The Envelope on the Table (878 words)

 

Raghav was rummaging through an old box in his home in San Diego. He was to leave for India in a week for his wedding to Anupama. Among the papers and keepsakes, he found the small book of Sri Vishnu Sahasranamam that Raju mama (Uncle) had given him when he was twelve years old. He had always preserved it as a priceless possession.

His mind drifted back to those days in Chennai. The book had been a simple, pocket-sized notebook, costing less than a rupee back then. Raju mama had distributed it freely to all the children in the colony who attended his classes. Every evening at 6 p.m. sharp, they would assemble in mama’s house to recite the slokas. Before long, none of them needed the book anymore, as they had committed the verses to memory.

A strict disciplinarian, mama would get upset if anyone came late, yet every session ended with candies, raisins, or small plantains for the children. Beneath his stern exterior lay a soft heart. He quietly helped many poor children with tuition fees and books, though he never spoke of it. Only his wife would occasionally confide these things to Raghav’s mother. Even though he had a son in a high position up North, he never left Chennai or his simple routines. He was well-versed. in Valmiki’s Ramayanam and could quote profusely and aptly from it. He never talked about himself or his generous acts.

Raghav decided that once he reached Chennai, he would personally invite Raju mama. He had lost touch even when he was in school, after his father was transferred from the city. Life had taken him to Delhi, then IIT, and finally to the US for his MS and doctorate.

 Only a fortnight earlier, he had unexpectedly obtained Raju mama’s email ID from a childhood friend from their Sahasranama group. Unsure if he would be remembered, he had written immediately, narrating one vivid incident, how, on a day of torrential rain, no one had turned up for the recitation except himself, soaked from head to foot. He still remembered mama scolding him for coming in the storm, then fetching a towel to dry gently his hair. The next day, mama had praised his devotion in front of the group.

To his delight, Uncle wrote back saying he remembered both the incident and Raghav’s face. They exchanged a couple of warm emails, and Raghav shared the news of his upcoming wedding. Mama blessed him and said he looked forward to meeting him and receiving the invitation.

Raghav landed in Chennai that morning. His parents had already arrived from Delhi, and many relatives were gathered at home. He wanted to meet Raju mama that very evening, but his parents insisted he accompany them for some shopping.

The next morning, he took the wedding invitation, the gifts he had brought for Uncle, and some sweets, and drove to the old colony he had lived in more than fifteen years earlier. The houses looked almost the same, with only a few additions in front. As the car stopped outside his old block and he stepped out with the packets in hand, he noticed a small crowd gathered near the entrance. Something about the scene felt ominous.

He approached an elderly gentleman and asked, though he already knew, which flat belonged to Raju mama. Noticing the invitation and sweets, the man hesitated, then said gently,

“Don’t you know? Raju passed away last night. It was a massive attack, and he passed away even before any medical aid. May I know who you are?”

Raghav, stunned, replied that he was an old student and resident of the colony. He asked if mami was home.

“Yes, she is inside,” the man said. “Poor mami… she is devastated.”

Raghav returned to the car, left the gifts behind, and went upstairs. Mami was seated near mama’s head. Mama looked much older, but the sharp features he remembered were still there. Raghav went to her, tears streaming down his face.

“Mami, I’m Raghav. Do you remember me? I had told Uncle I would meet him… I should have come yesterday. It’s my misfortune that I missed seeing him.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes.

“Even last evening he was talking about you,” she said. “He wrote something on a piece of paper and left a sealed envelope for you on the table. When I asked what it was, he brushed aside my question and only said I should give it to you. When I told him he could hand it over himself, he didn’t answer. It feels as though he had a premonition.”

Mami wept again as Raghav tried to console her. After a while, she walked to the table and handed him the envelope. He slipped it silently into his pocket.

It was only the next day that he opened it. Inside was a small note and a five-hundred-rupee note.

“Dear Raghav,

My blessings to you. I am afraid I may not be able to attend your wedding. Please accept my best wishes and this small token of my affection. I still remember your young face that evening in the rain. You made me very happy that day….”

