasional sniffs and silent tears gently punctuate the overpowering silence. And the weather...as if it wants to say goodbye too, is at its agonizing best-completely overcast, incessant rain and a cold that like a sword is piercing right through the soul. But, I know that this is nothing. The people here, in this small, obscure graveyard, carry in their hearts a weather, gloomier than what they are witnessing now. Or ever will. ‘Closure is the most important part of healing, pumpki

Sama’s countenance brightened the entire corridor. Finally, FINALLY!! She unsuccessfully attempted to quell her grinning (it seemed so inappropriate), but those who saw her didn’t mind at all. She was such a lovely person, so kind and down to earth; she deserved all the joy she was exuding. It had been two months and eight days since the hospital had become her home. It had been that long since her husband had come home with the fever, complained of uneasiness and later that night had had his first heart attack. Sama always wondered where she had got the strength, both physical and mental, to cope with the situation (being a spiritual person, she knew the answer, but wondered nevertheless). She could never believe how she, a blissfully ignorant home maker, had found the presence of mind to call the ambulance, pack up important things, withdraw money and bring along his health insurance card. The support she got was stupendous. Friends, family, her husband’s colleagues would be there da

People are always nice to me. At work, colleagues make eye contact and give me genuine smiles. In the supermarket, I always get served as soon as possible, so that I dont have to tire myself waiting in long queues. Stories of my special illness reach before I do and I always get the best customer service. My happy go lucky nature; sparkling eyes and contagious laughter make me feel nice, it feels like I make other people’s lives just a little better. Its all sunshine for me. Until I come home in the evenings, that is. The door is the first reminder of who I am. Its wide frame jabbing at my side, sneering and saying, ‘Welcome back to hell, honey’. I am scared to enter my own house. Because, the truth is always there, sometimes lurking behind the shadows of my memories like a thief, but most of the time, like an ugly scar, commanding my attention. Either ways, it always leaves me like a victim of an accident. Beaten, bruised and in agonizing pain. It has been what, close to two y

The sunset enchanted her. The waves, the sand, the palm trees and for some reason, even the long stretch of road was making her heart bubble with joy. She thought back to the last week, trying not to let the glee escape her lips. She was married! The ceremonies, the million little things that her parents and brothers made sure were in place, the wedding, the….here she blushed a little….first night. She stole a glance at her husband, his serious face focusing on the road ahead. How she loved this man….she couldn't even begin describing the joy that he brought into her life. He was a good person and a wonderful lover. Though, throughout the journey, he had seemed a little pensive. She desperately wanted to ask him again if everything was ok, but remembered what her sister had once told her “Nish, if there is one thing, just one thing that you must know about men- it’s to not nag. If you don’t get an answer for a question right away, wait. There will come a time.” Nish smiled as she r

He was a common sight there. The legless beggar, his aluminum bowl, his crutches, the ragged wooden stick (to keep unruly children and dogs at bay) and the brown dog, pale pink skin (with powdery white on the edges) showing where the hair had fallen off, bitten off, who knows. Every morning, like the sun, this man and animal pair would slowly walk the long (for the legless beggar) walk from the slum dwelling ten minutes away from here. Here was a junction. Spices met textiles and became friends with cosmetics, wheat and rice were neighbors and there was the medicine shop. Men and women, walked up and down the shops, children stopped by at the cycle repair shop, getting their wheels blown for a rupee, while pretty adolescent girls could get it done for free. They would ride away with a scorn mingled with a flattered smile – some boy liked them, even if it were the shabby, smelling of grease (and sweat) cycle shop boy. Their lists began thus. In the midst of all this, sat the old beggar

Ram sat on the window sill contemplating what to do, while trying to keep his mind from screaming in panic. It first started as a mere irritation, turned into a bit of anger and slowly metamorphosed into the panic that was beginning to gnaw at every cell in his body. He suddenly felt so helpless, so small, so….in need of her. Today was Wednesday, when Geetha had her weekly meetings, hence came home after 7pm. It was Ram’s duty to make sure that he came home early to take care of little Sid. The barely five yet child came home from school at 2, stayed in the neighbor’s house with another kid his age till about 5, when Geetha would pick him up from there as she came back home from office. That was the routine everyday, except on Wednesdays. That was Ram’s day. He knew that the child loved these days when, to give him and himself a break from routine, father and son would go to the beach, eat ice cream, talk about the day and after several attempts at restraining the little boy, the fathe