He sat with his hands folded in salutation. Once a while, a pair of legs would pass by him. He’d put out his open palms asking for alms. Sometimes, someone would drop a fruit or a sweet, other times a couple of coins. Some would walk away without leaving anything behind. Every time he’d get some food, he’d run down the stairs of the temple, take a left, then the first right into an alley, into the slum where he stayed in their one room house.
His mother was lying on the bed, her skin hot to touch, beads of sweat adorning her forehead while the temperature was dipping to single figures. The neighbour had asked him to keep feeding her from time to time. His father came home weekly. He’d seen his father three days ago. Whenever father would come, he’d bring some money and food. But today, the son was the bread earner of the house.
He kept his collected coins behind his pile of school books, fed his mother a sweet or two and ran back to the temple. The eight year old had a lot of work to do.
I could see the flames of fire leaping in his eyes. The hungry flames leapt higher trying to fly away with the winds to destinations unknown, on journeys more romantic. The gleaming eyes sent a chill down my spine even as the heat from the flames was making me swelter. I walked away from the man quivering, his words repeatedly playing in my mind. “I will burn you like those leaves if you ever see that boyfriend of yours again. I’ll forget you’re my wife.”
He fumbled in his pant pocket. Nothing but a kerchief. Coat pocket. A gum wrapper. Irritated, he threw it away. Inner coat pocket. He found a stick finally! Wiping his brow, he keep his kerchief in his pant pocket again. He lit a match. He saw the flames lick the lips of the stick. The orange embers lit up the stick. He took a drag! Leaning against the pole, he let out the smoke. He felt his anxiety slipping away finally.
She lit the stove. Blue flames leapt up. She kept the match box aside. Placing a pan on the stove, she added a little oil to be heated. Her son was coming back after a good, long six months! He had called her this morning and told her. She wanted to make his favourite food – at least one of it. A trickle of sweat ran down her neck. It was getting hot in here. The Sun was scorching outside. She wished her one room house had a fan that worked.
They stood together in front of the corn cob seller’s stove. Time had wrinkled their skin, but couldn’t wane their love. Thirty seven years ago, when they’d gone out on their first date, a roasted corn cob was all he could buy her. Thirty seven years later, when he could afford to give her so much, she still wanted to celebrate with just a roasted corn cob and him. “It reminds me of where we actually come from,” she says. The air was chilly. She pulled her shawl tighter. The seller saw her movement too. He silently squatted on the ground and continued roasting and pushed his chair towards the lady. She sat on it and warmed her hands from the heat of the bright and shining coals as her husband lovingly looked on.
P.S.: Would any one of you be gracious enough to come up with another word I can work on?
I was nominated by Hargun to attempt a free style writing challenge. She has a terrific blog! Do land up there too.
So here are Rules I had to follow:
- Open an MS Word document
- Set a stop watch or your mobile to 5 minutes or 10 minutes whichever challenge you think you can beat.
- You topic is at the foot of this post BUT DO NOT SCROLL DOWN TO SEE IT UNTIL YOU ARE READY WITH A TIMER.
- Fill the word doc with as much words as you want. once you began writing do not stop even to turn.
- Do not cheat by going back and correcting spellings and grammar with spell check in MS WORD (it is only meant for you to reflect on your own control of sensible thought flow and for you to reflect on your ability to write the right spelling and stick to grammar rules)
- You may or may not pay attention to punctuation and capitals. However if you do, it would be best.
- At the end of your post write down ‘No. Of words =_____’ so that we would have an idea of how much you can write within the time frame.
- Do not forget to copy paste the entire passage on your blog post with a new Topic for your nominees and copy paste these rules with your nominations (at least 5 bloggers).
Here’s what I managed on the word ‘Mischief’!
Mischief ~ the first few things running across my mind when I think of mischief encompasses ‘Mischief managed’ which only Potterheads will genuinely appreciate, or possibly a dog named Mischief. But that’s just probably because I was discussing dogs and their barkings and whimperings with a friend!
Let’s get you something more intresting though!
She sat playing with her toys. Her mother was across the floor feet away shelling peas for the next year whole. They were to be refrigerated tonight. Round, succulent balls of green. The little one stared at them, eyes gleaming with mischief. She wanted those. Her toys were boring! She slowly started casting across her toys. The mother looked up. The baby was about to throw another tantrum she thought. She went into the kitchen, to boil the baby’s milk. Before the baby started bawling, she’d feed her and put her to sleep. That way her work get over faster. While the mother was away, the baby slowly crawled across to the bowls full of peas. She settled quietly in front of the bowls. She pushed in a fist to grab a fistful of those. She then withdrew her hand and threw them across the floor. Slowly, they bounced and then rolled all about her. She chuckled! Delighted she did this again. And again. She wanted more of them around her. She flapped her hands on the green balls. She moved her leg to change her posture. Something was bugging her bum. She saw a green ball roll out from benetah her. Her leg tilted the bowl halfway. She looked at it, smiling with a grin almost evil. She reached out to the bowl and tilted it further. All the balls ran out in a hurry!
“Whaaaat?!” her mother said out loud, standing across the hall staring at peas all around!
She stared up at her mother, proud of the work she’d done!
No. of words – 316.
Time taken – 10 minutes.
And my nominees would be :
The Uncertainty Principle
Part and Parcel
Soul Mate’s – near yet so far
And your word is – wine.
Cook me up something special! 😉