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The lessons that Last

She was walking mindlessly on the beach this evening. The soft wind felt comforting against her skin. The irritating migraine she had all day seemed to wane making her head feel lighter and her mane now wavering carelessly like a flag on a windy day. The beach was isolated to its core, Goans are not early risers she wondered. She could see the vast shoreline until the end where there was a fort stationed – the Sinquerim fort. She remembered having visited it a couple of years ago with her gang of college friends. The photos taken then, the memories, all of it flashed in her mind. There was a smile on her face. “ Help ” “ Help me ” a cry was heard. It was very faint and she could not trace the source of it. Infact she wondered if she was hallucinating and quickly scanned the expanse of sand to her left assuming the sea has nothing to do with it. “ H-H-H-E-L-P-P !”   she heard amongst gulps of water. The cries were too evident and she couldn’t ignore them anymore. Suddenly it...
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From the archives: Let’s be friends?

She was haphazardly running towards the bus stop after swiping her card at the office exit gate. She noticed her bus from a distance as she limped while balancing her dupatta with one hand and her laptop bag with the other. This was the last bus for the day & hence she had to board it at any cost. Luckily, the driver noticed her and decided to wait until she had hopped on safely - a very rare perk of being a woman in a country like India sometimes. The bus was crowded beyond an imaginable point. People struggled to chat/converse or play candy crush on their phones while attempting to balance themselves by dangling from the handles. The bus was supposed to be equipped with air conditioning - which was only in theory and certainly not in practice. The only respite - it was filled with the educated IT lot.  As the bus progressed its journey one bus stop at a time, the seats too started getting vacant one at a time as people started to alight. I looked at my watch & realised I ...
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House of Commons

She pushed away the branch of a shrub which came in her way as she struggled to follow the muddy path in front of her. It left a scratch on her elbow.  “Ouch!” she screamed. Somehow, the pain she experienced was inversely proportional to the depth of the wound on her skin. When she once rammed into the  edge of a wall as a kid, her mother’s alarmed reaction made her realise she was bleeding from her forehead. Until then, she was oblivious of the damage and was happily frolicking around butterflies in the garden. Her brother tapped on her shoulder to gain her attention. She shrugged with irritation and moved her head to see a palatial bungalow in front of her. Close to 10 feet in height and orange in colour, it flaunted the Portuguese style of architecture replete with circular windows which were lined with oyster shells, an art which is already declining in the state. The roof was lined with Mangalorean tiles, half of which were in a dilapidated state. The porch had a tiny wel...
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