He loves me , he loves me not

Maybe Yes No Keys Representing Decisions

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She loved that bag of chips. She loved the tintin comic she was reading. She loved the coco cola she was sipping on. The hostel room door was left open for the rest of the girls to feel jealous of her “happy bubble”. She seems so much at peace, she seems so much in love. She seems so much in possession of all her faculties. The scene from any romantic chickflick. This girl was busy making decisions while the others prepared for their finals.

Anyone who knew her well would understand the tension and the worries that clouded her psyche. The challenge that her mind is going through. The questions she is asking herself and the answers she is coming up with all by herself. Sometimes many confusing answers to the same simple question. Does he love me? Why is he being vague about his feelings?

That thin line between like and love. That thin line between sanity and insanity. The thin line between the two vastly different choices she has to make. A perfect life or a blissful one. A tough choice for anyone to make. A difficult decision for a 21 yr old. The uncertainity of her own feelings, the vagueness of the reciprocated feelings and the plethora of worries for the future ahead.

The coke, the chips, the comic and the blissfulness. She is now thinking of ways to make her perfect life blissful or try and make her blissful future perfect. The bubble bursts at some point. Sometimes letting others make decisions for you might not be a bad idea. Sometimes, decisions can be right and wrong at the same time. Why the choice? Why can’t she have both?


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It wasn’t a very bright morning. The dullness of the weather outside resembled the gloom that prevailed inside her.

She sat at her desk and looked out of her hotel room window. Writing comes naturally to her, no that’s not the problem. She wasn’t worried about her publisher’s deadline. Master storyteller she was. At least that’s what her friends and relatives praised her for. She weaved imaginative stories of demons and witches. Her stories often followed a standard path of intro, event, revenge, and conclusion. The details found in her characterizations have often contributed to her story writing skills. The facial expressions, the viscousness, the anxiety, the pain, the horror and the final retributions. It all added a finesse to her storyline.

She knows she just needs to start writing and the faces and events from her dreams will come alive on her laptop screen. It will become a story for the world to read and enjoy. She knows those demons and witches are a figment of her imagination. Those gory details certainly were.

But only she knows that the storyline and the characters are all too familiar to her. She weaves a fine tale around them while reliving the agony of her nightmares. The insecurities, the anxiety, the horrors, the hidden emotions inside her. All out there for the world to read. Yet no one understands them. No one understands the cry for help.

She turns to her keyboard and starts typing. Praying with all her heart that this would be her last nightmare. Even if it meant that it would be her last masterpiece.

The Incident

Car Diving

Picture Courtesy : Car Diving

It took a while for her to realize what was happening around her. The last thing Rema remembered is getting into the car and starting the engine. She was to pick up her daughter from her piano lessons. It was a 15 minute drive to the institute and was something that she always looked forward to doing.


Now she sat covered in a blanket wet to her bones being questioned by the police. A lady inspector was asking her if she was alright? Was she? She didn’t know what was happening. She doesn’t remember how she got there. How is she to answer a question like that? She sat there staring at the Inspector.


Inspector Jeena was looking over towards the other side of the lake. There on a stretcher was the body of an unidentified man. It wasn’t a gruesome scene at all. But she didn’t want the lady driver to see that scene as yet. She turned Rema to face the other direction and was trying to ask her a few questions. It looked like she was in a state of shock. Which is obvious after being pulled out of the lake after the car ran into it. Rema was plain lucky that she managed to get out the car. A passerby had rescued her and brought her to shore. The lake wasn’t a very deep one.


Now when the men were pulling out the car using a crane, Inspector Jeena could see that the windows were open. That is how Rema managed to surface. But why didn’t the man surface in time too, she thought. The post mortem is going to reveal the truth soon, thought she. Until then, it is best to keep all this from Rema. Not knowing what happened, a state of temporary amnesia is quite common in such accidents. This case will take some time to solve. There goes the fun Christmas holiday weekend with her daughter, she thought, as she nodded her head to inform the people to carry the body to the morgue for post mortem.


There was another ambulance ready to take Rema to the hospital. Jenna walked her to the ambulance, laid her down on the stretcher and got in with the nurses. She normally goes in the police jeep, but this time she somehow wanted to accompany Rema in the ambulance. Rema was holding on to Jeena’s hand tightly all along, but her eyes were now fixed on the van ceiling. Almost like as if she was in a trance.


To be continued……

The Woman


Jeevan wasn’t aware that he had invited someone home this weekend. His cleaning maid, who had the house key, must have let whoever it was in the kitchen, into the house. He came out of his room and stretched himself wondering why the decor of his apartment looked different this morning.

The smell of the waffles and the humming of “Lat Lag Gayee” pulled him towards the kitchen , where he noticed the back of the woman who was placing the waffles onto a plate and pouring some syrup over it. When she turned, he saw, to his horror, that her face was covered with blood and one eye was popping out and was hanging on her cheek! He stood rooted to the ground in a state of shock.

Just then, he heard loud noises behind him and turned around to face all of his friends and family entering his apartment and wishing him a “Happy Birthday”. He turned around back towards the kitchen, but it was empty!

All through the cake cutting and the brunch that followed, Jeevan wondered why the face of the woman, he thought he saw, looked so familiar.

Photo Courtesy : www.edrants.com

Written for the Festival Of Words 3 – Day 1Write Tribe : Write a  9 Sentence Fiction today.

I'm taking part in the Write Tribe Festival of Words -3

A Christmas Gift


If I don’t post this in 2013 itself, it will be a shame. So even though I am on a forced blogging break till the second week the next year, here I am boasting about being a part of a wonderful group of writers and friends and hence becoming a part of our First ever Write Tribe Anthology Book.

