Flash Fiction: The end of it

Blinkered eye scanned the black BMW X 5 series speeding on the deserted road in the outskirt of Mumbai, jettisoning past the railway station and stumbled on the dingy alley, in the middle of dilapidated buildings, a lone tea stall lit by a torch and cows grazing on the muddy field.

The luxury car stumbled and screeched that stirred the fearful residents cooped in the two square, flipped towards the end of the lane, reaching the main road.  A computer-generated voice told the driver, “You are being followed.”

Dim light and red shadow surfaced coruscating on the narrow edge of the road. The car slowed down and the driver fixed at the rear window, observing the slightest ruffled movement on the deserted road while watching ahead at the same time. In the fleeting seconds, a barrage of gunshots fired at missile range grilled the car, descending on it like speck of arrows blustered on the window and steel.

The car twisted in circumference like movement, stumbled and trundled on the pavement blipped to speed, was tailed by the behemoth of cars closing on its heels. Ball of fire unleashed and thwacked the BMW on the roof, back rear, door and window splintering into jagged pieces.

The array of cars firing bullets and canons, banged against the BMW leaping ahead and pacing out before gaining the upper edge. In a strike of second, the driver lost control after wagging the sniper battle for a harrowing hour and spun in a circle of fire crashed on the edge of the bridge, hardened blocks and concrete jagged in the air with thwack like sound.

The car flew past the bridge and cascaded inside the river, exploding like wildfire.  A man was hanging on the bridge and a group of armed men run towards him that gave a shock and expression of disbelief. A configured robot was driving the car and oscillated in the air, speaking the language of humans, “You are fucked.”

Flash fiction: The Temptress

Anjali smacked him on the lip. Rohan was caught off guard, squatting on the mattress strewn on the floor and coaxed her to play monopoly. His constant pleading, blackmail and pulling her hair in various directions irked her. The smooch was forceful and her legs intentionally hit the monopoly board hard.

“What the fuck,” he protested.

“You need a fuck,” she sniggered. “Oh, monopoly is more important than us,” she faked it.

“Babe! It’s about us and not this game,” he tried to cajole.

She turned her face away and smiling with a bang fist in triumph.  

Rohan folded the monopoly board and dug it inside the box. He feared that his lady love was brewing something in her head.

Anjali licked his toe, pressed her perfect finger on his skin and smiled seductively.  He felt an electric gush wave running like steam in his body and tried to resist but the sensation incapacitated him. Rohan held her shoulder, caressing her skin and unbuttoned her bra. He squelched. She gravitated closer and pushed him forcefully to the wall, licking his chest, tongue lashing up and down. Hairy chest went moist. He slouched and let her drive him. He loosened up. She explored his upper body and pressed him with brutal force.

Rohan yawled in pain. A pair of tooth bit the zone between the hairy chest and the belly, pulling off the pad. He wouldn’t let her pull it off. Anjali strummed naked and threw it inside the bin. She winked at him.

“Baby! The starter has been served and dessert tonight,” Anjali said.

Flash Fiction: Love Climax

White skirt sat on the near perfect skin and fluttered by the breeze as the pair of legs plodded to plonk on the lone bench in the park. A colorful hat hid the pretty hair like the forced smile hiding the pain on Neha’s face. She switched off her handset and flung it in the lake. He never came! She was numb and furiously flailed her legs in the air. The broken heart vowed not to love ever again. A strange sensation tightened her chest like an evil force on a rampage and she passed out on the bench.

A gentle kissed touched her cheek, stroking the long hair and dripping saliva felt on mouth. She slowly opened her eyes and saw him standing in front of her. It cannot be a dream, the lake, wind and the park, she enthused. He smiled and bent on his feet, gently holding her hand. “Sorry for making you wait,” he said. “I missed the train that went in flame. Love conspired for us to be together.” She got up and hugged him tightly, exploring every nook of his lip, caressing his face and kissing his eye. “You are mine forever. Nothing can take you away from me,” she beamed.

Fiction: Only if...

The mind drifted to the past. A city in ruins. Lives shattered. A palace adorned with gold, curvature forming semi-circles that once stood magnificently crumbled into ashes.

A lehenga flew like curtains draped on this beautiful woman and as she sashayed inside the palace, the gold-plated and embroidered silk dress became limitless to protect her flawless skin and dignity.