Raju mama

 

The Shadows from the Past (1039 words)

The resort was nestled amidst the verdant plantations and the undulating green plains. Their room was overlooking the lush garden with flowers of different hues. It had been drizzling since last night, and the morning sun was not yet visible. Pranesh and Praveena snuggled together on the sofa and were sipping tea. They were married just a week earlier. The ambience was peaceful and ideal for newlyweds on their honeymoon.

Just then, the phone rang. She rose to pick it from the bed. A voice, in almost a whisper, said, “Praveena, don’t be shocked. This is Vijay, your forgotten and ditched lover. It was by chance that Reddy told me of your marriage to some well-heeled bloke and your honeymoon trip. Sorry, I forgot. Hearty congratulations. I wish to meet you and your hubby to greet you in person. I know where you are staying” 

“Hmm………thanks……………,” she could not say anything more with Pranesh watching her. 

“Dear, do not be scared. I will never harm you. You were so generous with your love in the past. I would be an ungrateful wretch to put you in any difficulty. I just need a tiny help to get over some pressing financial problems. I need one lakh rupees immediately. Pity you didn’t have a computer, and you wrote by hand all your passionate and romantic letters. Keep the money ready. I forgot to hand over your letters after you parted from me. I will bring them for sure. I am unable to forget you easily after our intimacy, “Vijay said in a soft voice. 

But she knew the viper had returned to bite her by blackmail. She looked at the sofa and found to her immense relief that Pranesh had gone to bath bathroom. 

“Look here, Vijay. I cannot talk much now. I have no money to give. I beg of you to leave me alone and not harm me’ she pleaded with him 

“Sweetie, I am told he is a rich guy. If you cannot pay, I will talk to him and make an honourable deal for the exchange of letters to the sum I need by tomorrow. How you play your cards is up to you,” he seemed adamant. 

As she was beseeching him with her pleas for mercy, Pranesh came out of the bathroom and asked her,” Who was on the line?” 

“One of my friends. He couldn’t attend our wedding. He wished to greet us in person. I told him we are away on honeymoon,” she replied 

“Ask him to attend the reception on Sunday at the hotel,” he said. Rushing suddenly towards her, he snatched the phone and said, “This is Pranesh, Praveena’s husband. Your name, Sir…. Vijay? Thanks. Please attend without fail the reception at Golden Hall on Sunday. I would be happy to meet you and talk to you. Bye till then,” said Pranesh in a warm tone before disconnecting the line 

“Why do you look so pale and haggard? What is bothering you, Praveena? I think it is a lack of adequate sleep these last few days ‘he teased with a mischievous wink. 

She knew Vijay was wicked only after being tricked by his sweet talk and handsome looks. Within a few months, she decided he was not made for her and broke off the relationship. No doubt she had committed a few indiscretions, and her letters to him were one such. Hr did not let her go easily and pestered her. She did not succumb to his threats. But she dreaded him now that she is married and shuddered at the harm, he could do to her. 

The reception hall was crowded, with guests coming one after another to the couple shaking hands, wishing them well, handing over the gifts, having pictures taken and walking towards the dining hall. It was hot and sweaty despite the AC hall. Praveena saw Vijay at a distance and started trembling. Pranesh, who was holding her hand, saw the change in her and quietly whispered, “Do not worry. The crowd is too much and would soon be over” 

“Congratulations, Praveena and Mr Pranesh.I am Vijay. We spoke the other day. Praveena is a very close friend of mine. I wish her all the best. Kindly accept this small gift, Praveena. I have another gift for you, Pranesh, which I wish to hand over after a small talk with you in private,” Vijay said 

“Thank you, Vijay. We can meet in half an hour. The guests are still pouring in. Meanwhile, you may kindly rest in the adjacent AC room,” Pranesh said. 

