The lunch


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? ūüėČ

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The helping hand


A delirium. Total confusion. It was supposed to be a mellifluous melody gently wafting in, ever so slowly nudging one awake from the slumber. Instead, it was a barrage of high energy noise Рalbeit in rhythm, like the crescendo of a power ballad. Each beat felt like a pummelling by a pugilist. After a couple of failed attempts to cut out the cacophony by pulling the sheets over his head, Aravind sat up and rubbed his bleary eyes. Instinctively, he took his mobile and checked the time. 7:45 a.m. Рstill fifteen minutes to his third alarm.

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Sunset over Vembanad lake – photo


Call me lazy. Perhaps it is another bout of ‘ideas running dry’. Or the realization that the year is finally winding down. Maybe because I haven’t shared a photo recently? Now that I’ve got enough excuses laid down, here’s a picture of the Sun setting over the Vembanad lake.

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The free bird


Mind – arguably the most powerful, yet mysterious conundrum of nature. My mind takes me on fascinating journeys at times. On this lazy Saturday, I have been lying on my back on the sands of the Marina beach, seeing nothing but flocks of birds flying past. Like a video clip put on a loop, the birds kept coming. My mind kept humming the Lynyrd Skynyrd staple, Freebird. It’s been long since I visited Chennai. I remember coming here long back, for my cousin’s wedding. Now, years later, back again to fulfil a forgotten rendezvous with my longtime friend, Ramanathan.

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Bloodstain


[Warning! Some blood and gore]

“Wisdom begins in wonder”, proclaimed the wooden board on top of the arched doorway of the library. Officer Patrick Wilson paused for a moment before stepping on to the magnificent athenaeum. The walls were adorned by rows upon rows of books, carefully sorted out and arranged. A huge stained glass window on the far end painted a kaleidoscope of colours on the oriental rug that covered the floor. Everything looked perfect, except for the big splatter of dried blood and brain matter on the stuccoed wall, below the stained glass windows.

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The heavens’ cry


Oftentimes, reality is a stark contrast to our dreams. We have a responsibility towards ourselves, a commitment to our dreams – that we would strive to make them a reality. But then, life does not give you a rose without a thorn. A little of this and a little of that, and then the idea of a nonet poem, mixed with the idea of allegory, and here’s the post. Well, what do we say, October has been a month of allegories (Here’s the first one in case you missed it).

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The gift


Rack number seven, fourth row – that was what he had told. She had rushed to the children’s books section of the school library as soon as the recess had started. Her eyes gleamed up as she saw the book. Her face beamed with joy as she found her birthday gift – a beautiful iridescent¬†peacock feather.

Searching for the gift
Searching for the gift

This 55-fiction was written for Write Tribe. The cute little picture prompt is by Vidya Sury.

The peepal leaf and the rose bud


In a faraway land, on the banks of a river, there stood a mighty Peepal tree. The tree stood tall, fed by the river, and occasionally  giving back to it as well. Aided by the perennial rains, some new shoots of leaves were forming on the branches of this tree that overlooked the river. Tender, sleek Peepal leaves. The weather however has been growing wilder. Rains and thunderstorms lashing and punishing anything in their wake. Fed by the torrential rains, the serpentine river had become a ferocious beast. The Peepal tree stood high even as gusts of wind mercilessly punished it. The new tender leaves also tried hard to stay put, but, their resolve was not enough to withstand the raw power of the downpour. One by one, the leaves succumbed to the wind and fell down.

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