If only I could muster the courage to tell her how beautiful and divine she looked! But, then I was the poor son of a poor peasant belonging to the backward class who couldn’t dare to dream of love and kissing her flawless lip. A sin I would have committed. She smiled sheepishly and walked gracefully inside, waving bye to me. The princess sat like a Goddess disappeared inside the kingdom. I became mad that day. After all, love is not for paupers like me.

The night thunder blazed through the sky, the clouds wore a tint of dark and rain lashed everywhere, droplet fell on my skin and palm. The heavy rain wiped my tears as I saw the princess serenaded by the King’s son. It was a grand alliance. The princess couldn’t recognize my tears coalesced into the water. The fury of the rains like the angst and bruise of a broken heart refused to be cowed by the stream of tears, I sought refuge in the cheap liquor sitting all drenched, cursing my life, destiny and tragedy of being alive. Death would have been my liberation. I would avenge from destiny and destroy wealth accumulated at our cost, caste and poverty. They shall not mock the poor anymore. 

Love shall wield the power of a devil. Love shall wreck havoc on them against us. Oppose love and you shall burn in hell. Love will be the new religion, of closure and hell.

The decision was taken. The storm shall never pass! A man hurt in love has just lost his sanity and the liquor turned me into a one-man bruised mob, zigzagging in the dark night, gyrated in the dance of anger and stood in front of the mighty palace. The rain has stopped. I promised that no single tear would be shed and the finger flicked the matchstick to light the fire. All the riches in the world were brought down, erased and turn into ashes. If only I could tell the princess! The intense and passionate love that ravaged a heart to death. Only if!

Fiction: The boy and the cream roll

 The small, dingy shop stood rooted as a lone sight between the paddy, green field and muddy cultivation in the faraway outskirt town cut off from the humdrum of life. A barely visible but elongated trench found its way and covered by thick, long grasses that could be only visible by sharp eyes as farmers and cultivators routinely plodded their tiring soles.

A little boy walked barefoot battling the scorching sun on days and on a rainy morning with the water hitting the face like arrows to stand for hours in front of the shop.  He wore a wry expression and eyes bobbed at the cheap pastry and samoosa but never asked the shop owner for a single piece of the fried, thick dough coated with white cream. The black eyes furtively scanned the plowed fields and as luck would have it, a truck carrying horde of workers decked in lungi sitting atop the huge gunny sack screeched on the mud and dust sprinkling on the face of the little boy. He never wiped his face and was elated with joy. The goodies lying in the shop and flies hovering above them occupied his tiny mind.  Perhaps, poverty and a growling stomach taught him never to approach the shop owner or the thought of running away with a delicacy to crave the stomach to bliss eluded him. 

One sunny afternoon, the eyes of the tiny boy gleamed at the white buffalo, slowly trotting its way in the far away field, surrounded by green leaves and trees. A cheap salwar kameez was thrown in the stable where the horse tied inside looked at the cloth and struggling to tear it apart with the hock. A rough hand flitted past the white and soiled bra, hands caressing and cupped his mouth within an inch of the female boob.  Moaning was lost to the world of cultivation and the wind wafting in intermittent burst. 

The man cupped his lip and smacked the young village women on her mouth. She loosened the string on his pajama and hand pressed beneath the cloth. He became hard inside and pushed inside her, caressing the unchartered zone with his finger. She slouched on the grass, eyes open and mouth closed, longing for more as he penetrated her and hands tightly held to the surface with her body unmoved. She felt the force inside. 

The fair village bell moaned with pleasure, eyes wearing a stillness and calmness, savoring the moment and feeling delicious as her long nails scratched his stiff skin on the back.  She quickly wrapped her salwar and the man quickly pulled his pajama suit, walking at a looming distance to not raise suspicion on the vast field. The young boy smiled and eyes darted in their direction as they sprinted towards the road.  

The couple walked past the teen, who wore dark patch under his eyes and the girl brusquely stopped, pulling something beneath her pallu. The little boy grabbed the cream roll and crunched the top of the cake with his teeth, winked at her. He ran away as fast as he could on his naked feet, leaving the couple at a looming distance who disappeared in the truck pocked with field workers.

Fiction: The impermanence of everything

The door yanked open. A ruffle of wind in burst almost pushed the skinny body jerking upward and backward, the balance tilted just in time by the semi brown classic shoes, hand glued to the wall. The legs became numb and a burning sensation rippled through the skin as cold wave seeped through. Mike lost his way and wandered aimlessly like the night's vagabond, emptying a bottle of Vodka quenching his thirst and warming the body in the frozen winter. Alcohol washed all the pains and troubles of a broken marriage.

