Flash Fiction: A letter (imaginative) to an ex-lover

Dear ex-Love

Ain’t wishing you a heart attack! I know you have moved to greener pasture with your new boyfriend...I stalked you last night, not on Facebook or Whatsapp...nah! I am that desperate you know. Followed both of you in the crowded mall wearing Santa Claus get up and saw you guys holding hands and smooching.

The ex-looks like that after reading/https://images.gr-assets.com/hostedimages/1464714649ra/19268106.gif

It would be such a lie to pretend I am the new maju Dabbang version of not getting heartburn. See, I was seething with jealousy and my face went red the moment you glowed pink. I didn’t check my face in the mirror, though! Feel like Arvind Kejriwal when Modiji won Delhi and that moment pierced my heart.

Now, who sends letter to an ex by post office? I am the one doing that and feel exactly like you are finding me, a certified jerk. Cut the crap, will you! I am not asking that both of us should let bygones be gones and get together after all the fracas and stupid fight. I am not drowning myself in alcohol...Devdas is passé and was such a chutiya. You know na way hotter and sizzling options in the world. You see, babe, it’s such a toughie and I may end up being single for the rest of my life...so much to chose and I am one-man-woman. I mean, I asked you out since there was no option...the sex was ahem! ahem! okayish, I’d say. I am not a terrific kisser, so are you...dunno why you breathed heavily during the act as if inflicted by some malady.

Idea! Yes! Tube light moment right now. I think your virus has hit my nerve...amnesia you see. The gifts, quite expensive you see, branded perfumes, lingerie, wristwatch, lipstick you left in my house. Wait did you leave it or gave it back? You wanted to fling all of them on my face right. I give you an offer...too tempting to refuse! The gifts...super expensive ...I burnt my pocket yet they have resale value next to zero on the market...can’t even get a Jockey brief if I sell all of them. 

So, why don’t you fucking come over and pick them up! I am just being self-deprecatory and since I cannot recover a single penny spent, you can always burn them or give it to some homes...that too, I ain’t sure people will accept since donations in kind might be illegal. Waise bhi with the entire notebandi by Modi-ji you can just send it to his doorstep as revenge for not being able to change your 1000 notes. Are you standing in an ATM queue? I feel for you babe and it cannot beat the joy of seeing you sweating...you hate doing that na!

Trust me, honey, it’s the perfect revenge for me to see you sweat and dripping on your flawless skin. I did the last time and stopped the car, halted the traffic and the cop gave me a challan...was fucking slapped twice for halting the traffic.  But, all good for nothing beats the sadistic pleasure to watch you sweat and nurse the tears.

Planning to tear this love letter and curse me? You can always keep it for posterity when you in a mood to kick balls.

Ciao

Your now ex-lover

 

Flash fiction: The last local

The railway station was packed with commuters storming to catch the last local train at 1.40 a.m. It lashed heavily in the Mumbai outskirt on that night and the station wore a chaotic look with people scampering in all directions to hop on the last train. Water has choked the entire track and percolated to the surface.

There was not a single local train that could be spotted and worried faces longing for the last local raised a hue and cry at the station and barricaded the railway officers who stood like silent spectators wearing a blank facial expression. A young man in his late 20s abandoned all hopes and slouched on the empty bench with his head deck on a huge bag.

The fan on the tin roof ceiling slowly whirred to life. He chased off the flies hovering above his head and sucking blood on his skin with his hand. Water tapped on the tin roof. He fell asleep on the bench and bore no distraction by the whining voices, wail of a baby and loud steps running heavily on the stairs. The man slept peacefully on the bench. The old clock fixed on the ceiling was on the verge to strike 2 a.m.  

Voice whispers were heard behind the snoring shadow that propelled him to leap on his feet. The station was suddenly deserted.  A couple of railway and army officers stared at him and tried hard to conceal smiles. He was hesitant in his tone, “What happened?”

The officers looked at each other and said, “The rain has put you to sleep like a lullaby sang to a child. The last local came immediately after you dozed off and already left the station. There was so much noise and some people tried to wake you up but to no avail.”

He felt stupid and cursed himself. He didn’t have any choice but to wait until the morning. The officer gave him a cup of tea in a glass and he gulped it. He sat on the lone bench and watched at the empty railway track.

With love

Vishal

Farway destination

A faraway destination,

a smile hidden behind the tiny dot of stars,

 morning mist,

 blue sky,

 emerald stone,

 where shall we ever find you?

