Musings of a compulsive thinker
We humans have an amazing sense of perseverance. In spite of adversities people carry on, knowing well that the path ahead would be no more easier than what was behind. So much so that probably fate, if it could ever wonder, like humans do (no, not the song), it would probably be something like this:
The black sedan was cruising along the mostly empty roads of Hampshire. It was early summer and the sun was just out, bathing the English countryside in a graceful yellow. The golden tinge and the slight morning haze added to the beauty of the lush green fields and the occasional panoply of trees. Adam was behind the wheel, concentrating on the road ahead. Rachel, his wife, sat beside him on the front, busy with her phone. The only noise inside the car came from the back, where their daughter Iris was having an animated discussion with her grandfather.
It had been an unusually busy day at the Sagar restaurant. The inky blue sky showed no trail of the vibrant transformation it underwent throughout the day. The pleasant blue sky of the morning had metamorphosed into a large swatch of yellows and oranges and greyish-purples by the evening. All the while, the people kept coming in.
The restaurant was open well past its normal hours. The handful of workers, including the manager himself were kept busy by the incessant flow of patrons. The frantic activity in the restaurant was mirrored in the kitchen, where the cooks were working and coordinating like a well-oiled machine, albeit in a frenzied manner. Sankar anna, the senior most in the ranks was running from table to table, catering to the needs of the customers, and simultaneously giving orders to the other, less experienced workers. He was the linchpin that kept this entire system running smoothly.
Hounds that hound – does that sound creepy? We are talking about hounding and not haunting, still the word hound sends a chill down the spine. Probably like the Holy Cow, this has to do with my encounters with the canine kind.
For the record, I like dogs – the ones that roam around in your house and mind their own business, the ones that do not grow like a bull (yeah, they maybe cute and cuddly and all.. but with all those muscle power behind fang like teeth, you never know, do you? *shudders*), even the stray ones that saunter around not bothering to waste more than a second staring at you. They don’t bother me, and I don’t pester them. I may even pet them, if the pooch is familiar enough. See – it is a win-win! But all this wisdom came from some bitter lessons. And it turns out, I am still learning.
Cows – the gentle giants. Dogs – loyal than your own shadow. What could possibly go wrong? Everything, apparently. Such have been my encounters with these fellow beings that my body goes into a fight or flee mode as soon as I see one of these. My brain only registers the rope or the leash a second later. I have got my priorities right, and how.
We hear about this a lot, don’t we? “I’ll love you forever* (conditions apply)” People who overlook the fine print ends up in a well of misery, atleast for a while. And then there is the oh-so-fabled unconditional love.
This following short piece is a fictional take on Conditional love written for the Write Tribe prompt. This was in part inspired by a 140 character fiction I wrote on Twitter some days back:
We’ll part ways,they said.He didn’t see the pills being dropped in his drink.She didn’t see her lipgloss being doused in cyanide.#A2ZFiction
— Vaisakh Venugopal (@tweetingmanu) February 28, 2014
Time flies. Clichéd? Yes, but true nevertheless. A blink of an eye and a quarter is over. Was it not just a few days back that we had ushered in the new year? The year is already more than three months old! Wow! At the start of the year, I had made a resolution.. nay, that’s trite again. The point is, I had consciously made a decision to spent more time on things I loved. On the top of the list were writing and music.
[Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, inspired by certain tales of gallantry]
An year shy of half a century. Nearly fifty years ago, on this day, it was raining fire and blood on the treacherous passes of the Pir Panjal range. That day, in the midst of the ungodly blizzard of bullets and brutal weather, our lives took a turn none of us had anticipated. No, that won’t be right. Only my life took a turn; for the other two, it ended. No words can capture the seething undercurrents of emotion that haunts the survivors – the ones who won the war, yet lost everything.
It has been a hard day. That isn’t something new though. This sweltering heat has only made things harder. People don’t seem to be very helpful these days. Everyone is concerned about their own well being. But then again, I have learned that it is the norm. The uncertainty in my life is shocking sometimes. You have no idea how long I have to keep roaming around till I get enough for the day.
Little Amy couldn’t wait for the lunch break to start. Her Mom had prepared her favourite dishes for her. She opened her lunch box as soon as the bell rang. The aroma of the assorted non-veg platter was quite tempting . It was all she could not to drool over. God! How she hated eating vegetables!
A few blocks away from the school, Anne and her friends were having lunch in the office cafeteria. As she picked up a spoonful of beetroot curry, she couldn’t help but chuckle imagining Amy’s reaction when she finds the hidden vegetable curry beneath the rice.
This is a work of fiction (well, not entirely..this author has gone through similar situations. Several times.), written for the Write Tribe 100 words on Saturday prompt “She had the last laugh”.
By the way, who, do you think had the last laugh here? Amanda? Or Anne? 😉
The Museum Piece 