Mysteries of the Sea

The Sun was off to sleep after a long day at work. The twilight announced that the moon came for the night shift. The children gathered in front of Grandnana’s house. He sat in his recliner chair, on his front porch. The wrinkles on Grandnana’s skin revealed his ripe age, like the rings on a tree trunk.

Grandnana looked at the children and asked them, ‘Which story do you kids want?’

There was a noise as the kids’ told their choices. In a distance the sea rumbled, as though she had a request of her own.  Grandnana said, ‘I will choose one.’ He pretended to ponder for a while and said, ‘I will tell you about the story of how I got rich.’ The children cheered and clapped in excitement.

Grandnana said, ‘It was a long time ago. I was young and strong, not a bit like the old chap I am now. It was the worst summer I had seen in years. The famine left us nothing to eat on land. I could no longer see the tired faces of my children and their frail bodies. It set out to the sea, for she  always had something to give.  

It was getting dark. I cared less. One catch would satisfy our hunger for the night. I got into my boat, rowed into the sea and cast my net. I waited patiently. Nothing! I went farther from the shore. The lights in the houses on the shoreline glittered like stars.  I cast my net and waited. Above me the clouds gathered as though they did not approve my decision of getting close to the belly of the sea. The clouds loved to scare us that summer. They came together as though they would drench us but it never rained. After some time I felt a tug. The net went down as though something heavy was caught in it. I thought it could a big fish. I tried to pull it but it was heavy. 

As I pulled the net, I saw a beautiful girl. She had deep blue eyes just like the sea. Her golden hair glistened in the moonlight. She flapped her tail and splashed the water around. I could become rich beyond my dreams. I could take her with me and sell her to the highest bidder. She caught the rim of the boat and spoke something to me. I could not understand what she was saying. She tried to break free but the net was too strong for her. From her sobs, I understood that she was pleading me to release her. Her eyes reminded me of my daughter. She was of the same age as my daughter. I thought of her family. May be her mother was waiting for her in the depths of the sea, searching for her daughter. I untied the net and set her free. She smiled at me and disappeared.

I was disappointed that I was returning home empty handed. I rowed back towards the shore. I felt someone pull my boat. I stopped and looked down. I saw the girl. She was back! I also saw two other mermaids, a woman and a man. They were in their mid twenties. Together, they lifted and placed a big chest on my boat. They pushed my boat close to shore, waved to me and left together. I opened the chest. It was filled with gold and jewels. I got more gold than I ever wished for.’

Grandnana said, ‘Well, that’s it for today. We will meet tomorrow for another story’. 

The children clapped and left to their homes.

153 Biere Street

A friend recommended this place to me. I was surprised to see that they created a European look alike street in the midst of the busy Whitefield landscape. The food tasted like authentic European food, too much protein with gravy and very less carbohydrates. The ambiance was out of India. The place seemed so artificial to me. It blocked away the street noise and we were among foreigners. I do recommend this place, just for a European experience.

Entrance to 153 Biere Street

The European like street, with bakeries and small boutique shops

The well cooked chicken tasted delicious with the gravy

An open seating. I will go there once again during night time. 

Pretty little horticulture store

Inside a bakery

Cloud Bullying

The big fluffy white cloud was basking in the sun. It felt proud that the sun's ray's couldn't harm it, cannot make it smaller. It was too big even for the mighty Sun. The Big Cloud saw a Small Cloud scurrying by.

The Big Cloud called out, 'Hey smallie, smallie', and grinned. The Big Cloud extended it's arm and blocked the way of the Small Cloud.

The Small Cloud stopped and asked, 'What do you want?'

The Big Cloud said, 'I want you to go to the sun and tell him hello'

The Small Cloud protested. It said, 'The last time I did it, I melted. It took a long time to get back to my shape. I will not do it again.'

The Big Cloud laughed and teased the Small Cloud. It said, 'Smallie too scared to go near the sun. Should I call you smallie or scarie or both? Smallie Scarie. Scarie Smallie', and sang so for a few minutes.

The Small Cloud grew black in the face. 

