AnuKathaa

 Just in case you're very observant, you would have noticed that after Story 9 of September, I'm now posting Story 11 of November.  What happened to Story 10 of October , you may wonder.  Well, I did write it and post to my writer's group, and writing it was an outpouring of the emotion that was predominant at that time in my mind - mainly terrible anxiety and trying to hold on to hope as COVID entered my home.  Now, by the grace of God, things have drastically improved and that Story 10 of October has become a distant memory, so I'm not really inclined to revisit that mental state. Of course, I may put up a post sometime in the future on my regular blog Anu's Words , to talk of the learning from my experiences during October 2020.  For this month, I have an extremely short story to share.  The prompt was "Area 52" with a word count of 500 words.  Preoccupied as I had been with health issues, I actually forgot the deadline, and so, got special permission f

The haze and the smell hit me first. The offending frankincense burns in a copper urn, struggling to create an atmosphere of divinity. I look at the mass of people sitting in the room. The smell of their anxiety competes with the frankincense and I feel my insides heave.  Pic credit: Rosco Spectrum I make my way gingerly to the front of the room, following close behind my mother. I’m tempted to hold on to her saree pallu as I did when I was a little girl. But I don’t think it will go well with her now. She’s grown so distant, and I won’t be surprised if she smacks my hand away.  Amma is bowing to the godman sitting on the little stage. His keen eyes take her in, and with an imperious nod of his head, he invites her to share the problem. She points at me. The godman shifts his gaze to me, and a random memory flashes past my mind. Amma hugging me after I had accidentally knocked over her cherished porcelain vase. I wasn’t a problem then. Now, I am. Problem with a capital P. Or PROBLEM i

 “Ma, what is a 3-letter word for ‘distinctive time period’ that begins with the letter E?” called out Kirti. Busy with measuring out water for cooking the rice, Reshma couldn’t reply at once. Even as her brain raced through the possibilities of the word that would fit the clue, Reshma heard her mother-in-law’s voice, dripping sarcasm, chide the child. “Ask your father, Kirti, he’s more likely to know than your mother.” Reshma gritted her teeth, and began deep breathing, mentally counting from 1 to 10, like her colleague had advised. This wasn’t the first time her mother-in-law had tried to belittle her. “You should have learned to ignore her by now,” Reshma told herself, for the eleventh time in the 2 hours she’d been up that day. Before she reached 5 on her count, Reshma found she couldn’t continue her ‘breathing and counting relaxation’ because she was laughing. Her little angel had decided to take the old dragon head-on. “Dadi, you’re wrong, Papa is not good at crosswords.

The old man shuffled inside, glancing about, unsure of himself. He had never come to this huge store on the outskirts of his village. If his wife Lakshmi had been there, she would have taken care of all such things. But she wasn’t, so he had to simply do the best he could.   Looking at all the products, he wondered what Megha would like. The thought brought a wistful smile to his face. His daughter Megha. So excited about starting her new job tomorrow. It would be the first time she traveled from their village to the nearby town. He had seen more of the world than Megha and knew that everyone was not as nice as they pretended to be. But he didn’t say a word to her. No point alarming her beforehand. “Let her experience and learn by herself,” ordered the father in him, smothering the voice of the mother in him, that tried to counter by saying, “But she’s so young…” The saleswoman in the store sensed his confusion and with gentle probing questions, helped him make his purchase. He wal

The prompt for June's story was "It Didn't Work" and the word count, 1800 words. I left the writing of the story for the-hour-after-the last-minute and so, had to really rush through the process at breakneck speed. I'm still a little dazed as I wait for it to get approved and go up on the 12 Short Stories website (the South Africa-based writing group which I'm a part of). In the meantime, I'm posting the story here for your reading pleasure, dear readers, and I'll be waiting, as always, to hear your thoughts! Madhu stepped into the dark room and gingerly picked her way towards the low bed in the corner. A musty smell assailed her at once. Switching on the light, Madhu saw the stink came from Ma’s clothes lying under the bed. Picking up the offending pile, she dumped it into a cane basket nearby. She’d wash them later.  Unbidden came the resentment at having one more task added to her already busy day. Fast on its heels came a sense of co

My fifth short story of the year.  Prompt: Stale               Word count: 1200 words “I expected better work from you, Priya.” “What’s wrong with this piece, Rana? I remember you clearly told me to focus on the struggles of entrepreneurs.” “Yes, I did, but your piece doesn’t convey the ‘struggle’ bit at all!” “Humph! That means you probably didn’t read through the entire story! Look at paragraphs 2 and 3, where I describe the difficulties this guy went through and how he learned to cope with..” “That’s exactly my point, Priya! Where’s the guy’s angst? Why isn’t he railing against the system? Why isn’t he blaming the competition? Why is he such a good guy and ‘learning to cope’, Priya? How many times must I tell you – drama and anger are the only emotions that send circulation figures soaring!” “I don’t remember being taught that in journalism school.” “Life isn’t journalism school, Priya. It’s real. No idealism, only the grim reality. I’m here to sell this newspaper and