Kavya Janani U.'s Blog

Hello all! This story will become a novel someday. It definitely requires a larger work. I wrote this last October for a contest by Mugafi.

I swear I heard a bell tong somewhere when I looked at him for the first time, as if the universe was beckoning me to notice him. But I couldn’t take a closer look as he was two bays away from me, speaking radiantly with the HR manager. All I could notice was – he was tall. Like, super tall. All the ‘mind your head’ warning signs in the escalators of the Metro stations were written for him, I observed and suppressed a giggle. Then I patted Shruthi, my immediate colleague, and asked her, ‘Is he new here?’

Shruthi craned her neck to have a good look at him and replied, ‘Looks like that. I haven’t seen him around here.’ She then shrugged her shoulders and went back to the code she was working on. Flashing one last look at the tall human being, I shifted my concentration back to the code that was crying out to me.

A few minutes later, the Project Manager of our department came out of his cabin. I looked up at him and to my astonishment, the tall man was standing beside him, fiddling with his mobile phone. Our Manager, Madhan Kumar, threw a smile at the four of us in his team and announced, ‘People, you have got a new team lead. Meet Mr. Phanindra Yadav. He will be joining you all from today.’

Madhan then introduced him individually. When the duo reached my place, I stood up as if electrified.

‘Phanindra, this is Jwala Shree. She is an amazing developer. An expert, too, I could tell,’ Madhan chuckled.

My cheeks turned beetroot red as I met Phanindra’s eyes. Those eyes! I will never forget them in my life. They were a shade of honey-brown that would glow golden in sunlight. I felt like I would drown in those melting eyes and unravel the mysteries behind his demeanour. But I had to behave.

‘Hello, Jwala,’ he greeted me in his deep and guttural voice.

Regaining my composure, I replied, ‘Hello, Phanindra.’

‘Phani. Just call me Phani,’ he said, flashing a full smile that showed his perfectly aligned teeth. That was another enrapturing factor. His dazzling smile!

Thankfully, he did not shake my hand. I would have evaporated, for sure. Is there something called a massive crush at first sight? Well, that was it. I had fallen into a massive crush on that huge fellow standing so majestically in front of me with his broad torso and slightly flabby belly.

But how could I crush on someone else when I was already madly in a one-sided love with my childhood best friend, Vilohit Nath?

*

3 months later…

Okay, I was in adoration with two people. One bordered on insane love stewed over the years, and another bordered on instantly sparkling infatuation or lust. The thing was, I was easily giving in to the latter. Working near Phanindra invoked all kinds of feelings in me that he was unaware of. I even forgot about Vilohit’s existence when I was in my office, unapologetically eyeing Phanindra. Also, why not? Vilohit never showed any romantic interest towards me. I had yearned for him for so many years that I wanted to put all that yearning into something else. Phanindra seemed like the perfect bait, a rebound kinda human being.

Glancing at him secretly, smiling often, and helping him out even if he did not need help worked in my favour. Soon, Phanindra was throwing flirtatious glances at me. We indulged in understanding looks when we were in a meeting or amidst a group.

That temporary respite made my life vibrant.

*

4 months later…

The rain was thrashing haphazardly. Phanindra and I took shelter under a narrow alleyway that was canopied by asbestos. We were on our way back home on separate bikes when the rain began, but now we were almost enmeshed as the alleyway didn’t have enough space for two people. I noticed that my head reached only Phanindra’s chest. If I just placed my ear on his chest, I could feel his heartbeat. He looked at me with his mesmerising eyes. Something in them was so alluring.

Right then, a treacherous thunder crashed. My first impulse was to hug him. At the next instant, his huge arms wrapped around my curvy body. Every cell in my blood torched with an unnameable feeling as I felt his warm breath on the nape of my neck. I could even say that my love for Vilohit melted right at that spot, and I was engulfed by something powerful for Phanindra. I looked up at him to assure him that we were in this together. He bent his face, slowly inching towards mine.

And then our lips met. Fiery, flaming passion. Exploration of the highest kind. When we broke apart for a moment, Phanindra asked me, breathlessly, ‘Come home with me, Jwala.’ It sounded more like a plea. As if he had been waiting for centuries for something to happen between us.  

That night, as our bodies rocked together in the pinnacle of ecstasy, he whispered to me gently, ‘I love you, Jwala…’ I looked into his eyes right then. That golden glow in them was irresistible. They were almost hypnotising.

Hugging him closer and wrapping my legs around his warm body, I whispered back, ‘I love you, Phani…’

Our bodies exploded with pleasure and intoxication right after that.

*

8 months later…

I was sitting on the park bench, caressing my baby bump and waiting for Phanindra to show up. The morning after our wild night, I woke up, heady in love. He was still sleeping. So, I sneaked out quietly, contemplating my feelings. I was ready to marry him right there and then. That’s how much I was in love with him. Or I thought so. My long-standing love for Vilohit was gone in a poof. There I was, a 28-year-old unmarried woman, thinking about marrying her 32-year-old unmarried co-worker whom she barely knew and shelving the intense love she had for her 28-year-old childhood best friend whom she knew like the back of her hand.

Now, I was waiting for the man who had my heart on tenterhooks. He walked towards me, flashing the sweetest smile ever. As he plopped beside me, I took in his bewitching fragrance – something like sandalwood. He held my left hand and spoke slowly, ‘First of all, I’m sorry, Jwala. I shouldn’t have left without informing you. But it was an urgent personal project and I – I had to overlook it. So, I resigned from our company and went away. I’m back now. We can marry tomorrow itself if you say yes.’

Despite my strong demeanour, tears formed in my eyes. I replied, ‘It’s okay, Phani. I understand everything now. We need not marry. I’ll be happy to give birth to this baby out of wedlock.’

Phanindra cleared his throat and looked at me, once again fascinating me with his hypnotising eyes, but this time I didn’t look away or blush like a fool. I held his gaze steadily.

‘It’s a boy, Jwala. We will have a son.’

I was almost startled by his tone. It didn’t seem like a mere statement. It felt like a threat. But I smiled at him and asked, ‘How are you so sure?’

‘I know it. It’s a boy. Our son.’

This time, I heard the pride in his voice. I also noticed his eyes gleaming golden in the sunset.

*

‘Oh my God! How beautiful she is!’ I cried, looking at my tiny daughter’s face. I propped myself up and cradled her to my bosom to feed her. That’s when the door opened and Phanindra barged in.

‘What the hell! Is that a girl baby? How can that be possible? You are supposed to give birth to a boy. Whose baby is it? Tell me, whose baby is it?’ He launched into a barrage of questions, his eyes emanating fury.

‘Phani, please calm down,’ I consoled him feebly, holding my daughter closer to me.

‘Calm down, my foot!’ He slumped on the chair beside my bed. For a moment, his eyeballs turned into two narrow slits. It was a faint movement, but quite enough for me to notice it. But I didn’t shudder, now that I knew the truth.

‘Whose baby is it, Jwala? It should have been a boy if it were mine,’ his voice was menacing.

‘First, tell me how you are so sure about the gender,’ I evaded his question.

‘That’s none of your business, Jwala. Answer my question now!’ he almost roared.

‘Okay…It’s Vilohit’s baby,’ I replied, my voice a mere whisper.

Phanindra’s eyes turned into slits once again before bouncing back to their original form. I sighed and began to reveal the truth to him.

*

The bed felt so inviting, though I had slept well after the romp with Phani. So, I thought I could take a nap and request WFH. I slept immediately after my head hit the pillow. Within a few minutes, the dream began.

I’m in some kind of hospital, and surgeons are around me. Looking down, I notice that I’m pregnant and they are readying me for a C-section. I gasp because I can see everything clearly. To my shock, none of them speaks to me. I try to ask the gynaecologist why I’m on the labour bed, but I’m met with a cold stare. Soon, she makes a slit on my belly. Though I cannot feel any pain, I still thrash my hands around me. The gynaecologist pulls something out of me. It’s not a baby. Wriggling in her hand is a long snake whose hood is open. Then it flicks its forked tongue at me. I start screaming like a banshee. But the gynaecologist and the other surgeons are laughing maniacally. Someone rushes into the labour room, shouting, ‘Where is my son?’ The gynaecologist hands over the snake to this new person. He turns around to face me. And it is Phanindra. His whole face is covered in something gruesome.

I woke up screaming right after that. It was then that I realised that something was terribly wrong with me. Memories came flooding to me – the kiss in the rain, hazy images of sex at Phani’s home, and a vague realisation of my decision not to take the morning-after pill. I clamped a palm to my mouth as epiphany washed over me. I was under hypnosis the whole time because I could remember only kissing Phani and nothing after that. Now everything was muddled in my mind. Realising my folly, I rushed to the pharmacy to take the pill.

My next course of action was to go to Vilohit’s house immediately. As soon as he opened the door, he realised that something was wrong with me and he pulled me into a hug. I broke down in his arms. I hugged him back tightly, his warmth engulfing me in a comfort I had never known before. A few minutes later, we sat on the sofa, sipping delicious milk tea.

‘What happened?’ asked Vilohit in his soft voice.

And then I poured out the whole story to him. He listened without interrupting me. After I finished, he put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer. Whatever love I had shelved for him during my intoxication with Phani came back manifold. At that moment, I slowly realised the power of my long-standing love for Vilohit. It was always there, lurking in my heart, no matter how I strayed.

He started slowly, ‘It’s okay, Jwala. I knew beforehand that this would happen.’

‘Huh? How is that possible?’