Stop laughing at us,

mourning at your disappearance,

 powerful memories,

 the times we laughed, sang and boozed together,

 the voice that vividly pierces the ear,

 still vivid even today,

 a feeling that you never left,

you are here forever,

now tell it to them,

send a sign from the sky,

throw a paper chit,

burst crackers in the middle of the night,

for they think it's hallucination,

 smile like a maniac,

 you always do that,

 man! that powerful gaze,

 strut the feet,

drop of tears,

your unique way to make the presence felt,

what's happening in the sky?

 nah! you shall give no answer!

 one day we shall tinkle glasses together,

 dance and make merry in the sky,

 till then buddy,

 listen to this rant with a smile

Love

Vishal

Clipped wings

Image credit: https://i.pinimg.com

Clipped wings,

Caged pigeons,

desire to soar in the sky,

a quest for happiness,

borderless language,

of love and friendship,

to reach heightened destination,

admiring the city’s skyscrapers,

nestled and bundled under the roof,

gaping at the seas and sky,

crazy city life,

a populace constantly on the move,

flying may just be a dream for the fluttered wings,

white,

yellow and

black pigeons,

only one emotion,

an empathic heart,

a quest for freedom enjoyed by humans,

bizarre men and women,

imprisoned in their thoughts,

come and free us,

they implored,

we belong to the skies and stars,

free your mind

Love

Vishal

 

Love shot: A silly date

Love shot: A silly date

“What a silly date,” she loquaciously tells. I smile and wink to conceal my awkwardness. She persists, “No! I am serious. Guys lack the spine to be creative by calling for a plain coffee date. I hate coming to meet over coffee.”

“Still you came,” I playfully say.

Image credit: ttps://i.pinimg.com

“Obvio...I was bored sitting home alone on a Sunday and gorging over pizza on Netflix,” she smirks.
I gaze at her pink skirt and was amused looking at the matching shoes.

“What are you looking at? You are lusting at my shoes,” she catches me off guard.

“Nah! I am looking at your pink colored lipstick,” I blurt out.

“Simple. I am not Aishwarya Rai wearing Purple at Cannes,” she lashes out.

I am drawn to the spicy words flowing from her mouth effortlessly. She pouts venom rather than saccharine. “I love that?”

“Stop lusting and be bold. You wanna smooch,” she pulls the last one. She wades effortlessly and her leg is pressed on mine. I am shaken off the ground and feel a rush of electricity running down my body. Our lips are cupped together and my hand running over her bare back and naked shoulder. She presses her lip. I am whacked on the mouth.

“Baby! Time to leave. I never expected the first date to end like that,” she seductively flits on her legs and picks up her Gucci bag.

I call out, “Hey! Phone number.”

She turns back, “I have yours. As it is, just not interested in another silly coffee date. Find something better next time. I will call you when my day is not happening.

I am too stunned to speak. A second cup of silly cappuccino is ordered and the sea breeze wafts flutters my unkempt hair at Chowpatty. 

Someone nudges me from the back and turn around to see a hot female flashing a smile. The feminine voice soothingly says, “I’ve been waiting inside and thought you would never turn out.” I am confused. The short hair woman plonks herself, “Your whatsapp date...oh! you having the cappuccino.”

“Silly coffee. I prefer a latte on this not-so-silly date,” she guffaws.

“Now, who is she?” I wonder. “Who was the one I kissed?”

Love

Vishal

Fiction: Quaint cafe, rebel and the teenage girl

Inside the quaint cafe nestled in the old time sloppy rural village, the coffee brewed hot inside the black ceramic mug. The traditional cafe shop gave a wide angular view of the mountain, hills and bumpy road where smoke was lit and blew in the wooden space frequented by poets, writers, and rebels hiding from the cops to plan their next move. 

 The wooden table plonked on the mud outside was in a rustled state and munched by termites.  A lone cutting figure sporting an unkempt beard and long hair walked through and sat on the stool. He rolled the tobacco leaves on his rough palm and expertly filled it inside the transparent wrapper. The couple tightly holding to each other squeezing each other in the unchartered zone, a beggar asking for alms, gun totting men marching on the road separated by the forest and the pretty young thing wading sensually in the blood dress showing her cleavage occupied the quiet village life. He was unfazed by the distractions.

 He remained unaffected and smoked the joint, flipping the newspaper and uncorked the miniature bottle of imported whisky cupping the liquor on his lip. The young man admired the mountain’s edge and hilly slope with a smile that lit his face with subdued joy.

 A sudden rush shook him off the reverie. Bundles of bags were placed on the decrepit and shambled table. A svelte young woman pushed her braid and long hair with her flawless hand almost stumbled on the stool facing him. ‘What the fuck?” He couldn’t believe that someone just made him feel like a displaced human in his own world. The table was covered with fresh food package, mint, chocolate, garments and lipstick. 

 Placing a cigarette on the cusp of his lip, the young man lashed angrily at the pretty young thing dressed in blue denim and a white shirt. She unbuttoned the shirt and winked at him, using her charm to unearth what lies inside his mind. He remained unaffected to the coquettish gaze of the teenage girl verging on the steps of adulthood. “Don’t be rude. I traveled a long distance to follow you, my love,” she sensually said. She was caressing her shirt on top and slid her finger inside to press her breast.

