Short Stories

Ramana took his cycle and cycled to the fish market. He lived in a slum nearby a beach.As he neared the fish market the smell of the fish gave him excitement.It is the second Sunday of the month, one of the two days he would buy Vanjaram fish for one kilo for his family of 6 members: him, his wife, his two children one of 10 years age and the other 15 years, his father and his mother. The other day was the fourth Sunday of every month. They would eat both lunch and dinner with Vanjaram fish curry and Vanjaram fish fry.Spending 800 rupees twice a month was quite a fortune considering his average salary of round about 16000 rupees.He rode an autorickshaw for a living.He and his entire family devoured the fish and it became a ritual and a must of their lives. He reached the market, put his cycle on stand and moved towards a woman selling Vanjaram fish.He inquired the price. “1000 rupees per kg” the fish seller woman shouted. “1000 rupees? I buy for 800 rupees everytime”

Virush was stressed. He has been working in an IT company for 9 years. He suddenly felt an early onslaught of midlife crisis. He felt that his life was empty. The moody weekend triggered his old memories, his memories at college , his memories at his hostel in his college. He was bit by nostalgia. And he longed to go back to those days. If and only if he could travel across time ten years back. Virush got on his bike and took a ride on East Coast Road of Chennai. He had no destination , just a metaphorical ride into his past. After an hour into the ride , he took a left cut into a bylane and reached the beach. It was getting dark and the sun was already taking leave. Virush sat on the beach and peered into the ocean . There was not a soul within sight. "Son" a voice called him over his back . Virush turned back and got startled at the weird looking persona. The person looked like a rustic mystic. Before Virush could answer he carried on "I know what is r

“Can you see this screen Patti?” , the sales executive asked Lakshmi Patti. Adjusting her spectacles , she mumbled “Yes” “It is designed exclusively for old people , large and very intuitive, you can type commands here” “Commands ah ?, I cant do that” “See Patti it is very easy , just type GET WATER , press ENTER and the robot will fetch you water” Hesitatingly she typed at the touch screen attached to the humanoid. G E Y.. “Aiyo I typed Y instead of T , how to remove this” “It is easy , see , just click this button , it will remove the last typed letter” “Same like your touch mobile, your nephew said you can use mobile phones” Lakshmi ignored his words, adjusted her spectacles again and typed GET WATER The humanoid moved , scanned for water bottle in the room , fetched it and returned to her. “Waah, super , super “ “Good good , this machine is working” “What about other instructions?” She demanded. “Press this button “SHOW COMMANDS” , it will list all comma

Strange. How the person you loved the most can become the person you hate the most. Aurora, born in an upper middle class tambrahm family fell in love with Nivin born in an upper middle class Kerala christian family .Nivin grew up in Chennai since he was 2 years old. Aurora fell to his charm , he to her beauty on a Friday evening to be exact when they returned from an office treat and at 9.30 pm to be even more exact when he dropped her at her house and looked at her with love.They both were independent minded and marriage was not on their radar until that moment. She felt it could happen with him and he felt it could happen with her. They wouldn't let their origins to stop them from getting married.They could afford to do so. That seed planted on the Friday evening grew well beyond their expectations. Nivin was interested in photography and poetry , Aurora in travelling and food. Nivin was 5 feet 10 in tall, Aurora 5 feet 8 in.Nivin was introverted, Aurora extroverted

                          It was a lazy Sunday Afternoon. Crows cawed, the sun smiled warmly, vehicles horned occasionally, life seemed to be still. Smitran Ragubat was having an afternoon nap, a tool he used to de-stress and shut down the noise in his head often. Twenty weeks had passed since he published his last story. His publisher was putting pressure on him to come up with one for the magazine he worked for.He wondered if the muse had left him and he is no more a writer. Afternoon naps have often served him good, flushing his brain and making it empty for ideas to pour in. And then his alarm rang. Smitran Ragubat woke up and went for a walk. He took tea from a roadside shop , contemplating on the way for an idea for his next story. As he walked back to his home, an idea came out of the blue. "I will walk back and meet a person, a stranger. I will earn the person's trust and ask their life's story and publish it with their permission" he thought. H

     Stepping down the bridge of Parel railway station.As i walk on i pass by a tied up cow and people touch its butt and place their hands on their eyes ignoring its pissing.A weight machine,atm, chapal shops, bhajji shops, a small open temple all pass by.Then as i pass by a bridge casting its shadow beneath i enter the minislum.Each house seems to have a tail, as a water hose peeps out of their doors.The inmates bathe,wash clothes and utensils on the open using the water from this tail.Houses are placed like matchboxes with two toilets at the ends for the entire household.Then i cross a road bearing a FlyOver to enter the campus where my office is. When the sun looks from the east...      I work on shifts, sometimes on morning shift,few times on general shift and mostly on afternoon shift.During my morning shift as i cross this FlyOver,a filthy dressed kid cleans the area with a broomstick beneath the FlyOver as if she is cleaning her own home.Few metres away from her a