Memoirs !!!!

There was a very small, yet beautiful village, right at the very top of a beautiful hill. A river that glistened with sparkling freshwater ran through a ridge nearby, with pebbles and stones decorating its bed. Beside the river, at a distance of one mile each, sat big brown rocks. If you got up early in the morning and go near the water, you can see a boy sitting on those rocks with a shawl draped over his shoulders, staring into the darkness until the sun's fully up. And once the sun is up, he leaves and never comes back for the day. But the most fascinating part is that every day he would sit on different rocks, in a regular pattern. One day, the first rock, next day, the second one, and so on. Once he is done with all of them, he would come back to the first one. Amar had been to the village a few months back for a weekend getaway. He had booked a homestay with a local family. One night, while he was talking to the family after dinner, they told Amar about the boy. He peaked wit

Seema looked at the beautiful tulips growing in her garden at that time of the year. They were of varied hues and textures and yet gave the garden a uniform look of bloom. She felt chirpy as she strolled across the lawn, her feet feeling the warmth of the soft damp grass. She loved her daily walks in this part of the property which was her favorite. She always thought that she could never leave this place, whatever may happen in the future. She had in fact long decided this, without even discussing it with her husband. Seema and Nikhil had got married ten years ago and shifted to the north-eastern town of Cherrapunji as Nikhil’s job demanded him to be there. Moving from Bombay to this obscure wet town was extremely difficult, if not impossible, for Seema. Those were the times after the national emergency was lifted, and things were still settling down - law-order and economy. Nikhil said that he didn’t have much choice but to follow the government’s orders, even if they sent him to th

Sheena opened the lock of the outhouse with a click and a stale smoky smell hit her senses. She made a face as she stepped into the minimalistic abode that she was coming back to after six months of traveling around. She had rented the outhouse around four years back when she had decided to take a plunge as a full-time writer and now after three books published there was no looking back. The outhouse was located in a beautiful and majestic coffee estate nestled in the Western Ghats a few hundred kilometers from Bangalore. Sheena brushed off the dirt from the sofa and headed towards the kitchen. The dawn was about to break and having traveled in the not-so-comfortable bus, she needed a hot cup of tea. She entered the kitchen as the first rays of the sun touched the window pane, a gentle but hardly perceptible light filled the surroundings. To her surprise, there was a hot cup of tea next to the stove with a note next to it – “Welcome back” . She smiled and thought that it had to be the

Faces!! She could read them all- the unmistakable twinkle in the eyes of the naughty toddler who had just learnt to walk; the reproachful look in the eyes of the spurned lover; the haughty arrogance of the rich spoilt brat; the guilt of a cheating husband. Her degree in English literature had gifted her a lot more than the ability to appreciate Victorian poetry. Faces!! She could read them all. And that was why this one particularly frightened her. She could not make out what that face was all about. The stranger, as she thought of him; the stranger with his cold and unfeeling black eyes and equally black tattoos that covered every inch of his bare muscled arms. Five years of learning and the next 23 years of teaching at the Jawaharlal Nehru University had taught her the ways of those who fancied themselves as thinkers, believers, doers, revolutionists. And this stranger fit comfortably in the category. But still, there was something amiss about all those muscles and gelled hair and t