A floor littered with fags end, crumpled papers, alcohol bottle whose stench wafted in the dimly lit room and thick dust which would make anyone ran away. He liked it that way, the obnoxious smell of everything, the tiny bed lying in a corner and black and white TV in this garbage called a room. No one to make love to after the wife of ten years slapped the door and a lawsuit on him for his alcoholic ways or the apple of his eyes, the only two-year-old daughter adopting a new father to disown her legitimately, natural one.

The saga continued uninterruptedly like the monsoon in the city for days, weeks and months, cheap alcohol, cigarette, drugs and a new girl every night. The doting father has turned into a pleasure seeker, destroying every moment of his life every moment till the monsoon washed the entire building that crumbled and collapsed. Like every resident of the old building, there was no sign of Mark who the world told swam in blood coalesced into the angry water to meet his end. He became history. The heavy rain washed his pain and trauma which no alcohol, fags or women could do.

On the banks of Vanarasi, sat a white man adorned with wooden amulets, flower garlands and ring as the conch blew for the evening arati lighting up the old city. An old friend could recognize the fresh face behind the unkempt beard and dressed in saffron robe who whispered into his ear, "Dead to the world, how can you fool me, Sadhu Mark?" The Sadhu remain unaffected and gently touched the shoulder of the stranger, "You may be the friend to a certain Mark who died six months ago in the heavy rain. Nothing is permanent, my son and belongings are just an illusion, sex, love, life, and property. Bondage is the biggest lie. Go ahead for the arati."

The Sadhu went into his world of trance and no protest from an old chum would perturb him from his task. He was a changed man with a new identity, sprinkling blessings on travelers and visitors. The saffron-clad religious man got up, trotted his naked feet and took a dip in the Ganga.

Fiction: The girl selling toys and the coloring book

The dust flickered in the thick summer weather and the innocence in the peachy eyes, hardened cheek, and shabby dress followed the wind swirling and ruffling the hair knotted together. She squatted on the ground and the shrilled voice couldn't reach to the people storming in a hurry.  The cheap Chinese toys and Indian made handkerchief spread on the newspaper on the stairs.  "Five rupees saheb, buy one handkerchief and a toy please please," the child implored.

The eyes darted towards the commuters scampering on the dirty and muddy railway stairs to catch the latest train. Children like her were not allowed to dream yet the eyes bobbed to the colored books spread on a mat by a hawker, sitting inches away from her. A feeble smile surfaced on her face at the sight of the colored crayons. The tiny hands pressed the forehead and wiped the sweat on her cheap flowery dress.

A halo moment struck and she started prancing, doing one, two, three one steps at a time trotting on the stairs, leaving her toys and handkerchiefs unattended. She took steps away from the railway station and wandered towards the chai walla, keenly watching the expert hands fiddling with a huge spoon steering the tea leaves, pouring milk and placing a cloth doubling as a strainer to fill dozens cups with hot beverage. She was perspiring yet craving for a cup of tea, tendered few coins tinkling on the small wooden table. The tea hawker smiled at her, "Pinky! You cannot buy tea with scattered coins.” The tea seller expertly counted the chillar that made almost a rupaiya.  "A glass of tea costs five rupees," he was amused and placed the cup of tea on the palm that almost burned her skin. Pinky gulped the tea and a bright smile shone on her face.

Pinky placed her on the cheek on the empty glass to feel the steam and winked at herself. She repeated the exercise twice and thrice, running away with bated breath as if she has committed a crime. The entire toys and handkerchiefs have disappeared. Joy turned into sadness. She was trembling with fear. After all, Baba will whip me now after making me clean all my cheap toys to sell, she thought. Pinky ran to the hawker selling coloring books who rudely shun her off, "I am a troubled man myself and just go away."

Dejected, she slowly walked to the newspaper spread on the floor that bore an empty look and a stone was pressed on them to prevent from flying. She sat down with stream of tears flowing on her cheek, fidgeting with the newspapers when her palm felt something thick. It piqued the curious mind of the child who gently unfolded the white paper that wrapped a bundle, hundred rupees notes was hidden inside with a message, 'Everything sold today." Pinky pranced with seamless joy and cupped her tiny finger to her lip blowing a kiss, like how the sahebs and memsaab do every day in the city.
The child removed a ten rupee note and flung it on the hawker before grabbing a coloring book and pencil as she walked away and fearlessly from the railway bridge.

