Showing posts with label Short story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short story. Show all posts

Saturday, 2 May 2020

Puddles




It was like jumping into a puddle mistaking it for an ocean. While you thought it was deep but the ground touches your feet just as soon as you jump. The murk stains your shoes and the wetness seeps into your socks to your feet. That's when you know it was a mistake and you start thinking about cleaning it up. It hurts when you were hoping for good and it never occurs to you. You stand in the puddle and keep staring at the murk on your boots. You retrospect and calculate how you got into this.

For some this ocean is the ocean of promises that turns out to be a murky puddle of lies. That's exactly where you fall and stain yourself or even worse, break a leg. Breaking a leg and never trusting anymore to dive into oceans. I don't know if heartbreaks are only for those in love, because it hurts twice as much to know you were a fool. And you know what's the worst part than breaking a leg? You getting used to falling into puddles. The first time you exclaim with a 'What the hell', 'Oh shit!' or 'Oh my God'. The next time you might say, 'Oh! Not again!'. But when you are habituated, you smirk and move on thinking, 'I knew this was coming.' This is when you carry on with a bittersweet relation with puddles. And one day, when falling in puddles aren't new anymore you dig a hole for someone. An ocean or puddle, the choice is yours.

Friday, 31 July 2015

Some things over coffee...


"She was looking pretty in a maroon Kurti. She had a file in her right hand. I saw her cross the road. She went in to the book shop. I followed her. I stood in front of the book shop as she was flipping through the pages of the book. She had grown her nails. She was growing up, of course. Ready to go to college. She is no more a school girl. I wish I could see her once closer. But I didn't dare to come in front of her. So I left before she could see me.", he said letting out a long sigh. 



I was looking at him. His face was lit up and the happiness of seeing her after a month clearly reflected.
I said, "She still loves you and you love her still. Go and sort out things and be like before." 


"No. Let it be. Love from a distance is truer and deep. I will love her always. Far or near.", he said and got up without finishing his coffee.

I checked my phone as it had beeped once while we were talking.

One message received:

"Did you guys meet over coffee?"

She sent. 


I replied, "No."

"Oh. He might have some work. Like always.", she sent.

"Hmm.. No time for a second love story.", I typed and deleted.

"Hmm... Or may be he still loves you.", I typed and deleted again.

"Hmm...", I typed and sent. 


~Jaismita Alexander

Sunday, 12 July 2015

Incomplete Diary


I often got bored when alone at home. I did not like the idiot box much so only music could eradicate my boredom. But today I had something else to keep me engaged. Yesterday I had found an old discarded diary on the building terrace. The pages were torn & burnt mercilessly. Distorted condition of it made me more curious & I had assumed it to be a personal diary of someone. I hid it in my cupboard last night and thought of reading when no one is around. Finally I had the chance.



























I sat at my study table & opened it. The yellow pages were all torn, except for a few. Among them some had old bus tickets & cards.
After a set of cards; half burnt, came a few written pages. 
The 1st page said,

"The way I met her today was a miracle. She was walking alone in the lane at 3 pm. The whole locality was in a lazy afternoon slumber when I saw her coming. Her bangles jingled & her hair was messy yet pretty as always. I wish I could tell her this. Ahh! I will miss her once I leave the country. Only if just for once she knew what I feel."

I smiled and realised that the owner of this diary was in love with that frizzy hair girl. I was more curious and turned to the second page. This page was in a better condition. 
The writings were:

" I saw her once again. She was standing under the sun, on the terrace. Her hair open and wet. She was drying her hair with a pink towel and her bangles jingled. The sweet jingling sound composed a tune of love in me. The love that bloomed within me for the past seven years, swayed smooth at her glance. I wish she knew all this."


The third page was torn and the rest were blank. I closed it with annoyance while my bangles jingled. Jingled like always.

-Jaismita Alexander