‘What I’m going to tell you will blow your mind or make you think that I’m mad. Anyway, it’s time for me to reveal everything to you. First of all, why didn’t you realise that I have always been in love with you?’

A fresh set of tears streamed from my eyes as I heard my soulmate declare his love for me. I just shook my head as I was at a loss for words.

‘I have loved you every moment of my life, Jwala. But, you know, we have to endure something before our love can succeed in this lifetime. Here comes the prophecy.’

‘The prophecy? What prophecy?’

Vilohit heaved a sigh, unsure if he should continue. But then he looked at me with an ache and longing dancing in his eyes.

‘I’m the seventh reincarnation of Agni, the God of Fire. And you are the seventh reincarnation of Svaha, Agni’s consort. In our previous birth, we were so much in love with each other. But a man named Suryavasuki lusted after you. He was apparently the reincarnation of Shesh Naag, the king of snakes. Since you didn’t give in to his advances, he cursed you that you’d fall under his charms in your next birth and bear him a son who would end Kali Yuga and start the next cycle. That is what happened with you, Jwala. Phanindra is none other than Shesh Naag’s reincarnation. You were under his hypnosis until the nightmare broke it. I don’t know how the nightmare happened to you, but it has just saved something huge from happening in this world. There is some good force working on us, too. The pregnancy will not happen, Jwala.’

‘Oh my God! What am I hearing, Vilo?’ I entwined my arm with his and lay my head on his shoulder, overwhelmed by what I had listened to. Some other time, I wouldn’t have believed a word of this. But the hypnosis part of my journey changed everything. Something supernatural was happening to me, and I just knew that Vilohit would have the answers.

‘This is not the end, Jwala. If Phanindra gets to know that you are not pregnant, he will somehow hypnotise you and sleep with you again. His son is bound to be born in this lifetime.’

‘No, no, no. That cannot happen. We – we will go away somewhere, Vilo. Right now. Please.’

‘We cannot run away from our fate, Jwala. But listen to me. There’s a solution. All the curses come with a solution to break them.’

‘Really? What should we do?’

‘We – err – we should – you know…’

‘We should? What should we do, Vilo?’ I held his shoulders and shook them.

‘We should make love, Jwala. You have to become pregnant with my child. A girl will be born to us. Our daughter, a reincarnation of Agneyi, will protect this world from destruction.’ Vilohit’s cheeks turned crimson.

‘When?’

‘Huh?’ He looked at me, but soon averted his gaze as he felt awkward.

‘When should we make love, Vilo?’

‘A few days later, maybe.’

The next moment, I climbed onto his lap. Before he could comprehend what was happening, I sealed his lips with a ferocious kiss. He kissed me back with the same alacrity. Then I placed my forehead against his, tears streaming from my eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Vilo. Sorry, sorry, sorry…I have loved you since our childhood. But then I had to go and ruin my life like this. I’m so sorry…’

He caressed my head, running his fingers through my hair, and whispered the magical hymn, ‘I love you so much, Jwala. Please don’t apologise for what was beyond our control.’

*

I have never seen Phanindra enraged. In the seven months I had interacted with him at my workplace, he was the sweetest person in my eyes. But now, he looked like he’d murder me the next second. Those honey-brown eyes, which had always mesmerised me, seemed like the vilest things to me.

‘What the hell, Jwala! Did I come to this Earth just for this betrayal? Did I fake all my references and get placed at your company so that I could meet you, make you mine, and then lose you? Did I go to do penance for eight months for someone else’s baby? Did I waste all my rituals for this freaking little girl here?’

‘Shut up, Phanindra! It’s my daughter.’

‘Your daughter? Wait and watch how I destroy you both. And that Vilohit will meet his fate too. What did he think about himself? That he could have another life with you and overthrow me? It’s impossible, Jwala. Impossible!’

I burst out cackling at his outburst.

‘What? You think I cannot do anything? That I’m powerless now?’

‘Oh ho, my dear Phanindra! You don’t know the rest of the story. There’s something else in the prophecy. Don’t you know?’

‘What’s that?’ Phanindra’s body tensed up. I could see gooseflesh on his skin. But I also knew that it was because of what he was transforming into.

‘If Shesh Naag fails to impregnate Svaha and she breaks the curse by giving birth to Agni’s daughter, Shesh Naag will be erased forever and will never be reborn.’

I continued cackling as I watched Phanindra’s eyes metamorphose into those narrow slits. Holding my daughter closer to my body, I watched the spectacle unfold.

Thick and shiny scales appeared all over Phanindra’s skin as he looked at me helplessly. His face turned green. A hood appeared at the back of his head. Then he flicked his forked tongue at me.

‘Goodbye, Phanindra,’ I sang as he burst into flames and became mere molecules. Not even a pinch of his ashes remained on the hospital floor.

The door opened, and Vilohit walked in, his olive skin ablaze with relief and joy, followed by our families. They all had happy tears in their eyes, for they knew what transpired in this room a few minutes ago.

I smiled back at them all, my mind swaying back to the memory of the sweet love Vilohit and I had to conceive our daughter. I wasn’t the least bit bothered about being hurled into motherhood so suddenly. All I could see was true love, unbridled happiness, and endless humanity, with Vilohit and my daughter beside me.

I also created a short playlist of songs I heard while writing this story, hehe.

If you enjoyed this short story, you can read my other short stories here.

I wrote this teeny-weeny tale for one of Notion Press’ contests on Instagram. Just thought to share here

‘This wasn’t how it was supposed to end,” her text read. Tears stung my eyes as I read further. “We could have had another chance. As you had wished, we could have lain on our favourite grass patch, looking up at the starry sky and listening to old jazz music. We could have strung so many more memories. Our breakup was just a sham, Roger. Deep down, we both knew we could make it work. Then why? Why? Why? Godddd, I would have hugged you tighter that day. And I am sorry! Your last memory of me would be tainted with so much hurt. I’m sorry for all the pain, Roger. Please reply. Damn! I can’t bear to see this one-sided chat. What am I even doing? Creating a group chat for one, naming it Roger, and texting away as if you are still in my life. All these blue ticks are just killing me. Reply something, Roger. Just effing talk to me! I have been sending you so many messages. I can’t bear it anymore ”

My whole frame shook as I read her texts from whatever I held in my hands. Is it a phone? Or something else? It’s translucent and jelly-like, but it works like a phone. This had to stop somewhere. It had been three months, and she was still sending me these damn texts. How much can my fragile heart bear? Do I even have a heart these days?

“Meena, I love you very much, and I’ll be here forever, thinking about you and waiting for you.” I hit reply, professing my love for the umpteenth time. There are no ticks in my messages. There will never be. Unlike me, she hasn’t been receiving my messages. My chat is one-sided, too, but with the added pain of reading her messages, which are unrelated to my replies.

Is it not a bittersweet juxtaposition that I want her to lead a happy life in the physical world, but also want her near me as soon as possible? I just wish she would move on soon and find the love she deserves.

And then it would only be me sending her the messages from this spirit realm.

If you loved this micro fiction, you can read my other short stories here.

Amidst the plethora of notifications chiming from my mobile phone, an alarming text message was what caught my attention. It read – DON’T LOOK AT THE MOON!

Neither did I recognize the number nor did I know someone who’d text me in all caps. Drawing my eyebrows together, I squinted at the number, to deduce if something would click in my murky brain. Confused, I typed a reply – Who is this?

Another message arrived in two minutes.

You need not know who I am. Just follow my instructions, Aditi. DON’T EVER LOOK AT THE MOON TONIGHT. You are in grave danger.

Anger surged throughout my body. I wasn’t used to anybody commanding me. If at all someone had to tell something to me, they should do it so politely. Commanding me would only have the opposite effect.

So, I replied – Whoever you are, you should know that your tone doesn’t sit right with me. So, eff off!

The reply came immediately – What the hell! I’m warning you about an impending danger, but you are fighting with me about my tone.

I clicked my tongue impatiently. The person didn’t know who they were messing with. They should try harder if they wanted me not to look at the moon. Or it might be a scammer too. Maybe they wanted to have some fun before they started swindling my money.

Though I didn’t reply, another text came through – Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll tell you politely now. Please don’t look at the moon tonight, even though it’s splendidly beautiful. I’m someone who knows you well but hasn’t met you yet. Trust me, I will not be joking about something as serious as this.

‘What the hell!’ I bawled. I had the inherent urge to throw my mobile phone to the floor and watch it smithered into pieces. But then, I had to control my emotions, because I suddenly realized that the person was not a scammer. Someone who was trying to dupe me would have immediately asked for my debit card details.

As I was contemplating whether to reply or not, I saw a lizard scampering from the bedroom to the living room. I had to stifle the urge to gag. Since I was a little kid, I have had a thing with lizards. Those repulsive creatures got on to my nerves and I would freeze whenever I spotted one. Added to this was them randomly falling on me while I opened doors. I also killed two of them accidentally. I have had dreams about flying lizards and a bunch of them attacking me.

Once I made sure that the lizard had made its way to its usual jaunt under the fridge, I typed a reply to that person – Okay, I will try not to look at the moon. But once tonight passes by, I want to know who you are.

*

The notifications did not stop. Everybody was raving about how beautiful the moon looked. My Instagram Stories was filled with moon pictures. That angelic golden orb looked heavenly from all angles. Even my Twitter feed was all about the moon. Heck! Somebody had even shared a moon haiku poem as if to irk me.

full moon…
looking for the right words
before she wanes

That was it. Since there were no more warning messages from the sender, I assumed that it might have been a prank played by my friends. I had saved the sender’s contact to my phone under the name – Moony. Then I checked my WhatsApp, only to see that they were not available on it.