Flash Fiction: Frozen tale of love

 The eyes met fleetingly as she silently followed her lover inside the suite. He exuded a timid grin and lit a cigarette watching the curled ringed smoke billowing past the huge window to disappear in the starry sky. The hotel lobby was deserted in the night. He nibbled his fingers as the eyes cocked on the freshly painted blue ceiling, huge chandelier and the speckle clean white marble.

The window slid open and the strong breeze fluttered his disheveled hair in aimless direction. It was past midnight and he admired the dotted light on the busy road in the city when the feminine hands pressed his bare chest and ran down his navel.  The voice whispered something inside his ear, bite his neck as a strange force engulfed him. He followed her inside the room and the wooden door flipped close. 

 She wore a sensual smile and the eyes spouted a flared up intensity like mothball of fire as the sensual, silky body splayed on the huge bed. He asked, "Your husband?" She winked at him, "Why worry? I am the Queen. Two souls becoming one tonight. Only me and you." There was a certain evil streak in her eyes and it almost gave him a heart attack. They caressed each other. She untied her bra and slid down her pants, inching slowing to press his chest. He couldn't control his mind and body. They were wrapped like sliding balls melting into each other before falling asleep. He felt a jarring sensation piercing his chest in the morning and his head splitting in pain, spinning around the rooftop and the floor.

 He felt nauseatic and in no time, pulled his clothes and shoes to push his body out, running to his room. It felt like a hurricane and he slept for the whole day. In the evening, he felt light and took his usual walk in the hotel lobby when he saw her husband who shook his hand asking, “Alone?” He made a hesitant conversation and his eyes bobbed towards the couple suite, casually asking about the family. "No! I came here alone and spend every year at this time in this hotel. My wife died in this hotel at midnight a couple of years back."

A voice suddenly whispered in his ear, "A scintillating night it was! He is a liar and killed me in the same room.” He froze to death.

The end

100 Words: Don't lose your movie ticket

The car’s door yanked open. He ran towards the theater but was abruptly stopped by the security insisting for movie ticket. Still panting, he emptied his purse and shuffled through his jeans pocket but it has mysteriously disappeared.  He scurried back towards the car and rummaged through everything, the seat and roof but in vain. Finally, he accepted defeat but suddenly felt an arrow like sensation piercing on his chest. The movie ticket was smiling at him on his tee pocket. Dashing past the security he barged past the door as the dark screen showed, 'Don't lose your movie ticket'. 

The end.

Flash fiction: Second chance at love

The crack showed on Mrinalini’s face and dark spot peeped below her eyelid. She hid her angst and pain accumulated over the years of her married life and missed her daughter settled in the United States. She struggled to hold on to the huge grocery bundled into two huge carry bags as she waded under the sweltering heat at DLF Mall at Saket in New Delhi.

Images of her husband she loving called Seth Ji kept playing at the back mind in the distant past when as a young bride, Mrinalini suffered violence whenever he was drunk. One fine day, Seth Ji collapsed in front of her eyes and Mrinali yelled in pain as she took him to Fortis. On his deathbed, he sought forgiveness from her on how he crushed her identity. As Mrinalini and Seth Ji aged, they found company and discovered each other seeing life flitting peacefully. It was a compromise.

The huge stack of bags collapsed which brought her back to reality and the grocery were scattered on the road as two huge hands rushed to her, helped in picking up the stuff. He bobbed his eyes towards her and stammered, ‘M-r-i-n-a-l-i-n-i.’ She went weak on her knee on seeing him. “Rajeev,” she faintly muttered.

It was the same place they met 25 years ago. She was a young student from Pune who made a trip to meet her friends when their eyes met for the first time. Rajeev was a carefree rebel. It was love at first sight. Rajeev was weak for he couldn’t stand up to his parents who turned Mrinalini down due to caste differences. He prodded her for a coffee date at Barista where the young romantic lovers storm to steal priceless moments. They felt out of place there. Rajeev made a stupid joke. Mrinali smiled shyly.

She said, “You haven’t changed at all...same joke. How is your wife and children?”

He turned his face away and couldn’t face Mrinalini, “We have no children. Asha left me. She was right. I was weak as a person and couldn’t stand up for her in front of my parents expecting her to fulfill the daughter-in-law obligation of morning tea and working tirelessly not for us but them. I couldn’t realize that a woman has her own identity.”