The Big Cloud threw another challenge at the Small Cloud. The Big Cloud asked the Small Cloud, 'Can you be this?' and transformed itself into a house, shaped like a hut. After a couple of minutes it transformed into a tortoise. The Big Cloud gloated over it's capability to change.

The Small Cloud was too small to become anything. The Small Cloud thought for a minute. It whistled and called his friends. The Small Cloud's friends gathered around it. Just like the Small Cloud, his friends were small too.

The Small Cloud challenged the Big Cloud,'Oh! you can do only a house and a tortoise. That is so old-fashioned. I have seen my parents and grand parents do that. I will show you what we can do.'

The small clouds merged into one another and formed a car. The car said, 'vroom vroom'. 

The small clouds became an aeroplane and made a noise, 'Whooooooooosh.' 

The Big Cloud grew black in the face. It came towards the small clouds' at full force. The Big Cloud and the small clouds' pushed and punched one another and made thunderous sounds. They attacked one another with lightening bolts.

The combined strength of the small clouds' defeated the Big Cloud. It was injured. The small clouds' moved away, with their heads held high. The Big Cloud cried in pain. The tears of the Big Cloud, fell down as rain and moistened the parched earth.

After that day, the Big Cloud never bullied the Small Cloud.

Blame it on the Woman

Those were the days when lot of changes were happening in my life. I moved to Bangalore for work, got married and was setting up a home. In that a hectic schedule, Malvi's presence was like a breath of fresh air. She was my first cook in Bangalore.  

Malvi was a woman in late twenties. She had a huge red bindi on her forehead, which contrasted against her dark skin. Her only makeup was her smile. She showed me with a smile, the bruises on her hand and the injury on her leg. She complained with a smile about her eye infection and her son's leg fracture. I loved that in her, her smile, which showed that she cared less about her troubles. 

Malvi told me about her marriage. She told me about her husband, who made guest appearances at home, inaccessible most of the time. Malvi’s was a love marriage, which became unpleasant over the years. She eloped with her fiancé, when she was in 10^th standard. He was an auto driver then. He threatened her to marry him and given the innocence of her age, she did marry him. Her family did not approve of the marriage and she had to severe her relationship with most of her family, save her brother.

One quirk of Malvi’s character was that she never stepped into the apartment if I wasn't there. If my husband was at home, she used to wait for me near the elevator. That irritated the hungry me, waiting to devour dinner after a long day at work and her behavior perplexed my husband.

One fine day, she told me, ‘Madam, I will not be coming.’

I thought it was temporary break. I asked her, ‘Will you be coming after two or three days?’

She replied, ‘No Madam. I am quitting the job. I am moving to Mysore with my family.’

Malvi’s resignation was a huge blow to me. I have been enjoying all the dishes cooked by her and the extra time I got sans the cooking.

I scolded her, ‘You should have told me earlier. Where will I get a cook now at such a short notice? Why are you moving to Mysore?’

Malvi replied,”My husband is not answering my calls anymore. I came to know that he is in Mysore, at his home. He is threatening to end our marriage. My husband says that, ‘She goes to houses, who knows what nonsense she does there?’ 

I can live on my own. I have been doing so for the past three months. But my brother wants me to get back with him for the sake of the kids’. My husband wants me to stay home and not go for work anywhere. Where will I get the money to run the house and to pay for kids’ schools then? He doesn't earn any money and neither does he want me to.”

Malvi consoled me saying that, ‘I will go to him with the kids and ask him to return. If he sees the kids, maybe that will change his mind. If all goes well, I will return soon enough.’

                                                                          

I waited for Malvi for almost a month, hoping that she would return. After the initial excitement of helping me in the kitchen fizzled away, my husband entreated me to appoint another cook. A few months later, her son showed up at my doorstep and asked for her mother’s last month's salary. He told me that they moved to Mysore. I gave him the salary, without any complaints. Malvi deserved it.

I had several culinary relationships after Malvi, but none of them lasted long enough. 

The Ghosts of the Present and Future - Part 2

Read Part 1 of the story here.

Rachel shrugged her shoulders and pursed her lips as though she didn’t want to let out a secret.

‘I took it from you when you were…umm…. distracted.’

‘You mean, you stole it!’, said David and turned towards her.

