Short Story - A Few Steps More

I know I can move a little bit closer to the sun, close enough to revel in the sunshine and not get burnt. I know that it is time to move ahead from the past, to let go of the phantom hand I believed would never let go of me.

The truth is, I knew it would not last. The last time we saw each other I could read that in the  resigned look you gave me, those eyes saying the final goodbye. But every time I convinced myself that it was over, that one phone call or a simple 'hi' in the chat message would give me hope which I clung on to desperately.

I know I can move away from you easily, there is so much hurt that I do not need any more reason to step away. I have so much to look forward to in my life, I know I can make my place in the sun.  Truth is, I was always scared that the closer I move to the sun, I would move farther from you.... That I would turn back and not see you there. But now, there is no reason to.

An Untold Story

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 32; the thirty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for the month is 'An Untold Story'

"So?"
"I did not tell him, if that is what you want to know."
"I know you are unsettled after meeting him, but it has been five years Disha. Don't you think he has a right to know that you still love him?"
"Riya, he has gone through enough since the time he heard about my marriage.  I do not want to drag him back to the depressing phase he went through. He has suffered enough because of me."
"But.... is he not the reason why you called off the engagement? Is he not the reason you waited patiently waited for him to return back to India so that you would be together? And for heaven's sake, what are you smiling about?"
Disha was smiling at the memory of seeing a flash of gold and it became clear later that the precious piece of metal was on his ring finger.
"Well, that will always remain an untold story", Disha sighed softly, knowing that she must learn to live with the loose ends throughout her life.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Introduced By: Nikhil Patokar, Participation Count: 02

Celebrations

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 16; the sixteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Ira was the quintessential trophy wife married to a wealthy person who unfailingly, each day, reminded Ira that if it wasn't for him, she would be languishing in the lower middle class community. Two months into the marriage,Ira had her brush with domestic abuse- she was kicked mercilessly and roughed up for opposing to his 'business meetings' with a certain struggling actress. She had to use make up as a crutch to cover up the bruises and scratches while the dark glasses hid her sore eyes. She continued with this ritual till she landed her in hospital with a broken rib and a host of injuries.

The divorce had been swift and Ira only demanded freedom as alimony.The hissing pressure cooker startled Ira back to reality and she cursed herself for wasting away a considerable chunk of her time in front of the mirror. She ran a hand over her face appreciating the uniform colour except for a few dark spots. She applied a dab of lip gloss and tied her hair up and looked approvingly at her image. She hated make up but had to grudgingly accept it as her saviour during those times.A few years ago, she had dumped the entire make up kit into the trash bin along with the two dark glasses- grim reminders of her abusive past. Dumping them felt like sweet victory and she felt thrilled to see the bruises fade each passing day, the aches disappearing enabling her to move without grimacing.

She entered the kitchen and the air flooded with the aroma of biryani on opening the cooker. Ira scooped out a large portion and enjoyed the treat in thoughtful silence sitting at the balcony offering a panoramic view of the city. This day, three years ago, she was holding onto her marriage, trying to salvage it from certain failure. Three years on, she was thankful to her will power which helped her leave behind her life of abuses, sleepless nights and weepy days. Today was her own personal celebration..... of life.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Sunshine... Continued and Concluded

"My name is Aarav and I am....." was all she heard before scampering off to the wash room, emerging only after the assembly bell rang. Ashima spent the rest of the day trying to maintain a straight face but she could not ignore the warmth within which steadily grew every passing second. She wanted to hide it and hold it forever- this feeling so alien, she did not have a word for it. It wrapped Ashima in a cocoon which deflected her mother's curses and her neighbour's deliberate scream on sighting her.

The next day, a health camp was organized in the school which was an annual affair and an embarrassing time for most people. The kids emerged red faced minutes after stepping inside the makeshift tent, thanks to the full body check up they were subjected to. The people conducting it were bored and disgruntled government doctors and Ashima was forever annoyed by their initial expression of horror ultimately melting into pity when she stepped in.

This time, for a change, the doctor was a cheery, middle aged doctor who examined Ashima minus the unwanted expressions- like a professional. Her forehead creased as if she was mentally calculating something, fished out her mobile and stepped out of the tent. She came back, bringing in a breeze of fresh air and looked much more animated. Dr. Sarika looked into Ashima's eyes and in a motherly voice asked, "Would you like to be more beautiful?"

Ashima looked out of the window in a contemplative manner, the steaming cup of tea misting the glass. She opened the small piece of paper, worn at the folds and read it for the thousandth time, the smile never abandoning her face.

To the girl with tight braids who never knew how lovely she was; who, ten years ago, never believed the doctor that her cleft lip could be fixed and who was kind-hearted and forgiving enough to love and marry the doctor's good-for-nothing son. Shimu, cleft-lipped or not, you are my very own personal sun and every morning I look forward to wake up basking in your sunny love and care.

Happy one year of togetherness- happy anniversary Shimu.

~ Your went-out for-jogging-but-would-be-back-soon husband,

Aarav

Sunshine

The mirror caught the early morning sun and briefly illuminated the room before she occupied the reflection. She hated this part wherein her mother would, with undue force, braid her hair; dust powder over her face so that for a few seconds, she was engulfed in a sweet smelling halo and then finally pack her off to school. She dreaded going there, but the fear was tolerable compared to the sinking feeling she encountered on facing the mirror.

Ashima, now 14, was forever subject to much ridicule due to her cleft lip which took off the attention from her honey-coloured eyes and sculpted nose. When Ashima was born, her mother had refused to touch or feed her initially, forever screaming that she had given birth to a monster. The doctor had tried to make her see sense but he was helpless against the walls of ignorance and fear enveloping the entire village. All this while, her father never looked up from the newspaper.

Ashima scanned the corridors and treaded cautiously to avoid running into anyone. She arrived nowadays an hour prior to the school hours to avoid the snide comments, pointed fingers and mass bullying her classmates had taken a fancy to. A few weeks ago, a bright eyed boy had come running towards her,pulled off the band holding her pony and ran off to the next class. He was peering at her from the door while a crowd gathered around to bully Ashima.

Hence the braided hair and early arrival at school; her new routine suited her fine. She almost stumbled when she saw the boy near the door of classroom with an unreadable expression on his face. Ashima felt the tears burn the back of her throat as she fought the urge to run away on seeing him walk in her direction. He handed her back a band, new and wrapped nicely in plastic while Ashima stood rooted, puzzled. She was about to stop him when he faced her with a solemn look.

"I am sorry but I never planned to do anything to hurt you. I never thought the whole class would swarm and chide you.My mother said it was very bad of me to do so and gave me money to buy you a new band.Did you like it?"

Silence.

"Don't think I am giving an excuse for my behaviour but......I think you look pretty with your hair loose."