Selfie-less Girl

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 Selfie-less Girl

“Mom, why is it that we never take selfies?”, little Ivana ranted as she stomped behind her mother from one room to the other.

“Honey! We do take sometimes”, replied Savita, albeit a bit indifferently, for she was too engrossed thinking about her work project.

“Nooo…but they’re just photos. They are not selfieeees!!” Ivana’s words dragged in rebellion while her mouth pouted.

“That means the same”

“Nooo Mom! As if I don’t know!!” Then after pausing for a while to think, Ivana asked “OK! Do we ever do like this in our pictures?”  She came in front of her mom and pursed her lips out in a pout, to make a duck-face. But the mom was amused.

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Apology Unrendered

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Have seen it time and time again
Those who hurt us in some big way
And never feel sorry, come what may
Never realize and never acknowledge
But act as if theirs is always a superior way

They’re sure to hurt us more and more
In the same manner  Continue reading

Quantum Professors

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Quantum Professors

“Hellllooo Professor! Nice to meet you!”

“Ha Ha! A long way to go still”, amused Josh laughed it away

“Well Mr Quantum! Aren’t you almost there, as you’ve started teaching at your own university?. That’s pretty much like being a professor”

“Just a quantum bit”, replied Mr Quantum, aka Joshua, a twenty-two Continue reading

With Confident Steps…

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With Confident Steps

Mom tells me fondly how, when I was little, I used to ascend the long stair-case that reached our home terrace.

“Barely ten months old, you would crawl up the stairs…all on your hands and knees with amazing speed. Half-way through, you would look back to check if mom was looking or not!”

Mom also tells that she was always scared, and she tried to stop me as I climbed but I would increase my speed while enjoying her chase.

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Now too I have already climbed up a few steps, mom! This time, I’m not going to look back! For me, it is this path or no path!!  I know my goals. I know where I am going. I can already see some light beyond the horizon.

As I climb more stairs, you’ll be proud of me mom!  Once I reach the top, once I become a renowned ******, I’ll look back and wave at you…

©2016 Alka

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That was my flash fiction/micro-story for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.
The prompt photo was by Louise of The Storyteller’s Abode.

Ever curious and enthusiastic babies grow up to have their own unique dreams, and they need to be given a chance. You can fill in the asterisks above 🙂 as per your unique child’s interests.

Of Abandoned Truths and Pleasant Lies

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deviant art: Eve Blackwood

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Living with Abandoned Truths and Pleasant Lies

She left me, this mother mine
But fills my whole world
Leaves no place untouched
No moment unharmed
Nothing intact!

Oh my perturbed mind!
Come with me to a realm
That’s beyond Continue reading

To Be Enlightened…

Just now I read Balroop Singh’s poem ‘A Journey’, at her blog Emotional Shadows.
At first I took it as a simple poem. Then as I re-read her poem and dissected it, there started a whole thought process in my mind.

Reading her lines…she says she’s robbed of certain things.

You have always robbed me
Of my happiness, my triumph
Weakened my strength, my confidence
Rubbished my care, my concern
Hurt my most cherished memories

Being robbed is a strong feeling. It’s not easy to say that. We can only be robbed of something that we once possessed, and here in her case it’s happiness, care, confidence (in people? In herself?). People for whom we cared too much have ‘rubbished’ this care by shutting themselves off, and this hurts only because these people were different, probably they too cared once upon a time but now ‘indifferent’ towards us.

Her love can’t reach that person anymore but still she’s willing to absorb his/her incredible indifference.

‘My love can’t reach there anymore

Your incredible indifference
Could reach me… I’ve absorbed it.’

Distanced hearts. Family members change. Friends change. Overall the hurt is always about first having something that assured a lot of happiness and then losing it altogether; a total sense of loss – not material but that of time and emotions spent. Life spent.

