Train (July 3)
Take 1
He combed his hair as he always did – parted it with the customary flick towards his temple. Too much oil this time.
He clutched his slingbag; coughed twice to clear his throat. The crowd was getting restless. The 12:55 local arrived and was now Bhimrao's stage.
Selling colouring books wasn’t really his career choice.
Take 2
The vibe never felt this good this morning. She applied eyeliner and that seductive vermillion lipstick. Generously. She even picked her favourite ghagra choli; you knew she was excited.
She was superstitious too; the 12:55 Bandra was her favourite. No, she couldn’t miss it today. With a quick shave of her stubble, Chandini was ready.
Fairy Tales (July 4)
The sword cut through the veil, revealing the chest. With another stab, the chest gave way – and out fell the golden treasures in all their misshapen glory.
Fresh with victory, he saw his mother mix the treasure in white nectar and ease them onto a vessel destined for him. Cornflakes were Aarav’s favourite breakfast.
Mystery (July 5)
Take 1
Take 1
Strapped onto the rollercoaster ride, he looked around as the ride teetered uphill, leading to the inevitable free fall. Sitting next to him, his mother smiled her reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay son.”
She handed him a purple box. He opened it. The surgeon never found the clot. The lobotomy sealed the box for good.
She handed him a purple box. He opened it. The surgeon never found the clot. The lobotomy sealed the box for good.
Take 2
There was no earthquake. Not even a tremor. The wind nestled itself in his curtains. Conjuring shapes only he could imagine. He reached for the pen, picked a scalpel instead. He adjusted not his notepad, but his patient’s head.
Today, he was going to write a wrong. Today, he was going to rob Anu’s memories. To save her.
Today, he was going to write a wrong. Today, he was going to rob Anu’s memories. To save her.
Take 3
“Day 92. Like clockwork, he walked in at 3:12 pm, ordered his mochaccino, solved the day’s crossword and left the 22 rupee tip. Yet something was different today. New shoelaces on those ragged Converse shoes? Maybe a haircut?”
After her accident rendered her a paraplegic, Reema never stopped staring into the mirror.
No comments:
Post a Comment