Heaving a sigh, I walked to my balcony. A couple of lizards were sprinting on the ceiling, but I chose to ignore them. Resting my arms on the balustrade, I slyly turned my face to the sky.

There it was.

A lush, majestic, and fat cream moon.

‘Wow!’ I exclaimed, for my heart couldn’t take in the elegancy of the celestial delight. I fumbled for the Camera app on my phone.

And that’s when I noticed it.

My hands were turning a shade of sap-green. As my eyes widened in horror, I noticed my skin cracking and turning all scaly.

‘Eff!’ I yelled, as my phone dropped to the floor. I could remember a sharp pain shooting through my chest before I fainted.

*

Everything was different. My body was not my body. I was trapped inside something. Only if I moved in front of a mirror, I would be able to see what I was. I tried to stand on my legs, but then I slipped and fell forward. I was on fours now. I looked at my hands. Where there should have been fingers, there were huge claws. I tried to scream, but my voice came out in a hiss.

‘There, there!’ I heard the soft voice of a man. I looked up to see him. My vision was RGB-ish, but the man was handsome. He picked me up in his arms and hauled me onto his right shoulder. I clung to him with my claws because I knew he was the only person who could explain.

‘I warned you,’ he continued, ‘See what has become of you. A monitor lizard? God! You’re still so stubborn. The things I had to do for love in all our births! Your headstrong character is what led you to shoot a monitor lizard while hunting in your previous birth. That lizard’s mate cursed you that you’d turn into a monitor lizard if you looked at the 347th full moon of your life. It’s my ill fate that it took me so many years to find you. And, of course, I should also curse this city’s traffic. I couldn’t reach your house on time. Well, I cannot explain anything more, until we turn you back into a human being. Let’s go and find that sorceress. She is quite mischievous!’

I finally understood why I had always hated lizards.

If you loved this short story, you can read my other short stories here.

I wrote this semi-autobiographical short story for Reedsy’s weekly short story contest, for the prompt – Write a story where the character relives the same event over and over again.

Staring at my freshly bandaged fingers, I wished for only one thing. To go back in time and prevent the accident. Okay, maybe I wished for more too. To not sacrifice a bit of my flesh to a crazy metal as if it had a prophecy to fulfil. To not witness blood gushing like it had a mind of its own. To not holler, scream, and wail as if a whole finger had been amputated. To not think about everything I couldn’t do alone, starting the next day. To not hear the echoes of my screams ricocheting off the walls of my ribcage. In short, I wanted just to close my eyes and imagine travelling back to the minute before it all happened.

It was just a second, a millionth fraction of a second when it occurred. Half an hour before the incident, I watched my daughter paint her Easter eggshells and go on a treasure hunt along with the other kids in my apartment complex. We then danced to popular Tamil dance songs. If at all I had known what was about to happen to me, I would have taken a long, good look at the precious middle finger on my left hand.

After the dance, I went up to my mother’s flat to check if she needed any help with the Sunday lunch. There I noticed the blending jar containing the tomatoes and the other spices to be blended to make rasam. I asked my mother if I could blend it, to which she nodded her approval. Then I fixed the jar on the mixer and turned the knob, but it did not blend. Realizing that the mixer hadn’t been plugged into the socket, I let go of the jar, plugged it, and switched it on. Yes, I should have brought the knob back to zero, but I hadn’t. Maybe the mixer hated the number zero. And so, it began its work. The lid of the jar flew past my face and the tomatoes began thrashing around.

My mother’s yells of ‘switch it off, switch it off’ never went into my ears. In that one second, I caught hold of the still-spinning jar with the index, middle, and ring fingers of my left hand. Only after my mother switched it off, I deduced that something terrible had happened. I pulled my fingers out of the jar. And then I screamed.

Gut-wrenching screams, as I noticed my massacred middle finger, the blood cascading like a waterfall. My mother prodded me to wash the wound, my husband caught my shoulders as I shook with pain and more screams, and my daughter started crying looking at the hullabaloo. Throughout the saga, I had only one thing running in my mind. I will not be able to do household chores or work in my office.

Every little chore required proper fingers and three of mine turned unusable the moment they caught the spinning jar.

Whatever happened later in the hospital and during the subsequent dressing visits was nothing short of a catastrophe. One week later, they removed a part of the nail on the damaged middle finger. Without anaesthesia. Yes, you read it right. Without putting me in limbo. Without gifting me numbness.

That was the last straw.

I snapped back to the present moment, still staring at the fresh dressing on my middle finger. The index and ring finger were fine, only with minor lacerations. Yet, a fresh wave of ache uncoiled from the bottom of my heart and strangled my lungs. I couldn’t stop wishing to go back to that one moment before the accident. I persuaded myself that it was foolish to think about the what-ifs. But I was a human being and humans were supposed to dissect everything and investigate the core of their troubles.

I closed my eyes for a moment, still deeply wishing I should have prevented it.

*

My whole body jerked and I lurched forward. My breaths came out in huge gasps as I caught hold of the edge of the kitchen island with my left hand to steady myself. I couldn’t discern anything for a moment. My vision was blurry, and my mind was muddled with images of myself letting my fingers get injured. I rubbed my eyes and looked around. It did not occur to me that I should keep my hand propped up, as the doctor had instructed. But I did not realize that I still could use my hand to hold on to something. Nothing unusual clicked in my brain. I did not even look at my supposedly injured hand. And I was wearing the yellow-and-black pyjamas I had worn on the day of the accident. Apparently, my mother had discarded it, as it was a bad omen to retain the clothes we wore during an accident.

‘What’s happening?’ I yelled, still not looking at my hand.

My mother turned around and looked at me as if I was an alien accidentally dropped to the ground.

‘Smrithi! What happened?’ She walked towards me and smacked my shoulder. That’s when it occurred to me that I should keep my hand propped up. Gasping visibly, I let go of my hold and brought my hand in front of my eyes.

There they were. Uninjured fingers. Slick, clean, and sassy as always.

‘Wh…at?’ I croaked.

Was the past week a nightmare? Didn’t the accident happen? Didn’t I lose a bit of my flesh and a huge amount of my sanity?

I looked down at myself—the pyjamas. I pinched myself so that I could wake up from the dream. Nothing happened. My surroundings did not stir. It was me who was on unsteady feet, and my mother was still staring at me.

‘Mch! If you are just going to stand here as if you had seen a ghost, you might help me out. Or just go to your daughter and play with her.’

That’s when I noticed the blending jar with the tomatoes and the spices. Everything was the same as it was on that fateful day. I looked at my hands once again. Clutched the right with my left and vice-versa. Everything was perfect, except my mind. Something was wrong with it.

‘Ma, what’s happening?’ I tried to make sense of the bizarreness.

‘I’m gonna smack you again if you ask me that.’ My mother’s voice was stern.

Still ashen, I asked her slowly, ‘Ma, what’s today’s date?’

‘March 31st, silly. Are you going to let me work or what?’

A joy hitherto unknown fountained from the pit of my stomach. I was, miraculously, back in the moment before the accident. Just as I had wished. The joy sent me reeling to the hall, where I jumped and danced, amidst my mother’s admonishes.

Where was Albert Einstein? Stephen Hawking? Could I somehow contact them?

I had travelled back in time and how could I not let the world know? But no one would believe me. Maybe, it was divine intervention. Somebody up there had taken pity on me and thought that I shouldn’t go through that pain. Something magical was happening to me. I should make use of it. I could now go to the team lunch that was planned for the next day. I could finish typing up my thesis. Hell, I could even do finger yoga. I let out another yelp of joy.

Bundling up my secret and the overflowing relief that came along with it, I decided I would take a walk in the parking lot.

Wearing my slippers hastily, I trotted to the staircase. And then I began alighting two steps at a time. I fervently wished I could just dance on the steps.

Turns out, my wishes for the day were being granted.

I missed my footing, slipped on a wet step, and went crashing down, reaching the floor as a messy heap and probably with a couple of broken bones.

*

This was worse. I had multiple fractures on my right leg and minor cracks on my hipbone. As I lay in the hospital bed whimpering in excruciating pain, I slowly opened my eyes and looked at my mother. Her eyes looked puffed as it was obvious she had been crying.

‘What made you so happy that you had to go jumping down the steps?’ she threw the question at me, her voice stained with a threat.

There it was. From the moment I had tumbled down and realized I had gotten myself into a soup, I had been dreading answering this question. How would I be able to answer it? Could I tell her that my unbridled joy was because I had prevented an accident that involved blood but ended up in another accident that involved bones? I chose not to answer her.

A fresh moan emanated from my lips as I tried to turn to my left. Tears formed in my eyes. Then I asked my mom, ‘Ma, will I be okay?’

‘Of course, you will be. But it will take another three months for you to move around. You will be needing physiotherapy.’

‘Oh, good Lord!’ I cried. Pain sprouted from parts of my body I knew hadn’t existed. As tears streamed from my eyes, my mother spoke again, ‘It’s okay, Smrithi. We are here to take care of you. I think it was already written that something should happen to you today. Thank God, you escaped with recoverable injuries.’

‘But I will miss Lekshana’s daily routine as she goes to school. I can’t forgive myself for that,’ my voice cracked.

‘Don’t speak nonsense, silly. You will be on bed rest. You can bond with her while she’s doing her homework or when she’s playing with her toys.’