She nodded. “You couldn’t stand up for me.”

Cupid struck again. They kept meeting at the same place, reminiscing on the places they dated and the long walks to the railway station. Rajeev knew everything about Mrinalini, her husband, and daughter settled in the states. Both of them were battling loneliness.

He hugged Mrinalini and kissed her lip. She was horrified at first. “How dare you kiss me? It’s not our age to do so.”

Rajeev maintained a calm composure, “Will you be my valentine, Mrinalini?”

She was shocked, “At this age, Rajeev. We are 50. What will society and my daughter think?”

The wrinkled hands pressed on each other. “Why should we be so worried about society, Mrinalini? Destiny has played a game in uniting us. You have lost your identity first by compromising with your husband, daughter and playing nanny to your grandchild. It’s time to think about yourself. Fine! I’ve been a terrible boyfriend and a weak man who couldn’t stand for my love. But, not now. We cannot replace the lost time but we can make a fresh beginning, not as a compromise to our old age... Live for love with gay abandon.”

Mrinali got up from the chair on the crowded cafe and hugged Rajiv tightly, kissing him passionately. Stream of tears felled down from their eyes. It shall be about them, exploring and discovering each other not for companionship but exploring each other’s soul.

Love

Vishal

Daddy's little girl (3): The end

Ankita was restless. She felt a stroke of wind brushing past  her curly tresses and kissing her face which became icy cold. Aniket sensed her impatience and a drop of tear fell on his palm. He pressed his hand with the tear on Ankita's forehead. "Ready," he suppresed his emotion. "One, two, three," he pulled off the blindfold and silently moved backward to disppear behind the cupboard.

A tall shadow stood straight. Ankita bobbed her eyes towards the man standing in front of her. She was bewildered and couldn't believe what she was seeing. Raju stood tall. She thought that it was a dream or an illusion. She rushed to him and touched his flesh. Her voice choked with emotions, "I can't believe it. You are alive. Where have you gone?" she clutched to him.

Raju stood like a statue and tears trickled down his face. She was shaking like tree branches in the middle of the storm. He held her hand and made her sit on the bed,"I tried calling your number but it was switched off. Ankee! I looked for you everywhere but you disappeared. On that terror day, I reached the station late and missed the train. Call it what you may but it's destiny that I am standing  in front of you."

Ankita felt dizzy and speechless. She gulped  a glass of water to gain composure. "But, the picture in the newspaper?" Raju voice's choked. "It was a mistake. I was sitting on the bench at Churchgate. The photographers clicked me but I never knew that they would goof up. For the world I was dead but my soul perished the day I lost you."

Aniket popped right in front of them. He caressed Ankita's face," Raju is my best friend. I knew that he was the one who took away your heart. How can I marry you Ankita? You are the most beautiful girl and I was in love with you but he is the one, princess."

Aniket put his finger on Ankita's lip, "Don't say anything. Today is your engagement but not with me but Raju. Don't worry about our families. They know everything. I have another surprise. Your Dad is here."

A man in his 50s walked inside the room and hugged Ankita. "You are Daddy's little girl. I have come back today to hand my precious jewel in the hand of Raju. Beta, take care of her for you deserve her more than me or Aniket. I have left her but have now realized the power of love."

Ankita Dad and Aniket serenaded Ankita as they waded in the decorated hall decked with colorful saris, and tended her hand into Raju. "It's our amanat," both of them told Raju as the hands of the lovers pressed tightly on each other. Finally, Ankita and Raju were engaged. They were unfazed in front of the guests as the bottle of wine uncorked and dancing  to Kala chasma. Lips dripped into each other and mouths inspecting lines as love was tasted like nectar.

Love is a belief...not a compromise but flowers blooming to concoct a spring of joy and happiness.

The end.

Love
Vishal

Daddy's little girl (2)

The sun-dappled day gleamed inside the room. Ankita woke up with a terrible headache. Raju sat on the bed, steering the tea in a porcelain cup and gently put it on her lap. She gulped the tea. He watched her with admiration and a large smile appeared on his face.

"You are not going to ask how you woke up in my bedroom?" Raju quizzed her. She scornfully said, "Of course, I was inebriated." "Thank you," she nodded. "By the way, you know who I am right!"

