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Third Prize Flash Fiction 2010: Indira Ballal

2010-08-09T16:27:00.000-07:00

THE UNSUNG LIFE OF SABARI

Sabari sat hawking her wares---for sale were the tapioca tubers she had lovingly nurtured, with cow-dung picked up from the cattle trails in the forest, ashes from the leaves she had burnt and water from the river she had back-breakingly carried every morning and evening.

Her blackened teeth , wrinkled flesh and skin, rheumy eyes, grey matted locks were for free--but, who would want them? Who would even look at her when Chinnamma just a few yards away with her gigabyte breasts rebelling successfully against her Marxist red blouse. (while hers were a sorry apology, shrunken and shriveled like out of season tender mangoes preserved in brine) offered spicy chilli chicken and beef fry with toddy and hot, hot pickle, along with herself (that was charged extra, of course).

Around 3000 years ago, Lord Shree Ram had paid a visit to her sooty hovel. She had trudged the forests, getting scratched by nettles, bitten by blood-thirsty insects, to collect the juiciest and sweetest berries for him. In her immense love and devotion, she had tested every berry for sweetness before offering them to him. In love, what desecration? She had hoped he would visit her after his victory but, he had been too distracted with clearing the encroachments on the roads of Dharma that he had forgotten the old hag.

. And, Lord Ayyappa?. Her penance and prayers had sanctified the hill. Now, all the glory was his. And, his devotees? Hypocrites! You didn't need to go to IITs or pass the IAS to know, what happened in the hearts and loins of men and women. And from befuddled head to crippled toe, the Pampa river was now rheumatic and deadly, breeding worms and mosquitoes, suffocated by the wastes of inhumanity.

She had witnessed it all; withstood it all

Earlier, she had wept and wailed, beaten her head and breasts, poured mud and ashes over her hair and face. Now, the iron had seeped into her soul, cataract had clouded her vision, the salt of her unwashed sweat had crinkled her skin like dried fish.. But, the fire and heat in her blood had never cooled---that still boiled at all the slime, stench, shit, scabs and sin around her.

She wished she could die, but, she was blessed with the curse of immortality.

The sun began to set. Carefully, she eased her rheumatic limbs .Walking unsteadily she began making a pyre of dried twigs and leaves. Among this, she diligently arranged the unsold tapioca. Borrowing a match- box from the beedi shop nearby, she set fire to the heap .The evening breeze fanned the flame. Soon, the air filled with the virgin smell of pure fire and the delicious smell of roasted tapioca.

Before the tapioca could get burnt, she beat the flames down with the gunny sack in which she had carried them ." Let the stray dogs and pigs feast on them", she murmured as she hobbled away towards the darkening forest.

Flash Fiction 2010: Second Prize Shalini Saksena

2010-08-09T16:23:00.000-07:00

SILENT SCREAMS!

Wishing away did not stop from that time of the day that Sumita dreaded the most from ringing in. Whilst her younger sister, Anita played with her toys quite oblivious to the growing tension in the room – Sumita wished that the clock never struck 5.30 pm. It was at this time that her father returned home from work every day.

That day was no exception. “Oh God, save me,” was all that Sumita wished for as the bell rang. Her father was home. Her sister and she came out of their room, standing in attention. A look of approval was what they wanted.

“Go to your room now,” the mother said. The children didn’t need to be told again. They disappeared into the thin air, as if they never existed. It was time to relax. The next time they would see their father would be at the dining table. But that was three hours away. Time to go back to being a child. The smiling dolls beckoned.

“Sumita, come here,” came that booming voice. She froze. For once her sister was also shocked into immobility. “Today was your first day in the new school. What did they teachers teach you? Bring your books. The rapid command had Sumita almost fall in her hurry to get to the school bag. Elsewhere in the house all was quiet.
“Mother, father has called Sumita, please hurry,” said Anita. Even she realised the gravity of the situation. In her six years of small existence father had never called for them before. “Don’t worry,” said Anita in a whisper. But Sumita was beyond hearing. All she could register was the huge man with an even louder voice.

“So they are teaching you tables?” he asked Sumita. Her mother came to the rescue, “How about a cup of tea first? You must be tired from your office,” she said to her husband. Looking at Sumita she said, “Go, don’t trouble your father can’t you see he is tired.” Finally – escape but, it never came.
“No she stays. I can have my tea and talk to her at the same time,” said father. “Recite the table of eight,” he said. With her heart in her mouth and a tremble in her voice Sumita stammered… “Eight ones are eight, eight twos are 16…”

“What was that again? How much did you say was eight nines are…?” asked the father. It was enough to render Sumita speechless. For the next 15 minutes the tone of the voice increased and reached a fevered pitch. But all that Sumita could go was to tremble in fright. It was as if she was born mute.

