Story 11: No Leftovers for Guddi
This is the story I wrote for November.
Prompt: Leftovers l Word Count: 500 words exactly
He picked a few boxes of her favourite varieties of crackers – the mild sparklers, and the colourful flower-pots. He smiled, thinking of how, at first, Guddi would hide behind her mother, refusing to light the crackers but then, summon up the courage to join him. Next would come the demand for more crackers for tomorrow.
Pushing his purchases to the bottom of the carrier box on his bike, he rushed back to the fast food outlet to pick up the next order.
“Can I leave after delivering this order? My Guddi will be waiting for me,” he begged his boss, who paused barking orders for just enough time to give him a blank stare and a quick nod.
‘Only one more customer left,’ he rejoiced, as he hurried to the next delivery location. Just his luck. No one was home and when he called the mobile number of the customer, she apologized for being caught in traffic. She wouldn’t be able to reach in time to pick up the pizza.
‘Oh no, now she’ll cancel, and demand a refund, and my boss will chew me out over the issue,’ he rued.
The customer’s voice cut into his reverie. “I’m so sorry for bothering you on a festival day. Do you have kids at home? Please take the pizza for them – with my compliments,” she said.
Guddi didn’t like leftovers. But then, this was a fresh pizza, so perhaps she wouldn’t mind.
He drove like a maniac, weaving in and out of traffic, rushing against time to get home before Guddi had dinner and fell asleep.
All of his neighbours were having fun, joking and laughing, as the kids burst crackers that lighted up the night sky. He rushed into his silent house and saw Guddi sprawled on the bed.
“Hey, Guddi, I’ve brought pizza and crackers! Let’s enjoy the festival! Come on, now, get up, Papa is home early today!”
As he shook her limp form, his eyes refused to see the line of maggots that wove their way out of Guddi’s open mouth.
I hate dark stories that have no scope for hope. Which is why I never write them. Even in stories that have sadness, I try to leave the reader with something positive.
Judging from feedback I received, people were shocked either by the content of the story itself, or at the fact that I had written such a story. Either way, my objective was achieved.
There have been readers asking me for a sort of clarification; so here goes.
I created this character of the father who was so fond of Guddi that her death became a tipping point, and he just went crazy, refusing to accept her death, and continued acting as if she was still alive.
I included a mention of the prompt – Leftovers – in the story. But the prompt was part of the subtext too – Guddi herself has become “leftovers” for the maggots, and in another sense, the father is also essentially dead, and whatever is there of him is only the “leftovers”.
Prompt: Leftovers l Word Count: 500 words exactly
“Good evening, sir. Here’s your pizza. Happy Diwali!” he said, pasting a broad smile on his face, injecting a note of enthusiasm into his tired voice, as he held out the cardboard box.
“Oooh, the pizza is here,” squealed a sweet voice, and he saw a girl, not much older than his Guddi, doing a little jig.
He felt icy hands clasp his heart once more. Diwali evening should have been spent with his Guddi, lighting lamps and bursting crackers, instead of delivering food to customers who couldn’t be bothered to cook dinner.
Glancing at his watch, he realized he had a few minutes before he was called up to ferry the next food package. Rushing through traffic, he made his way to the playground where crackers were being sold. Everything was so damn expensive these days. But no compromise when it came to Guddi’s joy.
“Oooh, the pizza is here,” squealed a sweet voice, and he saw a girl, not much older than his Guddi, doing a little jig.
He felt icy hands clasp his heart once more. Diwali evening should have been spent with his Guddi, lighting lamps and bursting crackers, instead of delivering food to customers who couldn’t be bothered to cook dinner.
Glancing at his watch, he realized he had a few minutes before he was called up to ferry the next food package. Rushing through traffic, he made his way to the playground where crackers were being sold. Everything was so damn expensive these days. But no compromise when it came to Guddi’s joy.
He picked a few boxes of her favourite varieties of crackers – the mild sparklers, and the colourful flower-pots. He smiled, thinking of how, at first, Guddi would hide behind her mother, refusing to light the crackers but then, summon up the courage to join him. Next would come the demand for more crackers for tomorrow.
Pushing his purchases to the bottom of the carrier box on his bike, he rushed back to the fast food outlet to pick up the next order.
“Can I leave after delivering this order? My Guddi will be waiting for me,” he begged his boss, who paused barking orders for just enough time to give him a blank stare and a quick nod.
‘Only one more customer left,’ he rejoiced, as he hurried to the next delivery location. Just his luck. No one was home and when he called the mobile number of the customer, she apologized for being caught in traffic. She wouldn’t be able to reach in time to pick up the pizza.
‘Oh no, now she’ll cancel, and demand a refund, and my boss will chew me out over the issue,’ he rued.
The customer’s voice cut into his reverie. “I’m so sorry for bothering you on a festival day. Do you have kids at home? Please take the pizza for them – with my compliments,” she said.
Guddi didn’t like leftovers. But then, this was a fresh pizza, so perhaps she wouldn’t mind.
He drove like a maniac, weaving in and out of traffic, rushing against time to get home before Guddi had dinner and fell asleep.
All of his neighbours were having fun, joking and laughing, as the kids burst crackers that lighted up the night sky. He rushed into his silent house and saw Guddi sprawled on the bed.
“Hey, Guddi, I’ve brought pizza and crackers! Let’s enjoy the festival! Come on, now, get up, Papa is home early today!”
As he shook her limp form, his eyes refused to see the line of maggots that wove their way out of Guddi’s open mouth.
xxxxxxxxxx
I hate dark stories that have no scope for hope. Which is why I never write them. Even in stories that have sadness, I try to leave the reader with something positive.
But then, if I must grow as a writer, it is equally important to not shy away from writing in some genre out of dislike or fear of the unknown.
When I wrote “No leftovers for Guddi,” I deliberately set out to write a dark story. One that was meant to jolt the reader with a shock.
Judging from feedback I received, people were shocked either by the content of the story itself, or at the fact that I had written such a story. Either way, my objective was achieved.
There have been readers asking me for a sort of clarification; so here goes.
I created this character of the father who was so fond of Guddi that her death became a tipping point, and he just went crazy, refusing to accept her death, and continued acting as if she was still alive.
I included a mention of the prompt – Leftovers – in the story. But the prompt was part of the subtext too – Guddi herself has become “leftovers” for the maggots, and in another sense, the father is also essentially dead, and whatever is there of him is only the “leftovers”.
I'm a little shaken by the extreme emotion this story seems to have evoked in readers with whom I shared it on my other blog. I apologize, and am not likely to write a dark story for a long, long time to come. You see, I have to recover, too!
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