He picked up the newspaper and glossy magazine where her pictures were all over, posing in front of the newly launched luxury Sedan car. "Supermodel," Raju winked. Ankita smiled shyly. They made love in the morning, voraciously tearing into each other's clothes, smooching passionately and biting into the flesh. Ankita moved into Raju's apartment overlooking the Arabian Sea.

The lovers were inseperable like flowers blooming inside the bud until one day when Ankita had to leave the city for the launch of a new product. She tried calling Raju's phone number but the network was jammed. He was travelling when a blast rocked the city and trains from Churchgate to Andheri exploded. The air tickets were booked. Ankita was unware of the terror attack and boarded the flight. She felt a frantic heart beat and her instinct was not wrong. "Has he left me for someone better? No! It can never happen." A fear engulfed her and she became restless during the flight from Mumbai to Delhi, unaware of the terrorist attack. 

 Days later she came to know about the terror attack but was unaware that Raju was traveling in the local train that became the prey of bombs. On that fateful morning, Raju sneaked out of the bed after they made love and had the most amazing sex. He didn't want to disturb her for he knew that his lady love was having a hectic schedule, with shoots and product launch. Raju was late and dashed his way to the station but missed the train by a whisker. 

Days later, Ankita was preparing herself for the show when one of the models showed her the picture of Raju that was published on the front page of Times of India as one of the victims. She collapsed on the floor. Ankita shed tears for days and night, losing her soul but also a very precious part of her identity that was brutally taken away from her. It took her days to get out of the bed but deep down, the bruised soul was convinced she could never be the same. Ankita threw away her phone. She underwent depression and switched cities.

Ankita couldn't accept this reality and shunted people from her life, abandoning her career as a model. There was not a day when Raju didn't haunt her in the sleep. She would often jostle out of the bed in the middle of nights. She couldn't forget him after three years, the chiselled face and squealed on the bed.
 
Five years has elapsed. Ankita resisted everyone who convinced her to move on with her life but it felt that she was waging a lone battle. She often cracked and lost herself. Finally, she buckled down under presssure to tie the knot with her school friend. It was the day of her engagment. Ankita was decked in  a red kanjeevaram sari and adorned with expensive jewellery when Aniket gracefully dressed in a orange colorful Kurta-Pyjama, walked with relatives and friends to exchange rings. It was also the roko ceremony. Aniket insisted to introduce Ankita to his childhood friend. He blindfolded her with a pink band to usher her inside the room.

The calm and suave fiance gently whispered inside Ankita eyes, "Stop being restless. Count for one minute. You know him." Ankita was taken aback and counted the minutes in her mind but at the same time, her past life kept popping. 

Flash Fiction: A letter (imaginative) to an ex-lover

Dear ex-Love

Ain’t wishing you a heart attack! I know you have moved to greener pasture with your new boyfriend...I stalked you last night, not on Facebook or Whatsapp...nah! I am that desperate you know. Followed both of you in the crowded mall wearing Santa Claus get up and saw you guys holding hands and smooching.

The ex-looks like that after reading/https://images.gr-assets.com/hostedimages/1464714649ra/19268106.gif

It would be such a lie to pretend I am the new maju Dabbang version of not getting heartburn. See, I was seething with jealousy and my face went red the moment you glowed pink. I didn’t check my face in the mirror, though! Feel like Arvind Kejriwal when Modiji won Delhi and that moment pierced my heart.

Now, who sends letter to an ex by post office? I am the one doing that and feel exactly like you are finding me, a certified jerk. Cut the crap, will you! I am not asking that both of us should let bygones be gones and get together after all the fracas and stupid fight. I am not drowning myself in alcohol...Devdas is passé and was such a chutiya. You know na way hotter and sizzling options in the world. You see, babe, it’s such a toughie and I may end up being single for the rest of my life...so much to chose and I am one-man-woman. I mean, I asked you out since there was no option...the sex was ahem! ahem! okayish, I’d say. I am not a terrific kisser, so are you...dunno why you breathed heavily during the act as if inflicted by some malady.

Idea! Yes! Tube light moment right now. I think your virus has hit my nerve...amnesia you see. The gifts, quite expensive you see, branded perfumes, lingerie, wristwatch, lipstick you left in my house. Wait did you leave it or gave it back? You wanted to fling all of them on my face right. I give you an offer...too tempting to refuse! The gifts...super expensive ...I burnt my pocket yet they have resale value next to zero on the market...can’t even get a Jockey brief if I sell all of them. 