But Balroop has found a path out of all this. A ‘flight of fantasy’, a ‘detachment’, as she enters her own ‘exotic realm’, embarking her own journey. Once again, a question of ‘flight’ also arises only if we were stuck or too involved in a particular situation for long, often at the cost of overlooking other things or people. Likewise, we can only be ‘detached’ from those people, situations or relations with whom we were too attached once.

Overall, I would say this process is eventually liberating. It may seem as if this liberation comes with a price…that of losing the object of your care, love, concern and attachment. But liberation also brings this ‘light’ which, as Balroop says, seems ‘strange’ at first. But that’s because you are not used to seeing things differently. One corner of your heart wishes to remain stuck in the previous wallowing situation. Because letting go of this sentimentalism will also mean letting go of the person of our focus and love.

Finally, we either let go, or forgive them for not caring for us as much as we do. Which also means thereafter we may end up loving them unconditionally, thus accepting whatever little attention they give or do not give.

I am immersed in a strange light
Streaming through me
Sending the waves of forgiveness
Spreading the message of love
Unconditional…absolute.

Thus, if previously they were the only ones who had changed, now finally we too have changed. With this change of focus, now our love will also be no more fixated on these few people who demanded and consumed our life. Our love and care is now meant to be shared with many different people, whosoever needs it more. That is enlightenment.

I feel, as we grow older, we learn these lessons within our families and friends.  I do not know what exactly Balroop was talking about, and which particular relations – possibly children, family, siblings, beloved; in fact it can be anyone and during any phase of life. We all encounter these people who have intentionally or unintentionally changed thus compelling us to change as well; albeit positively as we learn to carve our own self-sufficient happiness that’s not dependent on others.

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See how I wrote and wrote. That’s typical of Balroop’s work. It may or may not bombard you at the outset but it’s thought-provoking. Her every post is full of thoughts that apply on everyday lives of each one of us. It may even seem like we already know (from experience) what she’s saying. Yes we do, and still we don’t. Even if we do, she compels us to think and re-think, while healing some of the inner wounds. Pick up a random post from her site and be enlightened. I know her only via blogging world and since then have gained some insights.

The views in this psot were meant to be left as comments, as a response to her actual poem. But it became very lengthy so I posted it here.

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My above thoughts on my fellow bloggers’s penultimate post seem appropriate for The Daily Post’s current prompt Companionable

The Escapist – a flash fiction

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Photo Prompt by Barbara Beacham.

The Escapist

Not knowing what to expect, he made his way into the dark of the forest.  But I feel this was nothing unusual and very much aligned with his childhood escape pattern.

As a child his escape cocoons were weirder. If some sibling got a wonderful birthday present, then locking himself inside his cupboard was a sure way to compel his parents to buy him a better gift. Hiding under the bed for hours was also his favorite; leaving his pampering mom with no choice but to cook the food he loved. Once he deliberately got lost in a big supermarket till his anxious parents reported to the police, only to find their teenager just around the corner.

The family escaped the tantrums when he got married. Let his wife bear the brunt! Since he could no more fit under his bed, if offended, he would vanish into his garage tool-room or sports club for hours and hours.

The couple’s new house is close to a forest so after their latest tiff, he went to the forest, threatening to never come back.

Possibly it was only a threat and due to fear of wild animals he returned back soon.   Possibly he never returned.  I’m not sure.

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This was my flash fiction/short story for ‘Mondays Finish the Story’ challenge by Barbara Beacham. We are provided with a photo prompt as well as the first sentence to begin the story, after which we finish it.

Are you an escapist?

Time, Intention, Energy for Love

Here’s my short story attempt for the weekly Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers hosted by Priceless Joy. This week’s photo prompt is by Graham Lawrence.

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Time, Intention, Energy for Love

It was the third time within the same year that Maria found herself searching for good tenants for her property – a beautiful house with lush gardens.

For forty long years she thus cared for her plants that there never was a rose neglected, nor could weeds sneakily occupy the place.  But as age caught up, she moved to an aged-care home.

