Heap Of Words

“I hope you don’t mind, I needed to borrow something” ventured the shy voice behind the door. “This is always how it starts” Mrs. Sharma thought to herself, “they come for sugar and stay for dinner. Or borrow your mixer and forget to return.” Mrs. Sharma was not antisocial, she just liked herself more than she liked other people; and found that to be far better company, was all. So what if that deemed her a recluse? As if she cared! Mrs. Sharma was your regular middle aged- north indian- saree 1 wearing- belan 2 wielding- god fearing- but single mother of two. Her late husband having left her in the lurch years ago did little to diminish the intensity with which she approached life; but it did leave her with a guarded, if not cynical, approach to society. Her profession didn’t help matters either- as a government school administrator, she had to change towns every five years- always on the move, with two teenagers in tow! This time, she wanted to stay put for a while ...

“Excuse me sir, are you done?” I was only into my fourth cup, and heck, I was just getting started! It said ‘free refills’ out front, didn’t it? So no, Lady! I am not, so please leave me alone; and get me another refill please, while you’re at it? The tube light crackled and the soda fountain whirred as I stood holding the cup- “free refills also mean serve yourself, mister”- and I wondered for the thirty fourth time, which shade of blue looks the most professional, but not as much as the black. “Let’s revisit the slides, I had a brilliant idea last evening!” said Jaden Smith, as he walked in office this morning. “Sure thing boss!” I chimed back, summoning forth the best of my fake smiles, from my ever full bag of lies. “The Big Boss is in town next month, and the least he deserves is a professionally prepared update, don’t you think?”, Jaden returned, putting his sweating frappe down on my desk, right next to the coaster I had hopefully set out this morning. “Of course, ...

It was just another nameless day of the week- Tuesday, or Wednesday, or one of those useless Sundays- when even the cats got bored of napping. Lately to Mrs. Bhatia, all days seemed to blend in one. They all started with the same mornings, when she would force herself out of bed, bathe then pray, or pray then bathe; not that it mattered much, anyways. Mr. Bhatia would get served a perfunctory breakfast, and be packed off to the garage, where the forever broken down car promised more entertainment than the prospect of human interaction. Mrs. Bhatia would return to her needles, and the sweater that never seemed to get done. Lunch would be the same tasteless affair, and so would dinner. Nights though, were another matter- for Mrs. Bhatia would rather spend the night awake than revisit the nightmares that seemed to plague her lately. The usual gory ones, or loud ones or the incredibly dark ones, all ending with the dreaded door bell and the post man at the door, and the official look...

“ Phone… check!  Bus pass… check!  Pencils… check!  New notebook… check!” Shouldering her bag once again, Clara felt all set for the new Creative writing class she was starting today. She had been looking forward to it for over a month now, and here she was, waiting for 6:59 to turn to 7.00! There was no way she would miss this one! She will attend this every week, and come out as a writer after 8 weeks. Atleast that was the plan. “Uh Oh! Something’s wrong!” she thought suddenly, with a hint of panic. “I feel that blasted migraine coming on… and the class will be three hours long.” Her face crumpled as she came to the decision, she may have to skip this one after all. This headache wins again. Her shoulders drooped as she started to turn back, but suddenly stopped mid pivot. Smiling to herself, she reached into the depths of her bag. “Saridon… check!