So, why don’t you fucking come over and pick them up! I am just being self-deprecatory and since I cannot recover a single penny spent, you can always burn them or give it to some homes...that too, I ain’t sure people will accept since donations in kind might be illegal. Waise bhi with the entire notebandi by Modi-ji you can just send it to his doorstep as revenge for not being able to change your 1000 notes. Are you standing in an ATM queue? I feel for you babe and it cannot beat the joy of seeing you sweating...you hate doing that na!

Trust me, honey, it’s the perfect revenge for me to see you sweat and dripping on your flawless skin. I did the last time and stopped the car, halted the traffic and the cop gave me a challan...was fucking slapped twice for halting the traffic.  But, all good for nothing beats the sadistic pleasure to watch you sweat and nurse the tears.

Planning to tear this love letter and curse me? You can always keep it for posterity when you in a mood to kick balls.

Ciao

Your now ex-lover

 

Flash fictio: Barren love in the wild forest

Barren love in the wild forest

Soaked winter leaves and mound of muddy patch jutted deep down the trench at the root of the huge tree. The window blew with force that the leaves were thrust upward at jet speed and flung past the huge trees and forest.  The sun glittered and faded away behind the vast mountains and lakes. It started showering in the dead city.

The silence was spooky, narrating the tale of ghosts romancing each other and witnessed two naked souls making love inside the muddy water. The bodies melted to the fury of human emotions and jealousy hit the wild forest like a tornado swirling its force to protest.  Nature lost its power and glory that night.

In the morning, two dead souls were lifted from the unfrequented and dense forest, far away from the bustling city life. Two icy cold bodies twirled inside each other and stuck like the wooden toys ensconced into a whole and hardened particle. The emotions were real. In the world of humans, it’s called honor killing for daring to live and rebel against the established caste supremacy. A grandmother’s tale scarred the innocent children and a fear instilled in their minds not showing the courage to fall in love. They were not allowed to dream but their intensity and passion gained wings, oblivious to the ruthless forces. The day love died when all limits were transgressed.

The bodies were splashed inside the vast sea that bore no anger but turned violent and stormy, shedding tears. The sea would never stay silent after that except on the night to mourn the lovers. Humans behaved like vile ghouls and lacked nature’s empathy. The most dangerous tigers, wolves, and dogs went into hibernation and slept like children as if the lovers sang a lullaby to them. The dense tree foliage wore a colorless shade at the surfacing of the moon’s crescent and the bushes lost its sheen in the dark.

Nature and animals have a heart that can teach humans something about limitless love and compassion.  The forests, lakes, and rivers cried for the two lovers they welcomed in their abode. The parents were made of stone in the name of honor blinding their visions. Don’t they say, a stone can cry? Every shred of stone sitting inside the forest cried on that day. They lost their faith in love which was just a name. Perhaps, a fear raged inside the trees whose root stood tall and survived the storms over decades, animals charmed by a gentle human touch and caress, the seas and rivers that flow smoothly on a lucky day.

Everyone cried for two innocent lives. Loving without holding themselves was a crime to humans whose minds were trapped in the dark. Nobody ever visited the forest, except those two. Now, no one will. It will remain barren which tore the heart of its populace.

With love

Vishal

 

Fiction: A smoke to light

 A smoke to light

The light wore a dim shade. The room was eerily dark. He sat on the bed inside the hotel room and popped open the scotch bottle with his teeth as the alcohol wafted through his nostril. He took a long breath and lay on the bed, pouring a large peg. 

The alcohol swirled on the palate of his tongue and guzzled inside his throat to flow inside his belly. He felt a rush of warm sensation spurting inside the body that helped him overcome the icy cold winter that paralyzed his entire body. 

The room was silent. He was enjoying the moments of solace with the alcohol for company and switched off his mobile. After gulping three pegs of his favorite Scotch, he felt dizzy and reached out for his cigarette pack. He exuded relief. There was only one stick of Wills left in the box.

He ruffled through the table filled with papers and but the match box has mysteriously disappeared. 

After turning everything upside down in the room, he was resigned to his fate and slouched on the soft bed, caressing the mattress, longing for a smoke and intimate passion. There was none today.

Cursing his destiny, he rested his head on the white bed pillow and blinked the eyes, imagining the next erotic story that haunted his mind. ‘But how’, he wondered. ‘There is no one for company and can’t even feel the dirty twist and moves. Even there is no smoke to fire the brain,’ he whined.