Another retired couple, who soon occupied her house, had looked keen about the plants when signing the rental agreement. But other than strong motivation or loads of free time, caring for a huge garden demands plentiful energy. The couple soon left for a smaller place they could cope with.

Maria now rented it to a young family. And sure enough their school going kids did love romping around the yard during weekends. But during weekdays, the over-worked corporate couple and the tired kids would come home after a long day. Energy of youth was unaided by shortage of time and lack of motivation, hence the plants didn’t even get sufficient water sprinkling.

While a dried up garden and dejected flowers told a sad story, this young family too moved out when the professional man got a lucrative job in another country.

For selecting her third tenants, perplexed Maria now did some deep thinking.  She scanned the rental applications carefully and decided to go for a cheerful middle-aged lady who was an artist by profession.

Maria is now her happiest ever.  Her garden is blooming like never before, and the bonus is that her flowers are a part of many award winning paintings.

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The word count of my above story is not appropriate but that’s how I could do this week.
Moreover I’ve been away from blogging as I’m unable to find time, intention and energy for writing.

Copyright © 2015 Alka Girdhar

Luigi – The Alto Achiever

Another take on story writing for Mondays Finish the Story.
This is a unique flash fiction challenge where we’re provided a photo and the first sentence of a story. We have to finish the story using 100-150 words, not including the sentence provided

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Photo by Barbara W. Beacham

The family had no idea that little Luigi would grow up to be a fashion-model. Most members of Bosco family, despite their lovely complexion and fine features, were lacking in body height. Luigi, who took after his Mama, was the most diminutive kid in his big family.

In school, everyone teased Luigi and called him ‘basso’. He didn’t mind but his Mama was hurt to see her baby side-lined in all major school functions. She fed him all sorts of foods but to no effect.

No wonder, the family was shocked when one day Luigi disclosed that a big company had selected him be their fashion-model. Jubilation and merry-making followed.

Actually, this company had manufactured a nutritious protein-shake.  A short handsome model was needed who, with camera trick, would be televised to have become taller after regularly consuming this shake.

Luigi had proven that every person has value for this world. He basked in his glory, while his cousins felt jealous of him.

(148 words)

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‘basso’ is Italian for short, and ‘alto’ means tall

Yes, it’s a faulty world where looks are promoted, and people are obsessed with enhancing their appearance, but Luigi had to prove himself within this faulty world.

I found this link: Myths about becoming a fashion-model

 Copyright © 2015 Written by Alka Girdhar

Luigi – The Bruised Assassin

Here’s my first ever short story for ‘Mondays Finish the Story’.
In this challenge, the first line of the story is given to us and we finish the rest. The inspiration comes from the picture provided.

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The picture for the story by  – Barbara W. Beacham


Luigi – The Bruised Assassin

The family had no idea that little Luigi would grow up to be…a serial killer!  While the news about yet another killing embarrassed the family, they were equivocal in their disbelief.

One jeering aunt remembered how baby Luigi always played by himself, “One-by-one he would take all marbles out of the box, and put them back…”

That reminded Uncle Tom, how at a community fair, young Luigi won an award for eating twelve burgers in a row.

Aunt Alda retorted “But don’t forget he was almost a fanatic! How he broke one glass after the other, just because we laughed at him after his burger binge”

Luigi’s mother was hurt by such talks. She knew her son had intensity about him. But she could rely on him for any repetitive task, though not on her other kids.

“My hardworking sensitive child! Only if his huge family had helped him with anger management”, she defended her son regretfully.

It so happened that when Luigi was ditched by his very close university friend, the tiff ended up violent. One accidental murder then led to many others, till Luigi became a runaway.

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Did I take little Luigi to a dangerous territory? He could very well have grown up to be a teacher, doctor, fire-fighter or a saint.
I wrote another story where Luigi is a fashion model. You can read it here: Luigi – The Alto Achiever

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Written by Alka Girdhar. Copyright © 2015 ~ All rights reserved