Kiss of Love

Marriages are tough to manage and if it is an Indian marriage, God be with you. Aniket was looking for his one chance since morning to kiss Kaajal whereas she had kept herself busy with something or the other, and necessarily so. Managing the wedding of your younger sister is no small task. Each and every relative has to be given the highest level of importance or else the taunts shall be made at the poor wedding planning for at least a decade. In some cases, those were the kids of the couple getting married who grew up enough to tell the grown-ups to stop acting childish. Kaajal didn’t want to be blamed for anything. She was making sure every guest was well fed because, logically, that is what Indian weddings are all about. Continue reading

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Vision

Many stories begin when we decide to pay attention towards something that is awkward and out of the normal. This one is no different. This is the story of a girl. Or perhaps I should say this is the story of a father. I tend to change my stance because we are, at birth, equal halves of both of our parents. With time, the one parent who inspires us more, takes over the other half part, carves our identity and makes us a certain person for the rest of our lives. The same happened with the girl whose story I am going to tell you now. Her father used to tell her everyday that she is beautiful. Some of the days she believed him. The other days, she was unable to trust the soothing words and wouldn’t react at the love his father poured at her. During those sad days, when nothing could cheer her up, she felt a darkness growing around her. A darkness. Constantly. Growing. Continue reading

A Stopover

The doorbell was taped. He was doubtful if pressing that doorbell would result in a buzz or not so he preferred knocking upon that rusty door. After a couple of knocks, someone’s shadow appeared through the aperture. The door opened and a girl appeared in front of him. She was probably in her late teens but she looked different. She carried a decent and mature expression on her face, quite rare an expectation from other girls of her age. To him she appeared to be an epitome of simplicity, to her he was a question. A young man standing at her door with a bag pack on his shoulders was not what she was used to see often.

Before her inquisitiveness grew, he asked her, “Is this house number B-59?” Continue reading