Anita kicked the bedpost. Once. Twice. And once more. Third time she missed, and hit the vase stand. Pieces flew all over the room. Broken, shattered bits. Like her. Her mum didn’t see that, didn’t care about that. She cared about the breaking sound. The noise which aggravated her headache. That she compared to the house falling. More like a rats in the cupboard din, Anita thought. It was more than she could take.
She scurried to the garden. Her solace through the years. Not today. The sun was in a bad mood too. His fury burned her skin. The odour of dog poo greeted her instead of the sweet-smelling roses. She picked up a sharp rock. Of course, she would never hurt the neighbour’s dog. Even though he was the re-incarnation of Zoltan. Instead she hurled it at the letter box.
The flowers weren’t co-operative either. The rose drew her blood. The Hibiscus refused to placate her nose. She crushed the flower for the offense. Too late she recollected that the poor flower never boasted of fragrance. The hibiscus wouldn’t become a sweet scented flower just like she couldn’t be the son her mother wanted so much. It didn’t matter. She straightened the crushed petals. She loved every flower just as it was.
*One of my assignments at a Flash Fiction Workshop. The task was to write a piece portraying a strong emotion.
My first glimpse of Eiffel tower was through the glass window. We were on the way to the Seine River Cruise. Dusk had set in; small clouds flitted through the sky. The evening shadows played with the glass to give a surreal look. This was how I saw the Eiffel tower the first time. Can you wonder that I was enthralled?
The word geyser is derived from the Great Geysir. However, Geysir is very unreliable these days. Strokkur, on the other hand, with its reliable eruption cycle has become a more popular tourist destination. Strokkur is a fountain geyser located in the geothermal field in the Haukadalur valley in Iceland. Nearby are located many smaller geysers (as well as the Geysir).
Strokkur was supposedly set off during an earthquake in 1789. It is a very energetic geyser, the water sprouting around 10-20m high. At any time of the day, you can see rings of tourists, cameras in hand, waiting for the geyser to erupt. And Strokkur doesn’t disappoint; it erupts every 8-10 minutes sending fumes of sulphur your way if you stand in the direction of the wind.
Watching people through the window is his job. Well, not exactly his job, but a prelude to it.
Staring out the window at the lush landscape, tickling streams—not his scene. Why sit on the other side of the wall when you could directly bask in the sun, play with the waters, and climb the mountains? Maybe when it’s raining. But then he would rather go out in the rain than watch through a hole in the wall. He loves dancing in the rain as much as he loves making people dance to his tunes.
His window seat doesn’t face nature, but the concrete street—a crowded road with heavy footfall—not the highway packed with moving vehicles. He isn’t interested in watching the different models of automobiles passing, though he does love cars and bikes. Watching people isn’t a hobby, but a necessity. Else, how would he find someone suitable? He doesn’t like to use someone he knows. That would be risky. His feelings would interfere with what he has to do. Watching a crowd is safe. There he finds strangers, whose pain and sufferings he can bear with a detached mind. Continue reading The Observer→
I never write about taxes or related stuff. So why now? The reason—the strange problem I encountered while making GST payment.
Being conscientious citizens, my parents didn’t get into the debate about advantages, and disadvantages of GST. Instead they studied how GST would be applicable to them, and started incorporating it into their businesses. This was the root of the problem. Due to their zeal, when govt. announced that GSTR 3b form would be available from 5th and we can start making payments, we were among the first few who rushed in. The problem started when the banks refused to make payment via RTGS. Continue reading GST, Banks, and the problem of being a responsible citizen→
On his second adventure, Bhrigu Mahesh is called to help by a hapless, retired clerk named Nataraj Bhakti, who thinks he is being haunted by the spirit of his dead wife. As he investigates, the mystery deepens and takes a sinister turn. A woman gets brutally murdered, and the great detective faces the challenge to either catch the killer or risk the destruction of many innocent lives.