The tears did not stop. I couldn’t even nod at my mother’s feeble consolation. I felt more and more miserable as time passed by. Why did I even wish to go back to the moment before the mixer accident? Even if I had prevented it, why did I jump around in joy? Who was puppeteering me from above?

As usual, I ended up with no answers to my throbbing questions.

‘Ma, I just wish this hadn’t happened.’

This time, though, my mother did not reply. She just stroked my hair and asked me to go to sleep.

*

I couldn’t stand steadily. Couldn’t walk from one room to another. Couldn’t wear my underwear or my pants on my own. Couldn’t use the restroom frequently. Couldn’t even enjoy one peaceful day as pain shot through every inch of my body when it discerned that I was trying to bring some movement to it.

For a month or so, I consumed antibiotics. My mom fed me meals rich in protein and calcium. Yet, I couldn’t feel even a wee bit enthusiastic. I got to read many books and watch many movies, but none of them could cheer me up. Only one thought whirled around in my mind – I shouldn’t have taken the fall. Though I wished and prayed that I would be able to go back in time once again and prevent my fall, I was still apprehensive about wishing for anything. Deep down, I also knew that the Universe granted you only one chance to rectify your mistake. You shouldn’t be screwing that up with a bigger accident.

But I was wrong.

One afternoon, after a physiotherapy session, I began having thoughts of unliving myself. As my physical health began improving, my mental health started deteriorating. I missed going to work, doing the household chores by myself, doing crazy things with my daughter, pursuing my hobbies, and everything else. I wanted to become the old Smrithi. I wanted to be the version of me that existed on the morning of March 31st.

Battling with those dark thoughts, I closed my eyes gently.

*

‘Ah! Am I back?’ I thought, as my eyes adjusted to my surroundings. The yellow-and-black pyjamas seemed to be mocking me, like, ‘Oh! Is that you? Why can’t you just stop wishing to prevent the accidents that happen to you? They happen to teach you resilience and give you the much-needed strength to wade through your troubles. But why do you keep wishing that you want to go back to your old self? See? Now you are back here again. Don’t start jumping around in joy.’

Since I already had experience in travelling back in time, I sneaked out of the kitchen in which I was standing and entered my bedroom. Lekshana was role-playing with her doctor set. My mother did not even notice that I had left the kitchen. Before sneaking out, I confirmed that the blending jar with the tomatoes and the spices was still on the kitchen island. That’s how I knew that I had travelled back to the same date.

Lekshana paddled her way to me and held the toy stethoscope to my heart.

‘It must be beating wildly now,’ I teased her. She burst out laughing, blabbered something in English, and went back to her other toys.

Just then, my mobile phone rang. It was from my office.

‘Hello,’ I greeted, rather blandly.

‘Hello, Smrithi. The calculations are not tallying. Can you come to the office for a bit?’ It was my manager. There was no way I was going to turn down his request. It was the Annual Closure day and I had to help him.

I sighed audibly and replied, ‘Okay, I’ll be there, Sir.’

Half an hour later, I walked on the main road, watching the vehicles zoom by. Though it was a Sunday, there were still many vehicles plying around. I stopped for a moment and turned around so that I could cross the road.

That’s when I saw her on the other side of the road. Nayani, my long-lost childhood best friend. I shocked myself by recognizing her. A lump formed in my throat as a montage of memories began playing in my mind – how we met, how we bonded over our common interests, how we turned close, how we had each others’ backs at all the times, how we argued, how we went two months without talking to each other, how we patched things up, how we fell for the same guy, how she sacrificed him for me, how I too sacrificed him for her, how neither of us got the guy, how life pulled us apart as we began following our dreams, how she slowly drifted away from me, how she changed her mobile number without informing me, how she shifted her home to another city, and how she vanished off the face of Earth without being in touch with anybody.

My whole body trembled with the ache of missing her for all those years. I couldn’t let her slip away this time. I should get to her somehow, even if it meant not paying any attention to the tanker lorry that was speeding towards me. My feet moved on their own, enchanted by the memories of Nayani’s friendship.

It took only a fraction of a second for me to zone out. The lorry’s screeching honk brought me back to reality immediately. I only had time to turn my head to the right and gasp.

It was too late.

When I opened my eyes once again, I couldn’t feel my flesh. The flesh I had abused twice by wanting to prevent the accidents that happened to me. My flesh had to undergo that mixer accident so that it could have escaped from something big. It was me who abused it. It was me who lost it forever.

I was now a translucent being, wallowing in regrets and shame.

Nobody told me that something big was destined for me on March 31st and that the minor accident was a talisman in disguise.

If you loved this short story, you can read my other short stories here.

I wrote this short story in December 2018 and it was published in the anthology ‘Schezwan Jalebi’ in 2019.

When they moved in next door, it was as if eccentricity itself had moved in.

Sundar Ramasamy, the so-called cool IT professional, was not that cool, and he painted a picture of being silent even during adversities that threatened to break his life apart. But, according to me, he had this aura of nastiness around him and he wasn’t anywhere near the goody-two-shoes character that his wife projected him to be. Speaking of his wife, Lavanya seemed like a timid human being, yet she lived a life that bordered on double standards.

Caught between these two ambiguous people was Varshini.

Day 1:

“This is Sundar and he will be moving in today along with his family,” said Subramaniam, the well-mannered owner of the flat next to mine.

“Oh! Nice to meet you,” replied my mom. I just smiled at the duo. Sundar’s smile went the extra mile, appearing as plastic as possible.

“If you need any help, feel free to ask.” My mom added for courtesy sake. At this comment, Sundar’s smile widened and I couldn’t help but notice the nastiness behind it.

After an hour, I left for work, while my mom had to endure all the banging and drilling that was so ceremoniously taking place next door. And she had to endure something else too. That was Sundar’s nastiness. She recollected the events as follows.

At 2 p.m,

Coo coo coo coo coo ….

“Do you have a spanner?” asked Sundar.

“Yes, of course,” my mom replied groggily, as she was sleeping and the ear-piercing cuckoo coos from the bell had disturbed her beauty sleep.

She handed the spanner to Sundar and gently asked him to return it in the evening.

After half-an-hour,

Coo coo coo coo coo ….

“Thanks for the spanner. Ummm…do you have a cutting plier?” asked Sundar in a nastily polite tone, if you can imagine what I say.

Mom handed him the cutting plier, too, and she repeated that he could return it in the evening. Sundar was such a nincompoop that he couldn’t even understand that my mom was not to be disturbed anymore.

15 minutes later,

Coo coo coo coo coo ….

My mom sighed as she opened the door. A smiling Sundar returned the cutting plier and asked for a bottle of water. My mom did not mind this time as water was a basic necessity and one shouldn’t get angry over helping someone with a bottle of water. After Sundar thanked her and left, she heaved another huge sigh and plopped on her cosy bed, hoping she wouldn’t be woken up again.

However,

Coo coo coo coo coo ….

“Do you have cellophane tape?”

Coo coo coo coo coo ….

“Do you have a screwdriver?”

Coo coo coo coo coo ….

“Do you have a hammer?”

‘Yes, I have three different types of hammer and I am going to bludgeon you with one of them,’ thought my mom. She was almost shaking with anger by then.

Receiving the hammer from her, Sundar flashed another of his irritating smiles and replied, “Please forget about sleeping today.”

That was the last straw. My mom locked the main door from outside and went back to her room peacefully.

Even then,

Coo coo coo coo coo ….

“What the hell! Which idiot would ring the bell of a locked house?” my mom muttered under her breath. For a moment, she thought she could ignore the bell and continue sleeping. But what if it was Sundar who knew that the locked door was a sham to prevent his constant disturbance? What if he would continue ringing the bell and irritate her? So, she opened the door. It was indeed Sundar. However, someone else accompanied him. This new man wore a T-shirt that had the Flipkart logo on it. That’s when my mom remembered that she had a parcel to be received. As she looked at the duo with sleepy eyes, Sundar spoke, “I knew that you had mistakenly locked the door from outside. So, I told this delivery man that you are sleeping inside and that he can deliver the parcel without any hassle.”

Anger seethed from the bottom of my mom’s heart. She received the parcel and warded the delivery man off. She then slammed the door shut on Sundar’s face, before he could utter another word from his nasty mouth.

Day 18:

“Mom, I think you told me that there was an infant next door. Why am I not able to see him/her, but just listen to the constant wails whenever I go to the kitchen at 2 AM or 3 AM?” I asked my mom, who was scrolling through her WhatsApp messages and guffawing at some forwarded jokes.

“Yeah, it’s a girl baby. They share their bedroom with our kitchen. That’s why you can listen to her wails.”

“Oh, okay, mom. When…”

“Wait, what were you doing in the kitchen at 2 AM?”

“Never mind,” I replied and stood up to go to my bedroom.

“Where are you going? Answer my question.”

“Mom, I need to discuss with Vishu regarding evening plans.” Well, I was married to Vishu, if you are wondering why suddenly a third person had popped up between my mom and me. We stayed with my mom since my in-laws were in a remote village and my dad was working in Saudi Arabia.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” She raised an angry eyebrow at me.

“Okay, okay, cool down. I was very hungry that night. So, I just went to the kitchen to fix myself a sandwich. I also fixed one for Vishu.”

“Oh! I never knew that my daughter could make a sandwich.”

I made faces at her and walked towards my bedroom.