Our friend Vidya , who has compiled and edited the book with the help of Vaisakh and Corrine, has brilliantly explained how the book came into being in her post. Please do read it to understand the importance of this book in our lives.

I hope you do take the time out to download and read The Write Tribe Anthology Book 1. It is a compilation of the bestest posts from the blogs of us 36 write tribers. I hope you enjoy reading it. If you do, then please do share it too. 😀






The ride home was a quiet one. Reema couldn’t recognise the streets, the buildings that passed by or the people in her car. She had just spent that last month in a hospital under the care of the wonderful doctors and nurses there. She had grown to trust them and love them even. Nurse Rama was her favourite and she is the one who helped her understand the circumstances of the accident that she had been in. She had lost her memory. She didn’t know who she was. She feared that anyone could manipulate her in these circumstances.

The last place that Reema wanted to go to was her so called home. She hadn’t yet got used to her mother and father . The thought of leaving the familiarity of the hospital room and entering an unknown place and life was frightening for her. She found it hard to remember anything about herself even. If someone asked her whether she preferred Tea or Coffee in the morning, she wasn’t sure. But then she realised she loved the taste of a cup of Coffee in the morning.

She was relearning her life again now. Her likes, her dislikes, her parents and her younger brother Rohan. She wondered how she couldn’t recognise this bundle of excitement. Rohan was a hyperactive 12 year old. She herself is just 16, she was told. But she somehow felt much older. As she entered the house that she had lived in for 16 years, she couldn’t find a single thing that seemed familiar. The sofa, the curtains, the dining table, the kitchen entrance on the far right corner and a pathway on the left that led to three bedrooms.

It looked like a lovely home to come back to. There was a bouquet of roses on the table. 12 beautiful yellow ones. That brought a smile on her face. Seeing the smile, her mother was moved to tears. Her mother had brought it just for her because they were her favourite kind. Reema felt happy that her likes and dislikes perhaps hadn’t changed much. It would be easy for her get back to her old life. The doctor had told her not to stress so much. Her memories would came back slowly, maybe one at a time even.

They spent the evening in the sitting room watching TV and snacking on popcorn. It was a Friday night and nobody had to reach anywhere early the next morning. So they stayed up even after dinner watching episodes of Castle on TV. Rohan said that Castle was her favourite series and that she would not miss an episode ever. He had recorded it for her in her absence. Reema was highly moved by this gesture. She gave Rohan a bear hug and suddenly she found herself in familiar territory. She loved the way her brother smelled. It felt so familiar and good that she held on to the embrace a bit longer than normal. Which obviously irritated the hell out of Rohan, who quickly wriggled out of her embrace. Both smiling at the memories it brought back.

Reema decided it was time she took a look at her bedroom. Maybe it would trigger some more memories. She felt bitter as soon as she entered  her room. There were posters of rock bands she vaguely remembered, there posters of her favourite actors. there were memorabilia of all kinds around the room. The smell of old books from her shelf beckoned her towards them. She went towards the bookshelf and touched the familiar texture of her collection. A collection she was always proud of. The one her grandfather left for her in his will. She was an avid reader by the age of 8 and her grandfather made sure she read all the classics that he had owned.

She noticed a small stuffed giraffe on her bed. She crawled into her bed hugging her giraffe. Memories flooded in at that moment. The tight situation she was in on that fatal day. The way she had held on to Raj that day on the bike. He was a college student and had invited her for a party. On the way back they had met with an accident. She had regained her lost memory up to the point where she saw a lifeless Raj lying on the road next to the shattered bike.

She closed her eyes as tears rolled down and soaked her pillow. She doesn’t want to remember the plans she had made with Raj. She doesn’t want to remember how she had gone against her parents wish and sneaked out at night to go for the party. She didn’t want to think of how Raj had held her close during the dance and how she had felt like his queen. About how she had longed to be in that situation ever since they had met at a party a few months ago.

Her parents and brother walked into her room and sat around her on her bed. Rohan held on to his crying sister in a tight hug till she stopped sobbing. She later fell asleep on her mother’s lap with her father caressing her head with soft strokes. She was sorry, they knew that. For a while, her parents hoped that she had never regained her memory. It would have saved their daughter so much pain. But memories always have a way of coming back. To haunt and to make us repent and to learn from mistakes and to help us move on in life despite them.

Written for Write Tribe Wednesday Prompt : “the smell of old books” 


Three Word Wednesday Prompt : Use the three words below in the post.

Bitter, adjective: Having a sharp, pungent taste or smell; not sweet; (of people or their feelings or behavior) angry, hurt, or resentful because of one’s bad experiences or a sense of unjust treatment; (of a conflict, argument, or opponent) full of anger and acrimony; (often used for emphasis) painful or unpleasant to accept or contemplate; (of wind, cold, or weather) intensely cold.
Manipulate, verb: Handle or control (a tool, mechanism, etc.), typically in a skillful manner; alter, edit, or move (text or data) on a computer; examine or treat (a part of the body) by feeling or moving it with the hand; control or influence (a person or situation) cleverly, unfairly, or unscrupulously; alter (data) or present (statistics) so as to mislead.
Tight, adjective: Fixed, fastened, or closed firmly; hard to move, undo, or open; (of clothes or shoes) close-fitting, uncomfortably so; (of a grip) very firm so as not to let go; (of a formation or a group of people or things) closely or densely packed together; (of a community or other group of people) having close relations; secretive; (of appearance or manner) tense, irritated, or angry; (of a rule, policy, or form of control) strictly imposed; (of an area or space) having or allowing little room for maneuver.

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NaBloPoMo November 2013

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