The Helper

It was a hot summer day and a hectic time of the year, what with the summer vacations and the kids running around all over the place. Luckily, we had moved into a new house towards the outskirts of the city. It was an old construction, but a beautiful one. And despite the fact that it needed a lot of work – redoing of the electric circuits, modernising the plumbing, retiling the floors and restoring the walls, it was a delight to be in. The kids had enough space to run around to their heart's content, in the lawns, and my husband could take up his long time hobby of cultivating a vegetable garden.

Well wishers had tried to dissuade us from moving into it. It was a bold decision, they said. We were living in an apartment complex with multiple high rises, where our lives were well ordered. But we wanted the children to grow up in an open space, without us having to worry about their security. A security guard, was necessary, however, with the house being in a slightly desolate location.

Happy Friendship Day

My neighbour often cries herself to sleep. Sometimes she cries during the day too. Loudly. I don’t know how to help her. And sometimes I just wish she would stop. When I hear her wails, I imagine she must be her lying on the floor, drool coming from her mouth as she bangs her fists in frustration at the hard wood floor. I feel her pain. We all have our pains.

But I can’t stop her. Occasionally, I bump into her during the day. She often looks better than she sounds. But her thin lips, pressed together give her away. It is almost as if she wants to hold her mouth together, in case she is unable to contain her wails or say anything inappropriate if she opens her mouth. Once or twice, I tried to smile at her, out of neighbourliness. But she is in a place of her own. As if there is a dark cloud all around her, that keeps her from seeing anything else. I wonder if the cloud torments her, making her cry. 

Short Story: If the Shoe Fits

By the time I sat down at the edge of the bed to take my shoes off, my feet were sore. There was a serious shoe bite at the back of the foot and redness near the toes. Small price to pay for such a beauty though, I thought. It was a black patent leather peep-toe high heel, with the signature designer red sole. 
Even though, I knew from the start that these shoes were a bit tight for my foot type, I had bought them, half hoping that they would loosen overtime. Sometimes, they do. And they made me feel so good, never mind some discomfort. 
The first time I had seen these shoes worn, was when Julie, the Hollywood star, walked across the red carpet in a stunning black gown, sparkling emerald earrings and soft locks cascading down her face, hand in hand with her handsome actor beau. But the heels, they stood out the most for me, as she obliged to pose for the throngs of paparazzi.

I am here

That was the last time I got hit by him. When I told him about the angel.

“What does he keep talking about, this boy?” he said, dragging me to my mother.

“But he told me”, I cried.

That remark invited even more rage from him.

“He is a young boy, let him be” said my mother, helplessly. But he hit her too, when she said so.

He was like that, my father. That was just how he was made. Anytime we mentioned something he did not like, he would beat us up.

Wisps of smoke

It was a cold January evening. A cold, foggy evening. It was the kind of evening that always reminded me of childhood – when we as kids would pretend to hold a cigarette in our hands, and breathe smoke out. Despite the cold, it was a warm memory, and a happy start to the new year.

I was still on holiday, the Christmas lights still decked the halls and inside the house it was warm and cozy. I was singing to myself while washing a pile of dishes from our rare bout of festive cooking when it happened.