Day 39:

“Hi, we have never met till now. I am Jaanvi. And you?” I extended my hand for a shake. In front of me was the mysterious next-door woman whom I had never met till then.

“Hi, I am Lavanya.” She replied hurriedly. I deduced that her baby daughter might be needing her attention and that’s why she was removing her low-heeled slippers hastily.

“Okay, I think you are in a hurry. We will talk sometime later.”

“Hey, no, no. We just returned from the hospital. My baby had a vaccination today. No worries. My husband will take care of her for some time.”

“That’s good. What’s your baby’s name?”

“Varshini.”

“Nice name.”

Before she could reply, Varshini’s screeching cries emanated from inside. Perhaps, Sundar was not able to console her.

“Okay, I am sorry, we will talk later.”

Lavanya scurried inside even before I could bid her goodbye.

Day 45:

My mom had a root canal surgery done on this day. Her right jaw had swelled as a result of it. Sundar, who was parking his bike, noticed her and flashed a grin.

“Looks like someone is having a good time,” he said out of the blue. My mom looked up at him immediately and replied through a struggle, “Wh – at?”

“You are walking as well as eating a laddoo simultaneously. How many people can do that? Ha ha!”

‘Laddoo? Is he joking? Can’t he see that I have had a tooth operation and I am in pain?’ My mom thought, ‘This man is getting on my nerves with each passing day.’

Since she was in much pain, she couldn’t retort. She just flashed a cold stare at him and walked on. Wish I could have been beside her to console her and snap at his nastiness!

That same day, Lavanya proved her eccentricity.

As I was entering my home, she was carrying her baby out. The little one was all cuddled up in a small baby bed. Since that was the first time I noticed the baby, I peeped inside the bed to take a look at her.

“Excuse me, Jaanvi. I will show her to you sometime later.” Lavanya turned to the other side and hid the baby from me.

“Why is that so?” I was taken aback.

“Don’t you know that a two-month-old baby shouldn’t come in contact with anyone else other than her parents?”

I just stared at her, enigma writ all over my face. I never knew that a two-month-old baby shouldn’t be seen by her neighbours. 

“That is ridiculous. No one told me that,” I replied, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

“Well, the baby can be infected with god-knows-what diseases, if she is touched by someone else other than her parents. It won’t be a problem if she crosses six months.”

“And where exactly did you learn this?”

“From the Internet, of course.”

“Oh.”

That was all I could reply. I entered my house without another word.

I swear that till now I haven’t found a single Google page that tells me that a two-month-old baby shouldn’t be touched by its neighbours!

As days passed by, Lavanya and Sundar’s odd behaviour became a hot topic of discussion in our apartment complex. The couple had a problem with everything. They were put off by the lack of a 24/7 security guard (seriously, there was no need for a round-the-clock security guard for just twelve flats). They complained about salespeople knocking on their door. Why? They were even offended by some lizard poop that was somewhere at the corner of the staircase. Also, they grumbled about kids making much noise in the evenings. They even whined about the entire city. According to them, the city where they grew up was the best and all the other cities were replete with numerous crimes. Once I had a conversation with Lavanya and learnt about her obsession with her city.

“This city is worse. I won’t bring up Varshini here. After a couple of years, I would move to my city.” She told me, as she was hanging some clothes to dry.

“What makes you think like that?”

“There are so many crimes happening in and around this city. Also, the level of education is not good. Our city has some best schools.”

“Hey, even I was educated in the best school. My school is well-known for the imparting of English language. It’s also popular for making students take part in various extra-curricular activities, while most other schools concentrate only on the curriculum.”

“Yeah, that’s okay. But there are awesome schools in my city. I can say, there are some disciplined schools where good manners and morals are imparted to students. I want Varshini to learn good values rather than pick up bad things which children of nowadays are taught.”

Well, I must say that she was indeed very keen on imparting good virtues to Varshini. I have seen her handing the baby a bottle of filled toilet cleaner to play with!

*

Whenever I breathed in at the entrance of their flat, a miasma of overcooked meal hung in the air. The stench was unbearable sometimes. I wondered whether Lavanya or Sundar had never noticed the reek. Once my mom spoke to the maid who worked in their flat. The maid had some unpleasant experiences in their house, particularly with the horrid smell.

“Amma, I have told them I wouldn’t work for them anymore. I just can’t bear the stinking odour inside their house. I don’t know what causes that smell, but it makes me retch.” She told my mom.

“Have you asked them about it?” My mom asked concernedly.

“No, Amma. They are strange people. Even if I asked them about it, they would brush it off and cast the blame on me for talking about it. I tried to drop some subtle hints about the stench, but Lavanya couldn’t grasp them.”

“Then, what reason did you tell for resigning?”

“I told them I am moving to another area and I can’t continue here.”

“That’s good. Hope you are relieved now.”

“Yes, Amma. Very much.”

And the stench lived happily ever after.

*

According to Lavanya, whatever she did was the best and whatever the rest of them did was bad. I was 7 months pregnant and I used to chat with her during my evening walks on the terrace. Varshini was one year old by then and she was a favourite kid in the apartment complex. That little girl would mouth a ‘hi’ and a ‘bye’ to whomever she met. Sometimes, Lavanya complained that Varshini was uncontrollable and that she would run around the stairs without tiring. ‘Yeah, that’s how children should be. How long did you think that you could cage her inside your house?’ I thought, but I didn’t voice out my thoughts.

It was no use talking to Lavanya. She had an explanation for everything. Also, she depended on the Internet for her very existence. Whatever Google told her, she would follow it religiously, ignoring all the practical knowledge that experienced mothers shared with her. She said that she’d potty train Varshini only after she completes 16 months, as that’s what they had taught on some motherhood website. As a result of that, Varshini was dropping poop all around the house!

One day, the door to my flat was open and Varshini sidled inside. Immediately my mom and I started talking gibberish to her. We also gave her a few cuddly toys to play with. Three minutes later, Lavanya too entered our house. Of course, in search of Varshini. As soon as she noticed her daughter, she ran to her and carried her in her arms. She then swivelled around and looked at us alarmingly.

“Is the TV running in your house?” She asked.

“Yes, it’s obvious, right?” I looked at her and then at the TV, which was telecasting a few 90s Bollywood numbers.

“Sorry, I have to leave. We don’t make Varshini watch TV.”

I shot a quizzical look at her.

“It’s harmful. Many bad things are shown in the TV shows. Also, they don’t teach discipline or cleanliness to kids. So, I don’t want Varshini to watch TV.”

‘Seriously? What will a one-year-old understand by watching TV? And, why’d you, as a parent, make her watch the so-called bad TV shows instead of kids’ programmes?’ As usual, I did not voice out my thoughts.

“That’s okay. We will switch it off,” I put forth.

“No problem. She has to eat. I will take her home.”

How Lavanya exited our house made us believe that we were a bad influence on Varshini.

*

Sundar did not stop his nasty antics. He turned nastier with each passing day. Once, he returned from the office to listen to Lavanya’s sob story. It was a daily routine of Varshini to drop pieces of dosa from the balcony. The security guard, who swept the ground floor pathway, politely asked Lavanya to not make Varshini throw the pieces. He further added that it was creating difficulty for people who had to cross that pathway. Lavanya had rudely replied to him to mind his own business. She also grumbled to her husband about the security guard and made that poor chap look like a monster.

Sundar, in turn, met the security guard and asked him to stop talking to his wife. These were his exact words, “Don’t you dare talk to the woman of a house. Whatever it is, talk to me.” On another occasion, Lavanya tortured the owner of another house to repair the wiring that ran on the terrace and replace the lid of the sewage tank hole as it was too rusty. She stated that these common problems were posing a threat to her daughter. Almost six flats in our complex had little kids, but only Lavanya’s daughter was threatened by those problems. Sigh!

*

Lavanya’s what-I-do-is-the-best attitude came to the fore many times. She advised me to consult their family paediatrician for my three-month-old daughter, as she thought that that doctor was a lucky charm. She also thought that the painless vaccinations that were given to my baby were actually painful and that was why she was wailing every time after an injection and that we had been duped by the hospital. “Ravindran doctor is the best. You must consult there once,” she finished the conversation with this phrase.

On another occasion, she and my mom were conversing on the staircase, when I overheard this exchange.

“Jaanvi has started weaning. She has been dropping one-by-one breastfeeding sessions with formula milk. She has to return to work from next month.” My mom made this statement.

“Oh! That’s actually plausible. Since Jaanvi has to return to work, she cannot exclusively breastfeed for six months. But why haven’t you started solids yet?” Lavanya questioned.

“We would surely start solids after little Mishti completes six months.”

“That’s fine. Which company formula are you using?”

“Nan Pro 1.”

“Oh!”

“But we used to give Lactogen to all the previous babies in our family.”

“Yeah, Lactogen is really good.”

“My sister’s daughter used to drink only Lactogen.”

“Hmmm, in fact, Lactogen is the best. Way better than the Nan one which you said.”

There it was. That what-I-do-is-the-best attitude. Actually, there wasn’t much difference between those two formula powders. Poor Lavanya didn’t know that both the products were manufactured by the same company!

*

When I speak about the bad, I have to speak about the good too. There were some good things about the eccentric Lavanya. I cannot say the same for Sundar, as I haven’t interacted much with him. Lavanya was an ideal mother when she dealt with Varshini’s diet. She used to give her almost every kind of healthy food and keep her little daughter hale and hearty. I never saw her complain about any sickness and I never saw the couple taking Varshini to hospital much. Lavanya also used to teach her everything interactively. If her house was messy, it was because she was such a devoted mother to Varshini. I would surely appreciate her for that. But all that appreciation stops there. Lavanya’s eccentricity overshadowed her positive traits. Like the time when Varshini burned her fingers by touching the cooking pan because it was Lavanya’s practice to always carry her while she cooked. So much love?!