“Cat got your tongue? You obviously don’t know your tables. From tomorrow I will teach you,” said father.

Sumita looked as if somebody had struck her hard across the face. She almost fell back with the impact of the words. Only her lips moved as she looked at her mother.

It was a mute cry for help…

Flash Fiction 2010: First Prize Kamalika Ray

2010-08-09T16:09:00.000-07:00

Guest in the Night

As the cellphone kept beeping louder, Anil woke up with a jerk….Half past One it said. He had fallen asleep on the sofa. Strange that the alarm went off at this hour in the night !!!

The house felt eerie with unusual silence.

The kitchen tap was running…Anil pulled himself up.

Minutes later, as he dragged himself sleepily to the bedroom, after switching off the lights a peculiar sensation pricked him, like someone was there behind him…watching him. He tried to laugh it off “Imaginations ..!” he thought…

As if to assure himself, he turned around with a force.

There she was! Watching him, bloody eyed………but he looked past her…he could not see her…yet

Yet…

It was hard to say what woke him up again that night. But there he was, profusely perspiring and awfully thirsty. As he staggered out of the bed in the dark…..a tap was again heard running! He turned it off minutes ago isn’t it?

The fan was still was it a powercut ? Anil, a bit anxious by now…and started towards the door by the time he reached the other room, he had heard her.

It was a low, monotonous groan… a child’s sound…coming from somewhere outside. With the bottle of water still unopened…Anil proceeded towards the living room …was it from the balcony that the sound came? His throat was parch dry but something stopped him from drinking the water he held…was it fear?

Or was it what he saw there…

A young girl was sitting there on the railing of the balcony, knees huddled together and head bent on her knees, face hidden therein. Anil shaken to the core quaked out a “Who is it?” to her she lifted her face to him and it was then that he saw the real her… …the face was a bloody mess of raw flesh…fiery red eyes bulging out of it, “I’m thirsty too” a raspy voice said.

There was a sound of breaking glass.

Anil ran around, locking every single latch of all the doors, windows…even pulling down curtains. …

Panting like a dog, he finally collapsed on the sofa, armed with a flashlight.

It was her! Anil’s mind was racing a car’s screeching brake was heard flashes of a girl’s face, twisted in pain, an angry crowd shouting as his car sped off…

Could it be…..??!!

“I said I’m thirsty too” the voice hissed from behind Anil turned back before passing out into the darkness…

Third Prize Winner Poetry: GS Vasukumar

2010-08-09T16:05:00.000-07:00

DARKNESS
Let the darkness be
As long as it could be
In a fight between
The flickering light of
A burning candle
And the blowing wind
The later succeeds
It blows it off
So that to spend its
Quite moment with
The seducing darkness
So don’t light the
Candle again
Let the darkness have
It’s moments too
And dwell with
Its secrets
So let the darkness be
As long as it could be.

2010 Contest: Poetry Second Prize Winner Sandeep Shete

2010-08-09T15:58:00.000-07:00

THE LADY WITH THE BOOK

In sublime company she reclines, yet revels in solitude

Indifferent to stray attentions, to the point of even being rude

Half-glimpsed, half-lost, her visage behind a book

She’s Kafka’s willing captive, a stilled fish on a hook

Look—

She’s lifted her eyes now, she’s reading between the lines

How they drill through us, our hopes, our pedestrian designs

See that? cries someone. Why, she just tossed us a glance

‘Twas filled with meaning, nods another. All attitude and stance

Watch her lips quiver oh-so-softly, a story on epiphany’s threshold

In seven chests die seven breaths, what mysteries might now unfold

Our cherished diversion, to speculate the turns her life has taken

Did fortune show her kindness? Was her faith in fortune shaken?

They read too, those that wonder, while the lady reads in her nook

What more could she be, besides being the lady with the book

2010 Poetry Winner: Anila Mathew

2010-08-09T15:48:00.000-07:00

SENILITY (go to website to rate this poem)

Drip-dripping away

Slowly, steadily, and incessantly

Golden memories

Precious faces

Fading away forever

Into the horizon

Delineated

Lines of toil and pain

Plain have become the palms

Weeded out stoically

Leaves and flowers still green

Nurtured yesterday

A half sphere of life

Eight decades and five

Solitude drags limply

The absolute release

Of these clipped and frail wings

Still away, afar

Publish with Us

2010-08-09T15:25:00.000-07:00

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