INDImag – Contemporary fiction | Motivational short stories | Social stories | Short story criticism

Short Stories that usually delve into the nostalgic world of yesteryears…

Today, she wrote of what she cooked and how people ate, she wrote about her day, she wrote about her little world and how she dared not dream of more. This was her world she thought. Even in its defined limits, she was in charge here ; she controlled some part of the household.

I just realized how unalloyed and unconditional this old man’s love was. And that’s when I realized ‘True love is neither physical, nor romantic. It is an acceptance of all that was, that is, that will be and that is going to be……

From the vantage point one could see the whole area. The light green fields, the dark green grove of trees, the isolated cluster of brownish village huts, and the majestic bluish and whitish waters of the mighty Bhima river, flowing silently from the Western ghats to the plains of the East, where they would later merge with the mighty waters of the Krishna river. Amongst the various shades of green, one could also discern moving green dots, which through binoculars would reveal a line of marching soldiers in camouflaged uniform moving through the fields.

The one-horse town of Chikkulli in South India had nothing much to speak for itself. Dusty lanes and streets crammed a few shops selling house-hold amenities and the usual stuff. The town had an old temple on the outskirts and an equally rambling church. The people were mostly tradesmen and farmers with lands on the outskirts of the town.

“That’s just it” the Spy said “This isn’t about law. It’s… about the done thing. Protocol”
“Well, it’s necessary for him to take that into consideration too”
“Consideration!!” the Spy grunted “He puts protocol before anything else”
“Yes, it’s what he’s renowned for” the Head said.
“Yes” the Spy said “Fame. That’s what he has in place of feelings”

37 degrees. Dry heat. The kind of heat that can start forest fires. It was 4:30pm. I squinted at the sun – a blazing metal disk in a cloudless sky, and was blinded for a couple of seconds. Even crows chose to sit quietly in still, leafy trees. I fanned myself with a newspaper and listened to the silence in a trance.

Rainy day on a bus stand, waiting to get back home and then suddenly out of nowhere she came along and…, His hear skipped a beat, the girl stepped off the kerb and into the bus stand..

I began to walk faster, too fast perhaps, for I was now attracting attention. But I couldn’t slow down. Any minute could be the dreaded one. The bridge loomed nearer. Right underneath it, was what I was looking for. The ticket counter.

‘A ticket to Dehradun please.’

Assigned to Becky Quinn. That was the status of my ticket that Tuesday morning. That really did not sound good at all! Who was Becky Quinn? And more importantly, where was Cho? I relied on Cho heavily to solve all my tool issues. He was an important cog in my wheel of efficiency.

It was after a booze of mahuli and sitting beside the ring and watching the cockfight that this singular idea struck his mind. ‘He would foster a cock and indulge in the game. He would lose and win, beat his head and shout in ecstasy, like those folks. Yea! That’s the real stuff and tang of things. That’s what makes you a man. After all, what is life? Ha! Nothing at all; unless you extract as much sap as you can…. unless you fling yourself headlong into this vast sea – the sea of ….. of what you call this business-a life or mystery.