*

My mom barged into the room, as I was applying coconut oil all over Mishti’s body.

“Jaanvi, you know, they are leaving,” my mom said, almost breathless.

“Who is leaving?”

“Lavanya, Sundar and Varshini.”

“But why?” My eyes widened in shock.

“Listen to this. It’s so ridiculous.” My mom walked to the other corner of the bed and slumped down on it.

“When I asked Lavanya the reason, she was so reluctant to share it with me. She said that she was moving out because the children in this apartment complex were not good. She heard some bad things that those kids said. Also, a few kids talked to her about things that they watch on TV, which are actually meant only for adults. She felt that these kids might be a bad influence on Varshini. So, she is moving out.”

“What the hell! What if the kids in the new apartment complex are worse? What will she do then? Change places again?”

“God only knows.”

“Mom, I know about Lavanya very well. She would have stated more ridiculous reasons. Spit them out.”

“Yeah, she said that there are too many mosquitoes in this complex. And she complained about the lack of a 24/7 security guard. She also said that there were some bad vibrations in that flat. And blah blah blah…”

“How can someone have so many problems, Mom?”

“They are mad people, Jaanvi.”

“Insane.”

“Thank God they are moving out.”

“Yes, Mom, we don’t need such eccentric neighbours.”

Lavanya and Sundar never bid farewell to us. My mom was enraged and my blood boiled, too. How many times we would have helped Lavanya by taking care of Varshini for a little while? Did she forget about all those times? Or did she feel that we were a bad influence, too? Once when Varshini suffered from an insect bite, it was to us that Lavanya came running to. Whatever be it, one should never forget the help that they received in times of struggle. But Lavanya and Sundar were ungrateful. They talked so much about discipline, but where was all that discipline when they failed to inform us before leaving? I wondered whether this was the good virtue that they would teach to Varshini.

A few days later, I heard another incident that proved their eccentricity. Sundar had closed the main valve in the common water tank to dismantle his washing machine. And he simply forgot to reopen the valve! He just left the place and marched ahead to his new home. We had to endure the consequences of his stupidity. There was no water for many hours in the four flats that shared the tank. And we couldn’t reopen the valve too, as it was shut tight. We had to call the plumber to reopen it. Sigh!

Another incident proved their double standards. A few workers had come to do civil work in the flat before the next occupant arrived. In one of the wooden doors, they found the name Varshini carved with a compass. Seriously? A 21-month-old wouldn’t have done that. So, it was either Lavanya or Sundar. Can you imagine? Which educated person would do such a mannerless thing in a rented apartment? All the talk about manners and discipline was just useless talk. They never implemented that in their real life.

Okay, here ends the story of the two eccentrics. Lavanya and Sundar were the neighbours who never disturbed us in any way, but they left enough content for us to talk about for the rest of our lives. And, I have decided that I would never acknowledge them if I meet them anywhere else. Ungratefulness is something that I despise from the bottom of my heart.

If you loved this short story, you can read my other short stories here.

I wrote this short story in 2016. In 2019, Madan Thapa adapted it into a short film titled ‘Shu Thanthiram’ for the Naalaiya Iyakkunar contest. You can watch it here: Shu Thanthiram

“Shall I have the privilege to meet Mr. Ram Prasad?” asked Keshav Srikar to the prison guard.

“Privilege? He is a criminal. And you are speaking about privilege?” the prison guard counter-interrogated.

“Well, he may be a prisoner to you. But he is my best friend. Hence, I feel privileged to visit him. Please call him soon. I have less visiting time.”

The prison guard tch-ed at him and moved away to call the prisoner. Keshav Srikar, a professional magician, usually visited his prisoner friend Ram Prasad on weekends. And every weekend he had to face the wrath of different prison guards. With his noodle-like hair, walnut skin, brown eyes and broad jawline, he could have his way with anyone he liked. But speaking to the prison guards was something he dreaded. He had to tread cautiously with them and lead them to call Ram Prasad. He neither liked to bribe them nor liked to use his powers of hypnotism on them. And he always wore his special hat which made them easily distracted and give in to his request.

After five minutes, Ram Prasad walked in and stood on the other side of the grill which separated the prisoners from their visitors. His lemon-yellow skin had procured a reddish tone due to the deep guilt that he had been feeling for the accidental murder. His deep-set eyes bore into his best friend’s. His lips struggled to bring out words.

“Keshav, thank you for visiting me once again,” he said, finally.

“Don’t keep repeating that each time I meet you. I am fed up with it. Even if you don’t wish, I will meet you every weekend. Your family may abandon you, but your best friend will not.”

Ram Prasad forced a smile. “Please do keep visiting me. It’s a whiff of fresh air whenever you visit me. I feel radiated by your presence. Anyway, I don’t have any lawyer to back up my case or bail me out. I will stay in the prison till the Government wishes me to.”

“Well, leave all that. I have an important thing to say to you.” The grim look on Keshav’s face told that the matter was indeed vital.

“What is it?” asked Ram Prasad with furrowed eyebrows.

Lowering his voice, Keshav replied in a hushed tone, “I will make you escape from the prison.”

“You? What?” Ram Prasad was flabbergasted.

“Yes, I will make you escape from the prison,” Keshav replied with a wicked grin.

“But..but how?”

“I have a trick for that. You have to cooperate with me.”

“How can I cooperate with you in your ten minutes of visiting time? And also, the prison guards have roving eyes. They can smell fishy issues easily.”

“Hey, chill! It’s simple. Just take a deep breath and stare hard into my eyes. The rest I will take care of.”

“Is it so simple? I cannot even find a small hole or crevice to escape. How can you make me get away so easily?”

“Just follow my instructions, Ram. Don’t worry about anything.”

“Okay, now what should I do?”

“Just stare deep into my eyes.”

Thus began a ‘stare saga’ between the two friends. Though the prison guard was amused by the silence that hung between them, he did not take a step forward to find out what was really happening.

After a few minutes, Keshav broke the stare and announced, “Well, that’s enough for today. We must continue this during my next visit too.”

“Is this some kind of a joke, Keshav?”

“Nah! I wouldn’t play a prank on you, Ram. I think you have already judged me very well.”

“Then what is this? When will you be visiting me next?”

“The day after tomorrow. After another session, you would be a free bird….”

“Hey, you! Go go! Your time is over.” The prison guard chased away Keshav Srikar. Flashing a triumphant look at his best friend, he left the place.

Back in his prison cell, Ram Prasad felt his body undergoing various transformations. Sometimes he felt nauseated while sometimes his mind would travel in a dizzy. Most of the time he was in some kind of trance that he even forgot about the dinner until he received a strong blow from the prison guard.

*****

“Here, take this crystal into your right hand. Quick! Do it before the guard catches us.” The tone of urgency in Keshav’s voice made Ram Prasad snatch the pristine white Anandalite crystal from him and hold it in his right hand.

“Now chant yan shoroki junsunyua cheibojnait for ten times. Don’t chant it aloud. Just close your eyes, hold the crystal tightly and chant the lines as a whisper.”

“Yan what?”

“Yan shoroki junsunyua cheibojnait.” Keshav said slowly so that Ram Prasad could memorize it.

“Okay, I will do it. Meanwhile, you keep an eye on the guard.”

“Don’t worry. I have subjected him to a mild hypnosis. Start now!”

Ram Prasad chanted the weird mantra ten times while gripping the crystal firmly. After a few minutes, he felt giddy.

“I…I feel strange, Keshav. What are you doing to me?” His voice turned shaky.

“A lot is happening with you, Ram. Don’t worry; you’ll be okay. I will come for two more weeks and continue this crystal session. And voila! You’ll find freedom after that.”

Whatever Keshav Srikar spoke was Greek & Latin to Ram Prasad. Yet he continued following his best friend’s words, hoping to be freed sooner or later.

*****

“Hey shoo! Shoo! Go!” Prison guard Ashok Sharma shooed away a wheatish-white mongrel that was prying in the corridor of A Block. ‘How did a dog enter the block?’ he thought and went on to check the prison cells.

The prisoner in cell no.1 was stitching a scarf for his wife who would soon arrive on a conjugal visit. The second cell prisoner was heavily snoring while cell no. 3 had a prisoner who was drawing on a small notebook. Ashok reached cell no. 4 with anticipation, only to find the cell empty and the occupant missing! What was even more shocking was the intact lock on the cell!

“Sir!” He screamed at the top of his lungs. Inspector General Krishnaraj took to his legs in the direction of the voice.

“What happened, Ashok?” he asked rather calmly.

“Sir! Ram Prasad is missing from his cell!”

“What? Did you check properly?” he moved towards the cell to peep inside. After a thorough search, he spoke again.

“Yes, he is missing. But this is impossible. The lock is intact. Then how would he have escaped? Let’s break the lock, Ashok.”

A few workers got to work and broke the lock in a few minutes. Krishnaraj entered the cell to investigate it thoroughly. The cell was wiped clean. There were no pieces of evidence to show that Ram Prasad had actually escaped. Not even a footprint was visible. The entire cell shined like a newly built one.

“This is strange!” he murmured under his breath.