‘If you say so, then yes. Sylvia found it in my purse yesterday night and pushed me to meet you and return it’

‘Why?’

‘Because it belongs to you.  What do you mean why?’

‘I mean, why did you steal it?’

Rachel looked at his stubble. She thought it suited him. She didn’t want to look at his eyes. She felt that the black thick rimmed square glasses he wore magnified his condescending gaze.

‘It is a habit of mine, which I got into after I lost my mother to cancer. It started off without my knowledge. I realized I could do it without getting caught and I just continued taking stuff', said Rachel

‘I am sorry to hear about your mother. But, thanks for returning my watch.’

‘I am sorry I took it too. I am thankful that I have Sylvia now. The authorities put me up with her after I was caught in the mall, stealing a heart shaped pendant made of sterling silver. Under her watchful eye, I am getting out of my… my habit.’

‘Good to know that. Good luck.’

The wind whistled. Rachel pulled her multi-colored woolen cap over her ears. Even though the cap looked weird, she could never let go of it. It was the last purchase she made with her mother. She remembered how she argued with her that she will never wear it.

Rachel asked him, ‘Did you ever have a ghost?’

David rubbed his hands together. He gave a shy smile.

‘I did. He is liberated now.’

‘Oh wow! He must have done you a great favour.’

‘Yes he did. He got me out of my drug addiction’

‘You have deeper secrets than I do.’

David leaned on the bench and looked up at the sky. It was getting dark, stars twinkled in the twilight.

‘My ex-girlfriend introduced me to drugs. The intensity of the drugs increased after we broke up. My ghost, Michael was assigned to me after I ended up in a puddle on a street, with no consciousness of what happened. Michael lost his life to drug overdose. He was perfect for me. He understood me and was patient with me. He came to AA meetings with me. Under his companionship, I slowly gave up. I am sober for two years now. ‘

Rachel thought for a few seconds and asked, ‘David, do you think we will also end up as ghosts, being miserable ourselves, but help others out of their misery?’

‘I don’t know. I hope not. As long as we are, what do they call, law abiding citizens? My granddad told me once, ‘Back in the 2000s when we were young, we used to have something called as conscience. Now you kids have ghosts to keep you in line.’

‘I hope not too', said Rachel.

Rachel liked David. They spoke about their innermost secrets in their second meeting, which would have never happened without Sylvia. 

Rachel asked him, ‘Can we meet again?’

David winked and asked, ‘Did you steal anything from me again?’ and checked his pockets. He then looked at her and said, ‘I am just kidding. I would love to meet you again.’

‘How about tomorrow, at the same time, at ghost town bar…no wait…the same coffee shop should be good.’

‘I will see you tomorrow then.' David kissed Rachel on her cheek. He rose up from the bench and walked away.

On the jogging track, Rachel saw a jogger stop abruptly. He quivered from head to toe, in one fluid motion, as though something or someone cold passed right through him. Rachel guessed who could’ve caused it. She waved her hand and signaled Sylvia to join her.
   
                                          The End.

The Ghosts of the Present and Future - Part 1

Rachel and her ghost were sitting on a bench in Grant Park. A few feet ahead of them was the joggers’ track. The breath of the joggers’ mingled with the cold air, tried to stay alive, but died after a few seconds.

‘It is chilly today’, said Rachel, tugging her ash tweed coat close to her. Rachel hasn't gotten used to Chicago’s cold weather yet.

‘ It is good that you are all covered up’, said her ghost.

‘Do you ever feel the cold?’

‘I used to … but not anymore’

‘Hmm…’, Rachel fiddled with the  bronze buckle on her purse and looked at the jogger who passed by.

Rachel asked, ‘Do you think he will come?’

‘The way he looked at you yesterday in the pub, he is attracted to you. I think he will’

‘Did you like his ghost?’

‘He is too silent for me’

Rachel looked at her ghost. She was a young woman in her twenties. She had a translucent body, through which everything permeated. Her name when she was alive was Sylvia. At the time of her death, Sylvia was doing Masters in Anthropology at University of Illinois. On the day of her death, Sylvia was cycling to school. A cab hit her. The impact killed her instantly. The cab driver said that the brakes failed. He warned her, but her headphones blocked the cacophony on the street.