In the flick of minutes, he choked and felt an unknown force pressing his chest that could explode at any time. He struggled with the invisible force running the legs up and down his chest, flipping on face and ear. Soft music played. A long black skirt dropped and the flawless skin crawled on his stomach, bending seductively to the cusp of his lip with a knife, she whispered in a sensual voice, “Why you need a smoke, baby? Light me up. I am the fire. Perish in my flame.”

Love

Vishal

Love Shot: Sunset of love...Have faith my love!

 It was not the unusual evening in SoBo where hearts were expected to melt and thrive like the oceans and seas. The crowd swarmed its way at the beach to munch on savories, hot pancakes, Masala dosa, Pav Bhaji to their heart contentment and sip on their favorite Falooda and Cola drinks.

She sashayed out of her brand new green Skoda car and signaled the driver to take a tour in the city, to get rid of his glaring eyes which scanned her every movement. Holding the chappal in her hand, her naked feet soiled in the sand which sent a sensual movement running inside her shaped toes. It brought to her a certain peace and kept her false hopes alive as the windy breeze brought a tide of change, fluttering her hair towards the sea. She felt some magic unfurling its might.

 He was watching her from a distance and smiled as every step that she made on the white sand wouldn't slip his furtive eyes that scanned her silhouette. He couldn't dare to let her shadow slip in the calm night. The lover boy imagined them playing footsie together. He had to make a move now or else the driver will come, anytime soon to pick her and they would disappear in the skycrapers hiding emotions in the richest city, hiding her existence with obnoxious wealth. She was oblivious of the man  who was watching her and the GPS enabled device on his smart phone tracking her car.

She was his college sweetheart and whom he would admire from a looming distance. He was too shy to make a move. She never gave him a second look. After all, life deserves a second chance and he is going to grab the opportunity. He knew that every week she comes here to be all alone by herself and to nurse the wounds of the past. It's been 10 years that they left college where she went on to shine in her life and one fine day, an upset took a toll on her life. Deep inside, she is still a sensitive and innocent girl who believes in the Prince charming, admiring the seas and stars at night. She loves the moments of solace all by herself where she is permitted to dream and trot at leisure on the beach wherever her naked feet takes her. If only, she could fly like the birds...

A smile popped on his face, admiring the still night and tiny dots of fleeting stars in the sky. The entire universe are conspiring to bring them together and he sees no reason why their love would fail tonight. Destiny can be a thriving force. It's his inner belief in the purpose of love and magic wrapped like gifts for the two souls to intertwine together. The wave awashed on the sand and her feet was soaked into the cold water. It rekindled in her the desire for love and longing for someone special.

She turned her gaze and rolled her jeans till her knee, walked away from the water when her eyes caught the fancy of colorful cards in yellow, red, blue, pink and green.The cards read in beautifully handwritten Olivia, clipper and Italic scripts which was spread over the walk way on the sand, smeared with rose petals with the name Sonali. She was at first scared, surprised but felt like the Gods listened to the sound in her heart. But, she was also intrigued by the silently anonymous lover who seems to know everything about her, 'Sonali! The most beautiful girl courted by every boy at Xavier's in SoBo...Crazy we were about you...We should always give love and life a chance...Hold the hand that touches your tender heart...I may have been ignored by you but my heart is pure'.

Oh! Gosh! Sonali leapt and the thought about this guy who knew her slightest nerve made her shiver. It didn't prevent a beam on her face. She turned around and saw a tall, lanky man dressed in a white shirt and black trousers folding his hand and expressing a devilishly romantic smile.

Sonali was at a loss of words and apologetic for ignoring him in college as her past life suddenly haunted her in a livid manner. After all, he was not cool like the other boys but realized on the spur of the moment that Shiv was the silent lover who admired her every single day. He had no chance then but today he would beat all the guys to death. Sonali already took a decision. Shiv put his hand on her lip, "There is no need to say anything. If you have faith in my love and ready for a new sunset, the boat is waiting for us."

Sonali traipsed like a princess to fall in Shiv arms and with a feeble smile said, "Carry me inside the boat before the car comes." In a matter of seconds, the boat sped its way with Sonali and Shiv in a tight embrace sitting on the arm chair and not leaving each other as their intense eyes were drowned into the sea of love. They wouldn't leave each other's sight and hands as if an earthquake will shatter lives.



With love
Vishal