“Sir! How could he have escaped? I checked on him yesterday night too. He looked weak; he was shivering and also he had wrapped himself in a thick quilt. Especially his rear part of the body was covered with the quilt completely while his upper part wasn’t that much covered.”

Krishnaraj listened intently, shook his head and then spoke, “I am not able to make out. Did you find anything strange or amiss when you entered this block in the morning?”

“No, Sir. Everything was in order.”

The burly Inspector General once again inspected the entire cell with his curious eyes. He chewed on his lips in enigma as he thought about the possibilities of escape. But he zeroed upon nothing.

“It’s a jigsaw puzzle, Ashok. Now we must immediately inform the higher officials about it and begin a search operation for him. It’s never too late to start. Come, let’s go!” He ushered Ashok outside and appointed another prison guard to take care of A Block.

As soon as he stepped outside the block, the mongrel that was previously found in the block waylaid him. It barked at him ferociously.

“Shoo! Go!” Ashok Sharma once again shooed away the dog, while making a mental note to call the Blue Cross to take away the stray dog.

*****

Krishnaraj informed his higher officials about the missing accused. Soon every source of media was replete with the news of the mysterious disappearance of Ram Prasad. His photos were shared on Facebook, Twitter and WhatsApp to help the police in tracing him. Posters were pasted all along the streets, roads, and highways.

“Did he have any visitors last week?” Krishnaraj questioned Ashok.

“Yes, he did have one. His name is Keshav Srikar. He is a magician and he claimed to be a best friend of Ram Prasad.”

Soon, Krishnaraj, Ashok, and a few other policemen were at Keshav Srikar’s house. The house was no less than a palace. Painted with sandal-coloured paint all over and paired with wooden furniture, artwork & wall hangings, the house looked straight out of folklore. Also, it was decorated with wands, cloaks, crystals and peculiar paintings, which puzzled the policemen. However, they assured themselves that a magician’s house ought to be like that. Being treated to a glass of water, Krishnaraj began his questioning.

“Did you visit Ram Prasad last week?”

“Of course, I did. Thrice it was. What’s the matter, Sir?” asked Keshav while adjusting his magician hat.

“He is missing, Mr.Keshav. We thought we could question you regarding his disappearance.”

“Missing? You mean he escaped from the prison?”

“Yes. Also, the lock on his prison cell was intact. It is a mystery as to how he might have escaped.”

Keshav Srikar faked a cough to suppress a grin.

“Did Ram Prasad tell you anything unusual? Or did he speak about escaping from the prison?”

“No, Sir, our talks were limited only regarding our well-being and about my magic shows.”

“Okay, does anyone else visit him?”

“No, Sir, I am the lone visitor. His family has completely abandoned him.”

“Yeah! I heard about it. How will a family accept a person who has killed his brother?”

“But it was accidental.”

“Don’t defend your friend, Mr. Keshav. Murder is murder, even if it’s accidental. The dead person cannot be brought back to life.”

“I am sorry.”

“You don’t have to be. Well, since you cannot provide any leads, we will leave now. We will surely contact you again if any further investigation is required.” Saying so, Krishnaraj flashed a warm smile and stood up along with the others.

Keshav Srikar stared at the retreating party and smiled cunningly. ‘They will never find him!’ he thought, as he welcomed a wheatish-white mongrel into his home. A mongrel that had escaped from prison cell no. 4 by squeezing itself through the bars. A mongrel who was struggling to get transformed back to Ram Prasad and live a life hiding in Keshav Srikar’s house forever. ‘Magic is a saviour,’ Keshav thought, as he picked up the mongrel to perform his quintessential magic trick of transformation using yet another crystal.

If you loved this short story, you can read my other short stories here.

Today is the birthday of my first online friend. We met in 2009 through the Xtramarks website and soon became friends through the Chat feature. Later, we moved on to Yahoo Messenger. He was from Ahmedabad. After a few days of chatting, he shared his picture with me and requested that I share mine. I informed my mother about this who read through our chats and analyzed that the boy was genuine in his interactions. I shared my photo with him. And soon we exchanged mobile numbers too. Parents’ mobile numbers, I mean. We both were just 15. So whenever we called each other, our parents joined us and talked to each other. His mother used to address my mother as Bhabhi. It was a beautiful little phase of friendship. As life moved on, we moved on too.

As with many friendships, this friendship too reached the drifting away stage. I believe that we should accept this drifting away stage as a part and parcel of every friendship. It might happen at any time unless the friendship has been a closely-knit one or you have common interests that enable you to keep in touch throughout. Coming back to this online friend, we don’t talk anymore, though we follow each other on Instagram. He has 0 posts on his profile and he sometimes sees my Story updates. Besides this, there is no communication between us. Neither of us took the initiative to keep the friendship burning alive. It withered, as we made new friends, embraced new beginnings, and carved new paths for ourselves.

But one thing has stuck with me ever since. His birthdate.

Every year, the date would arrive, I would remember that it is his birthday, and I would give it a pass. I don’t know if he remembers my birthday. Maybe, it’s just me. Maybe I’m bound to remember everyone’s birthdates, regardless of their relationship with me. But why though? I don’t have an answer to that. This remembrance of birthdates has been a boon, a curse, and a good-for-nothing skill of mine.

There are birthdates I wish to forget, but I just cannot. When those dates arrive, a sickening emptiness would creep over me, as my heart would get flooded with bittersweet memories. What an irony to feel the emptiness while something gets filled up! Come April 8th, my lost best friend’s face would keep flashing in my mind. Every memory would get replayed as if a film reel was constantly running in my brain. I would remember the tiny details. Like, how her sweaty palms smudged the ink on the paper in which she was writing. How her mother’s special bread chaat with mint chutney and masala macaroni tasted. How her face glowed when I told her I was addicted to the underrated song she introduced me to.

Oh, the bittersweetness of it all! April 8th will always be etched with her memories, while I go about having no idea of where she is now.

Every month has me remembering random birthdates that are of no relevance to me. I would wake up, remember that it is so-and-so’s birthday, revel in a memory or two of that person, and then I would go about my daily life. I would never wish them, because yeah, we are no longer in touch. We have watered down to being just another follower in our social media profiles. Another ghost, nothing else. I did wish a few of them, just because I remembered and I didn’t know what to do with that remembrance. I didn’t know where to put it. So, I wished them, so that I could get it out of my head. Some of them wished me back on my birthday, just out of courtesy. The cycle repeated every year.

This year, I remembered their birthdates, but I just didn’t make the effort to craft a wish. By then, I knew how to handle my remembrance. I let it go. Inhale, exhale. And voila! They did not wish me back. So, it was kind of equal-equal. I would still remember their birthdates, year after year, but I’d just smile and go about my chores.

Meanwhile, there are other birthdates, where I would just remember them and then discard them from my brain immediately because they simply can’t take up storage space. Those people don’t even know if I exist or not. Then, why should their birthdates pop into my mind? Well, as I already mentioned, this remembrance is a good-for-nothing skill too.

And hey, there are people with whom I’m still strongly bonded, even though we might not talk for months together. This is where the remembrance turns into a boon. I wish them and we would begin chatting, picking up from where we left off. Those are the moments I live for. Those are the people that deserve my heartfelt wishes, year after year. And those are the people who earnestly remember my birthday too. Well, a couple of them are exempted from it, because they are just forgetful and they turn profusely apologetic when they view my Status or something. Not everyone is good at remembering dates and I definitely make peace with it.

This doesn’t end with the birthdates I have known throughout my life. If somebody on the street mentioned their birthdate, it would immediately get registered in my brain. Yeah, irrelevant, but what can I do? This is the skill that got one of my colleagues from the HR department to start a three-member Birthday Celebration Committee because even if he forgets someone’s birthday, I would remember it. I have already told him once that whenever I see people, I imagine a speech balloon above their heads with their birthdates (after they let me know them).

Now that I realise, it’s not just birthdates, I seem to remember other dates too. Significant and insignificant ones. The dates I met some people, the dates some people left, the dates my heart broke, the dates I tumbled into desperation, and the dates I felt blissfully happy. What should I term this memory skill? Numerical memory? Does something like that exist? Maybe these dates are just mnemonics for me to have good memory power. I wish someone researches into people who remember dates precisely. Maybe coin a term for us.

Well, December is replete with birthdays. And I’m kind of glad that I’d wake up remembering, reminiscing, and then gently drifting back to a busy life’s callings.

Love,
Kavya Janani. U

I wrote this post first in 2021 and posted it on my Instagram profile to which composer Ramesh Vinayagam replied. Reposting it here with more sentences added to it

I have very fond memories of Vizhigalin Aruginil Vaanam. It was the summer vacation of 2004. My dad was on his 14-day visit, bringing along with him boxes of ‘foreign’ chocolates and a load of gadgets. Among the gadgets was an MP3 player that became my companion in just a few days.⠀ 

Only a handful of songs could be loaded into it.  I got just two albums – Aayudha Ezhuthu and Azhagiya Theeye. I wasn’t yet a Rahman fan (I became a hardcore ARR fan only after Delhi 6 in 2009), but I still enjoyed the songs from the former movie. I didn’t know much about the latter. I got to know from my uncle that the actors were Prasanna (who had already acted in Five Star) and Navya Nair.⠀ 

The first song, Vizhigalin Aruginil, captivated me so much. The prelude, consisting of flute and strings, is marked with finger snaps that follow throughout the song. Then there are subtle piano notes, an upbeat rhythm, a dreamy chorus, ebullient string sections, and such heartwarming lyrics. The song was way ahead of its time. It sounds fresh even after 20 years. The arrangements are unlike any other song of the 2000s decade. That’s why it stands out and is loved by many people. 