The sunset colored the sky with streaks of deep orange. Rachel rubbed her hands together.

Rachel saw a man walking towards them, covered from head to toe in black.

‘There he is! He is finally here’. Rachel was relieved that he arrived on time. The cold was getting unbearable by the minutes.

‘I don’t see his ghost with him’.

‘Yes, he isn’t there’

‘Do you want me to leave?’

‘Hmm…it is up to you, you can stay well’

‘I will leave. There are too many joggers’ today. I am planning to make their jog more interesting. Remember what we talked about. Call me when you are done’.

Rachel nodded her head. Sylvia disappeared.

David came to the bench where Rachel sat. Rachel got up. She wondered what she should do next, should she give him a hug or a kiss on the cheek. She did not do any of that. Their acquaintance was too short and her meeting with him yesterday didn't go as well as she intended. 

‘Hi’, said David and sat on the bench

‘Hi ', said Rachel and sat down too. After a moment of silence, Rachel asked, ‘Where is your ghost?’

‘Oh! You mean Andrew. He isn't my official one. He is my friend. He hangs around sometimes. Other times he is gone’

‘Oh! I thought he was yours’

‘Nope. What about your ghost? I don’t see her’. David looked around. They were surrounded by trees cloaked in white.

‘She has gone to play some mischief on the joggers’

‘I don’t know if you mind. Can I ask you a question?’, David said that and looked into Rachel’s deep blue eyes.  He was attracted to Rachel the moment he saw her eyes. Her shiny black hair fell silently on to her shoulders.

‘Of course not. What is it?’

‘Why do you have a ghost? Is this your first one?’

Rachel sighed. He deserved to know the truth, after what happened last night at Starbucks. ‘I was assigned to Sylvia. She is my first one. The reason is …’ Rachel said that and opened her purse. She took out a beautiful watch. It was a stainless steel watch with a navy blue dial.

David grabbed it out of Rachel’s hand. ‘Hey! It is mine. I thought I lost it. You know, I went to Starbucks today morning and enquired about it. How did you get this? Did I leave it on the table or something?’

To be continued ... tomorrow

Why should anybody write?

I subscribe to a few writing blogs. As a wanna be successful writer, I have to keep abreast with the developments in the writers' world, through blogs. I read a wonderful article about why anybody should write. You should write, not to earn millions or booker prizes. You should write because no one else will do it for you. So true! Who else is the best person to put my thoughts on paper other than me. Read the complete article by Jeff Goins here. 

Whenever I think about the long road ahead of me to become a successful writer, I sometimes get discouraged. I know that it will take a ton of time to improve my craft, get my grammar straight and find my voice (If you remember the 10,000 hour rule postulated by Malcolm Gladwell, to perfect anything, I haven't accomplished even a fraction of it).When I feel low about my writing goals, I remember a beautiful quote from Earl Nightingale.

'Never give up on a dream, just because of the time it will take to accomplish it. Time will pass anyway.' 

A beautiful quote, distilled from Earl Nightingale's life time experiences as a motivational speaker and author. This quote is the last thread of hope I hang on to and it propels me forward to pick up a pen and scribble away in my diary. 

I decided to take this craft to the next level. I want to find my voice. Most of the successful writers' recommend setting up some time everyday to write. Write without the internal editor on. Put the craziest thoughts on the paper, come back to it later and edit it. I started waking up half-an-hour early everyday, since last week, so that I can write. I am amazed at all the weird fictional stories my brain thinks. My blog is going to be a bit different from now on. You will see a lot more crazy stories, which are very unlike me. I am discovering myself in that half an hour. Sometimes, I am amazed at the outcome. 

I need your feedback so that I can improve and give 'you' the credit for my accomplishments. Tell me for every story I post

1) What makes my writing unique?

2) What could I do more/less of?

3) How can I improve?

One sentence reply for each question is good enough. You are welcome to write more than a single sentence.
I will also take one more step and submit the stories to online literary magazines. 

Thank you all for reading through this page and for your continued support.

My diary and a sample of my best hand writing