 Bang! In the flicker of second, his eyes preened like a statue on her voluptuous boobs and she swiftly removed the gun and one shot point blank on his forehead.  She walked calmly out of the cafe and disappeared. The most fearful rebel to the British colony lost the war. They were celebrating his end. The British invaders chased him for a year and the trap laid by their soldiers was unsuccessful since he put a modicum of disguise. The teenage girl unabashedly used her womanly charm to bring him down.

Love
Vishal

Flash Fiction: Adios Amigo

I stare at the ceiling fan and furtively bob the black eyes, right, left, up and down. No, I ain’t practice asanas. The furious barking of dogs, a cat yelping in pain and tiger growling in the dark forest slowly rings an echo in the ear. I am breathing profusely and gaze fixing the yellow cream coated painting on the wall. 

The room went dark and the light off. My stomach is churning and growling. I move and squat on the bed in a yogic position. A shadow seeps slowly behind me and pops out of nowhere. I am sweating and almost shrieked with fear. I go numb and the voice is lost to the sight of the mighty round body with a protruded belly hiding secrets surfacing in front of me. 

The fan whirs back to life like a lost pup finding its way after wriggling the monsters in the dark forest. Light shone on his face. I become sibilant watching the yellow tube light. He is me. His face is black. I am fair. I am thin. He is fat. The icy cold face stares at me as if I am a hardened criminal. He wore no expression. I go blank at my own version.  

“Who are you?” I balk.

He is dumb and numb. A coarse voice thunders, “Your reflection.” I wonder there is no mirror.

“Identity,” the terse human says.

He goes into silent mode for seconds and minutes. I am getting pissed.

The silence is broken. At least. “You are me. I am your voice of truth. I am the demon. I am the angel. Your savior,” he calmly says. 

A shadow enters my house in the night and I am compelled to listen to lesson doled at this odd hour. I am fuming but cannot move an inch away from the bed. A strange force has imprisoned me and fettered me on the bed. There is no chain but a strange fear. I cannot move at all.

He winks mischievously as if laughing at my misery. “You are still not listening and just being a hyper fool. There is nothing that you can do. Loosen up and chill. Understand why you are here and I have come to visit. Face the demons. I am you.”

I see butterflies, flowers and stars in the sky. Is it this what he means by loosening up? I slacken my grip on the body. He broke into a shrieking laughter, “See you soon. Be a good boy. Adios Amigo.”

A shrill laugh broke inside the room. An ear-splitting sound almost deafened me like a balloon cracking into tiny pieces.  He disappears out of the room like a fly.

 

Flash fictio: Barren love in the wild forest

Barren love in the wild forest

Soaked winter leaves and mound of muddy patch jutted deep down the trench at the root of the huge tree. The window blew with force that the leaves were thrust upward at jet speed and flung past the huge trees and forest.  The sun glittered and faded away behind the vast mountains and lakes. It started showering in the dead city.

The silence was spooky, narrating the tale of ghosts romancing each other and witnessed two naked souls making love inside the muddy water. The bodies melted to the fury of human emotions and jealousy hit the wild forest like a tornado swirling its force to protest.  Nature lost its power and glory that night.

In the morning, two dead souls were lifted from the unfrequented and dense forest, far away from the bustling city life. Two icy cold bodies twirled inside each other and stuck like the wooden toys ensconced into a whole and hardened particle. The emotions were real. In the world of humans, it’s called honor killing for daring to live and rebel against the established caste supremacy. A grandmother’s tale scarred the innocent children and a fear instilled in their minds not showing the courage to fall in love. They were not allowed to dream but their intensity and passion gained wings, oblivious to the ruthless forces. The day love died when all limits were transgressed.

The bodies were splashed inside the vast sea that bore no anger but turned violent and stormy, shedding tears. The sea would never stay silent after that except on the night to mourn the lovers. Humans behaved like vile ghouls and lacked nature’s empathy. The most dangerous tigers, wolves, and dogs went into hibernation and slept like children as if the lovers sang a lullaby to them. The dense tree foliage wore a colorless shade at the surfacing of the moon’s crescent and the bushes lost its sheen in the dark.

Nature and animals have a heart that can teach humans something about limitless love and compassion.  The forests, lakes, and rivers cried for the two lovers they welcomed in their abode. The parents were made of stone in the name of honor blinding their visions. Don’t they say, a stone can cry? Every shred of stone sitting inside the forest cried on that day. They lost their faith in love which was just a name. Perhaps, a fear raged inside the trees whose root stood tall and survived the storms over decades, animals charmed by a gentle human touch and caress, the seas and rivers that flow smoothly on a lucky day.

Everyone cried for two innocent lives. Loving without holding themselves was a crime to humans whose minds were trapped in the dark. Nobody ever visited the forest, except those two. Now, no one will. It will remain barren which tore the heart of its populace.

With love

Vishal