The composer, Ramesh Vinayagam, was a newbie at that time, but the beautiful songs in this album made him popular. Especially, his unique voice intoxicated me. Every time Ramesh sings ‘oh ye…’ at the end of each line, I find my heart swelling with joy. 2004 was also the year when our family got our first window air-conditioner. All my summer afternoons turned breezy with me sitting in a corner of the cooled room and this alluring song booming in my MP3 player.⠀ 

This track has that meditative aura, though it is a love song from the perspective of a man. On some days, I used to just lie down with my headphones on, stare at the ceiling blankly, and immerse myself in this ethereal melody. The 10-year-old me did not have a mobile phone for distraction. Just unadulterated music streaming from the earbuds straight to my heart.⠀ 

When Ramesh goes அலைகடலாய் இருந்த மனம்…
துளி துளியாய் சிதறியதே…(Alaikadalaai irundha manam, thuli thuliyaai sidhariyadhe…), I reach heaven instantly. That elevation in both paragraphs is one of the highlights of the song. And, of course, my favourite line is – இருதயமே துடிக்கிறதா…
துடிப்பது போல் நடிக்கிறதா… (Irudhayame thudikiradhaa…Thudipadhupol nadikiradhaa…). Anyone who has been through the phase of unexpressed love would find solace in the lyrics of this song. That ரகசியமாய் தவித்திடவா… (ragasiyamaai thavithidava) phrase encompasses the whole theme of the song. 

If I hadn’t listened to this on my MP3 player, I wouldn’t have imbibed music in my blood. I would always remember Vizhigalin Aruginil as the gateway to establishing my intense relationship with music. I am attaching photos of my writing of this song’s lyrics in my 2006 diary. The 12-year-old me was still obsessed with the song (I might have made blunders in the lyrics because that’s how I misheard them and interpreted them in the pre-Internet days).  

How much do you love this song? Let me know in the comments

Love,
Kavya Janani. U

Unveiling the synopsis of my work-in-progress, tentatively titled The Unjourney – 11:11:11.

A moodboard that reflects the aesthetic of my WIP

When you meddle with time, time meddles with you.

June 21st, 2014.

Jessica Almeida, a young scientist, creates a portable time machine named Vaqt. For the first trial run, she travels back to her past for a few minutes, unintentionally triggering a chain of events.

The same day, Leela Krishnamurthy, a fashion designer, boards flight MAA 171 bound for Sydney, to surprise her fiancé. But the plane vanishes mid-air a few minutes after takeoff and stays disappeared for the next six years.

April 2020. Maya Krishnamurthy, a successful Tamil cine actor, has been battling depression for six years since her breakup with her then-boyfriend and the subsequent disappearance of her sister Leela on the infamous aircraft MAA 171. She finds a little solace and her source of light in her current boyfriend and twin flame, Nikhil Raj.

A chance meeting with the scientist Jessica Almeida (who is also her high-school friend) leads to Maya learning about the existence of Vaqt, which Jessica lends to her after a successful demo and a little persuasion. Maya revisits many memories of her past, including her college days with her ex-boyfriend, Anuj Vishwanath. Eventually, curiosity lands her in trouble. During one of her visits to the past, Maya changes a tiny thing, assuming it wouldn’t affect the future much. But when she returns to her present, she is met with a horrific altered timeline, thanks to that one twist.

Adding to her helplessness – Vaqt and its creator are no longer in the picture, either. Will Maya be able to retrieve her original timeline? What is the connection between that minor change in her past and her altered present? Should she rather make peace with the altered timeline where she is just a husk of her old self?

How is everything connected to flight MAA 171?

Let me know how it is and if it makes you want to read the book

Love,
Kavya Janani. U

This year, I set my Goodreads Challenge to 24 books. I had inhibitions about whether I’d be able to achieve it. Now that half the year has passed, I’m sure I can breeze through it. I have read 12 books and hope to pop in another 12 before the year ends. So, here’s a quick recap of all the books I read and the ones I loved the most.

1. Life After Life by Kate Atkinson

To the uninitiated, I’m a sucker for time travel and time loop stories. I love the concept so much that the novel I’m writing is a time travel mystery drama (I have also written time travel short stories and two KDP novelettes). So, I bought this book at the book fair in 2020. To be honest, Life After Life is a novel attempt. But it stops with that. What started as a brilliant tale of a woman caught in a time loop of dying and being born again ended up as an underwhelming, overlong narrative making me skim through the last 160+ pages. Not recommended for light readers!

2. Mini Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella

Sophie Kinsella’s books are my guilty pleasures. I just love leaving my nose inside one of her books and forgetting the world around me. Mini Shopaholic was a laughter riot. Though I haven’t read the series from the first book, I read the previous instalment Shopaholic & Baby when I was pregnant in 2018. I bought Mini Shopaholic at a book fair in June 2018 (I was 9 months pregnant by then and made my way through the crowded hall with my huge belly, haha). But I could read the book only this year. I seriously needed the laughs amidst work stress. One of my top reads of this year!

3. What You’re Looking For is In The Library by Michiko Aoyama

I read the epub version of this book. And God, I was floored! Everything about this book is so beautiful. I loved it so much that I immediately texted one of my friends recommending it and he ordered it right away saying that I give my book recommendations are good. I felt like the librarian in this book when he said that. Now I have become a fan of books translated from Japanese. If you have any recommendations, please share them as comments in this post. I highly recommend you read this one!

4. The Psychology of Time Travel by Kate Mascarenhas

For someone obsessed with time travel & murder mystery, this was a terrific read. I also loved the all-women leads factor of this book. To be honest, I have had enough of male time travellers. So, this book was a refreshing change. The non-linear narrative might get confusing at times, but overall it was an engrossing read. The intrigue was maintained till the end, though the identity of the murder victim was a bit predictable for me. Recommending this to time travel lovers!

5. The Housemaid by Freida McFadden

This was a book club read. And what a thrilling ride it was! The freak accident I met with gave me ample time to finish this engaging domestic thriller. This book was also my quickest read since I finished it within two days on my Kindle. I have read a few domestic thrillers and this book too falls under the same category. If you are a Gone Girl and The Girl On The Train fan, you can go for this.

6. A Poetry Handbook by Mary Oliver

Poems must, of course, be written in emotional freedom.

I wanted/want to cultivate my poetry by reading more and more. So, I’m on this path of choosing poetry guidebooks to read. Hence, I started with Mary Oliver’s amazing guide. She is someone I look up to on my poetic journey. My friends have also said that my poetic voice sometimes reflects hers. Well, in this book, she explains the requirements of writing a good poem in her signature tone and style. Not at any point it was preachy. Recommended for poets!

7. The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

I’m a Sylvia Plath devotee. Her poems and a few chapters from her journal saved me in 2020 and 2021. I read The Bell Jar first in 2016 and forgot most of it. I wasn’t a Sylvia fan back then. But then I became her superfan in 2020 after I got introduced to her poetry. Since then I had been wanting to reread this masterpiece of a novel. I would recommend this left and right to anyone just for the sheer brilliance of Sylvia’s writing. Please read it!

8. The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume 1 by Anaïs Nin

I have this weird obsession with reading diaries written by women in the early 1900s. I could relate to most of what Anaïs wrote in this deeply personal record. A few might find her lifestyle objectionable, but she lived this bold, intense life, which according to me, is something to be cherished. Her words actually empower me a lot. If you are a woman, struggling to carve your identity in this world, you must read Anaïs’ diaries.

9. The Daughters of Madurai by Rajasree Variyar

This was also another book club read. The premise was captivating, but I had lots of problems with the book. The plot was quite intense, but it was bogged down by a draggy narration. Though I didn’t skip any paragraphs, I still had to painfully read through the slow narration. There were also repetitive scenes which could have been avoided. Above all, the out-of-place names of the characters irked me a lot. It wasn’t period-specific too. A girl born in the late 80s in a small village in Tamil Nadu is not going to be named Lavanika! The author could have done some research on the names.

10. In The Company of Cheerful Ladies by Alexander McCall Smith

One of the reasons I live is to read Alexander McCall Smith’s The No.1 Ladies Detective Agency series. Enough said, I think. The man is releasing the 25th instalment of this book this year and I’m pretty frustrated that I have just finished the 6th book. I have made a pact to myself that I’d read at least 3-4 books in this series per year. So, I’m eagerly waiting for my next read. Go for this series if you’re looking for something cosy, beautiful, and warm to read!

11. My Not So Perfect Life by Sophie Kinsella

I picked this up to read because it was one of the oldest books on my shelf. But also, as I mentioned already, I love Kinsella’s books. There might be issues, but her narration keeps me invested in her characters and their lives. I thought I wouldn’t be picking up her books at the fairs anymore, but I’m gonna continue buying. If you are a fan of chick-lit and lighthearted reads, go for this!

12. Before The Coffee Gets Cold by Toshikazu Kawaguchi

Yes, it is that popular book that everyone is reading these days. Another Japanese novel translated into English. To be frank, I didn’t love it as much as I loved What You’re Looking For is In The Library, but it was still a beautiful read. It might have been the textbook kinda narration that put me off a bit. And yes, it’s got my favourite concept (time travel) in it. I have all the books in this series and I’m looking forward to reading them.

So, there goes the half-year list of books I read. I’ll meet you all again in this space on December 31st, 2024. This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop.

Love,
Kavya Janani. U