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Running away
Meera’s left hand was trembling badly.
She had a fleeting vision from the time when Mr Vishal Arora and his first wife had brought Esha into the family. Meera was standing at the door, her eyes fixed on the smiling baby, whose tiny fingers were extended towards her. The image was involuntarily replaced by Esha’s lusterless body gazing aimlessly into the emptiness of the room.She dried her eyes with the edge of her turmeric stained blue sari.‘You want to know what I was doing?’ asked Meera slowly. ‘I was in the kitchen with Jyoti. I was making tea and she was distributing it to the guests. She was supposed to make some snacks too. But she got engaged in a conversation with Mr Dhruv and I was getting late ... You might ask what I was getting late for ... TV serial, mother, son and daughter-in-law – big drama – I watch it every day at 5 pm. When Jyoti was back ... I dashed into the living room. The glass entrance door was open ... So, I closed it.’ She paused. ‘You might askRelated chapters
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The air was uncharacteristically crisp for January.The gruesome image of his sister’s dead body replayed involuntarily in Rishabh’s mind as he walked over a bed of manicured grass, crossed the cobblestone path and sat on the wooden bench under the Peepal tree. Arya sat by his side.The blue envelope is gone.The sun was straight above them, the cool wind skimmed through Arya’s long hair as he watched Rishabh’s movements attentively. Rishabh’s eyes were fixed on the glistening snow that capped the mountains in front of them, but Arya knew that behind those dark grey eyes, the brain was processing a lot of information.‘What’s in your mind Rishabh?’ Arya looked uncertain.Rishabh exhaled but did not offer an answer.‘What is it? Are you not going to tell me?’ The uncertainty on Arya’sface rapidly turned into annoyance. ‘Are you w-worried that since I am not studying Engineering like you, I w-wouldn’t be able to process the stuff going on in that big brain of you
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Pranav lay on his bed, head on a pillow and a cigarette burning in his right hand. Children’s voices drifted through the open window. The curtains were drawn, and the room was semi-dark. Pranav’s motionless eyes were fixed on the ceiling. He was feeling something – what it was, he wasn’t sure. There was no simple way to describe it. Losing something you felt was yours and then getting it back. But, more importantly, he simply couldn’t fathom why he was forced to give up something which was truly his?You will make a very good director, son. Pranav could hear his father’s empty promise hanging in the silence around him.He felt a hot sting between his index and middle finger.He jerked himself up, threw the cigarette on the floor and watched it burn.The feeling of indignation fanned across his chest like a forest fire. He had done everything he possibly could to gratify his idealistic father. He worked with the labourers at the kiln, repaired cracks, carried buckets of h
Murderer Terrifying
It was 5.30 pm. Darkness descended over Palampur, the green hill station in the Indian state of Himachal Pradesh. It was eerily quiet. Crickets, which usually chirped ubiquitously in the darkness of the countryside, seemed to be away on a holiday. There was no breeze. Birds fluttered uncertainly on the treetops as they prepared themselves for a chilly winter night. Every now and then, muted sparks of lightning predicted impending rains. It was so calm, one could hear one’s own breath, a reminder that you were, indeed, alive.After their customary evening jog, the two brothers, Rishabh and Arya were resting on the porch outside their single-storeyed, ranch-styled home, Arora Mansion. The mansion was huge. It had a long, low roofline; its orange slats contrasted perfectly with the pristine white of its walls on which fluttered the leaf patterns formed by the street lights that shone through the branches of the trees.The brothers didn’t look like each other at all. Rishabh, the
Murderer Uninvited
Arya wandered around his room for a while, and then collapsed on the sofa.His throat was completely dry. He reached for a glass of water, his eyes set on the framed photographs sitting inside the glass cabinet. He took a small sip watching the smiling face of a chubby toddler gripping the little finger of a young girl dressed in her white and blue school uniform. Looking at the picture, it was difficult to tell who looked happier – Arya, who was taking his first steps or his teacher, Esha. She had that look of a young girl who cannot control her happiness and why not – finally someone had held her hand.He found it difficult to swallow, as if a pebble was stuck in his throat and no matter the amount of water, it wouldn’t budge. The glass clinked when Arya finally kept it back on the glass table in front of him. His stomach lurched. With every breath, a hollowness spread in his chest. Breathing heavily, he tried to shut down his meandering thoughts.Two things that eat from
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When staring at the face of a tragic loss, one tends to look back upon life and understand what could have been done differently. The scars from the past start itching, a reminder that it was all real and the tormented heart then harbours only one question – Could I have prevented this? Anubhav knew exactly what he should have done. Looking back, it all seemed like yesterday and not a decade ago.In the spring of 2004, Anubhav reached Barcelona to study Engineering in one of the most reputed institutes. A distant relative of his, who worked at the peer, had arranged a one room apartment for him at Carrer de Balmes, a mile away from the huge Roman Catholic Church – Sagrada Familia. Anubhav’s room had just enough space for a bed, a cupboard, a small study table and a wash basin. He would have loved to have a television and a refrigerator but his scholarship money didn’t allow it.The light blue colour of the walls added a certain aesthetic appeal to the otherwise congested room.
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Outside, the wind was gathering speed.Anubhav was sitting with his back pressed against the sofa and his head tilted towards the ceiling. His eyes were closed. He could hear some faint noises, as if people were talking to him through water. A drifting numbness seemed to carry his body and for a moment the sofa felt like quicksand. He was sinking ... and there was nothing he could do about it.He tried to pull himself back, his head began to hurt as if a hangover had kicked in. He was sinking fast. He was having trouble breathing ... he felt like something was covering his face. Then from the centre of blackness within his head came a dazzling source of light with a deafening whistle ... as if he was in front of a speeding train.He was stuck, his entire body numb unable to move. There was no escape. But, he was sinking, the weight of the truth pulling him down. The truth that could save him, the truth Esha had told him yesterday.The sound was gone and it was all white.
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Tiny drops of rain lashed against the windows. The swollen clouds, still some distance away judging by the distant claps of thunder, were approaching at full speed. The high-pitched wail of the wind was audible at frequent intervals.It was inky black outside, but inside the living room everything looked bright ... except it was not. Everyone present was seated at the edge of their seats waiting anxiously for their chance. The sub-inspector called everybody, one by one, to the dining table and asked them about their movements during the evening. This went on for a while.Waiting for your chance made it a nerve-wracking process. It accentuated an occasional sigh to an opera crescendo and was enough to startle the wits out of the unhappy gathering. A mixture of grief and panic was visible on the faces. Some were sitting perfectly still but had trouble breathing, some were feeling restless while others could feel a flutter in their stomachs.Among them, a figure sat calmly, mi
Murderer Story teller
Inspector Rashid fought an unfamiliar sense of anxiety as he stood in his garden looking straight at the snow-capped mountains. The skies had cleared up after the rain last night, and the golden sunlight made everything it touched glisten. The trees stood majestically, flaunting their dark green leaves but the inspector didn’t notice any of this, everything seemed blurry to him. He didn’t even hear the calls of the blue-winged Magpies which resonated across the valley nor the sound of the cool breeze that whispered soothingly as it swirled between the mountains. The only thing he heard was the voice of the District Magistrate, it was as if a cassette was being played again and again in his mind. Rashid, we must make an arrest by tomorrow.On the other side of the fence, a lanky boy was milking the family cow. His mother, a young woman of thirty, was shouting something about a man reaching the moon. Her ears, weighed down by heavy earrings, looked out of shape. Small children, dre
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