“Namaste,” said Urmilla with her hands folded. She didn’t know what language to talk in, so she decided to go with Hindi. “Is Master Mei Ling still with you?”
The girl’s expression changed from polite indifference to shock. “I am sorry; who?”
“Master Mei Ling. My sister told me about him and how he was connected with this ashram. I wish to speak with him on an urgent matter.”
“Who is your sister?” the girl asked, narrowing her eyes.
Good news good news good news!
I am the pride owner of a brand new, fresh off the internet press Ebook! My very own…my own…my…precious.
It is a short story – don’t let the page count fool you; I was feeling extra so I reduced the page size – about rediscovering who you are and what it means to be happy. All this around the ever present sea.
To download for FREE click: Mayank – Suchita Agarwal
If my enthusiasm has moved you into downloading and further into actually reading, I’d love to know your thoughts and feedback.
As children who paint their parents to be bigger monsters than they are, my friends spent their teenage years not confiding in them all the crushes and supposed boyfriends that they had. They didn’t want to confide for fear of drama, anger, revocation of freedom, etc. Don’t judge them yet, they had their reasons at the time.
The morning breeze woke up Lola from her deep slumber. She was feeling incongruously safe and well-rested. When she turned to see what the gunslinger was up to, she wasn’t surprised to see him with his back to her, staring into the distance.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice coming out as a croak. She wasn’t used to so much dust.
“We will be in trouble soon,” he said nonchalantly, handing her a water skin to drink from.
One couldn’t find two siblings more different than Romeo and Romilla Beaumort. Where Romeo had always been the softer, calmer one, Romilla had been the quintessential wild child. Where Romeo was more interested in living the easy life, he could never understand his sister’s fascination with guns, violence and bloodshed. The only saving grace for the brother-sister had been their parents who had allowed their children to grow as they had wanted.
Since the middle and the end of the A to Z Challenge, I have been seriously contemplating the question – why do I write? I know how I started writing. Heck I even wrote a post about my journey as a writer Lekhak ki yatra but why did I choose this profession? Why out of all the dreams my 18 year old self had, this is the one dream I am earnestly pursuing?
I am sorry I am not convenient
I am sorry I am not perfect
I am sorry everything I do gets on your nerves
I am sorry I am not the image you hold of me in your head
I am sorry for being a disappointment
I am sorry for being lazy, for struggling,
I am sorry for all my non-achievements.
But most importantly,
I am sorry for needing your approval
I am sorry for making you think you can achieve your goals through me
I am sorry you have a difficult life
I am sorry my idealism irritates you
I am sorry I don’t listen to you
I am sorry I hurt even when you try your hardest to protect me
I am sorry I go through identity crises, which you think are excuses
I am sorry you don’t understand
I am sorry our images of ‘who am I’ don’t match
And I am sorry but I have to find my own way, because or despite of you.
Urmilla sat through the meeting in a daze, not really grasping the meaning of the words that were being said. If some passer-by thought that she was asleep, no one would blame them.
It had been a normal morning…or as normal as could be expected for someone whose sister had just died. She vaguely remembered the morning, and the memory of her getting dressed for this meeting was even fainter. She did, however, remember a single instruction, given out in a precise but cold tone, ‘dress appropriately.’ And she had. She looked every bit the part of a mourning sister – white sari with a conservative gold border and a pair of dark shades that hid her curiously dry eyes. She wondered idly if people could see through the sham.
Do you believe in synchronicity?