He signalled to someone standing nearby and said, “Take join you in 30 minutes” 

Once inside, Vijay saw four more heavily built men in the room. They closed the door as they approached him with a smug smile. Abruptly, one man punched his nose, asking him,” Buddy, don’t you wish to live peacefully? Since when have you taken to blackmailing?” 

When Vijay protested, more blows rained on him from the four men and his clothes were removed, leaving him in his underwear. Someone took the other gift packet and tore it open to find innumerable letters. At the same time, another guy lit the letters with a cigarette lighter to see them burn to ashes. Another guy kicked Vijay in his groin.

“Stay away from the couple if you value your life,” growled one.

It was then that Pranesh entered the room and asked with a feigned concern,” What is all this? Vijay, are you alright? 

Turning to the four men, he spoke sharply, “Can’t you people have taken the letters from him without being rough? Give him back his dress and take him to the dining hall.” 

“Sorry, Vijay. You wanted to say something. Do you still have anything to tell?’ he asked 

When Pranesh went back to the reception hall, Praveena asked, “What did he say to you?” 

“Nothing. I asked him to have his dinner, but he pleaded his inability due to urgent work. I don’t think he will come again. Do not worry,” he said with a smile 

What he did not tell Praveena was that he had overheard every word of their conversation through the parallel line in the bathroom.

 

Yet another unresolved murder (1046 words)

It was 9.30 in the morning. Sunil Pande, the inspector, had just arrived at the police station. His telephone rang, and the call was from Stay Longer Lodge. He got the information that one of the lodgers had been found dead. They wanted to open the door in the presence of the police. He rushed in his jeep along with two constables. He was informed that the room had been occupied by a man in his thirties the day before and that he had asked the reception to wake him up early in the morning so he could go to the market. It appeared that he was a regular visitor, a businessman coming to the city to make purchases for his business, and that each time he came, he procured a woman to spend the night with him. They were trying in vain since morning to wake him till they had someone peep into the room from the ventilator. He was seen lying in bed motionless. There was no one else in the room. 

When they entered the room, they found him dead due to suffocation, presumably with his face smothered by pillows. There were no external injuries. Two empty bottles of liquor were seen with two glasses. Evidently, he must have been drunk and might have been drugged till he was killed. When asked whether he had any visitors in the evening, Sunil was told that a young woman had come around 8 pm. Since it was customary for the guests to bring women for the night, the lodge people were discreet in not noting a note of their movements or addresses. They were not aware when she left. The man who had seen the woman did not remember her well, as she was not a regular visitor. However, a glimpse of her showed she was a tall and well-built woman with a big red bindi on her forehead. 

The inspector asked them all to wait outside and closely examined the body and the room while waiting for the homicide department people. The dead man was only in his undergarments. The woman must have spent the last hours with him before she murdered him and vanished. The man was also well built and could have offered resistance. Obviously, he did not, as he was fully drunk. A close examination of his wrists showed they were held together. A search revealed a crumpled towel in the bathroom. Except for about two hundred rupees and odd bits of paper in his wallet, there was no money in it. It was clearly a murder, but for what reason, he was clueless. It could be a large amount taken from his wallet since he had come for purchases. He found some strands of hair on the bed. He could make out nothing more till his eyes fell accidentally on a small pink button on the floor by the side of the cot. He put it safely, along with hair, in his pocket. 

He made sure the dead man had made no calls through the board or received any. He kept the victim’s mobile with him. He noted the number of the last outgoing call and rang the number from his own mobile. There was a faint hello from a woman. 

He said, “Hello, I need your usual help urgently”, and kept quiet for her response.

“Don’t feel shy. Who are you? Where are you staying? Which lodge? When do you want? Any specific requirement?” she asked

Sunil said, “Not here at my place. I need privacy. I wish to come there. I will leave the town in three hours. I have some spare time.” 

“Have you come here earlier? How did you get my number?” she asked. 

When he said he got it from his friend, she gave her address and said all the girls are sleeping and that she will manage to find one.

Sunil changed into normal clothes and took an auto. It was a red-light area, and he was taken to the madam of the house by a stout, well-built man. She was tall, well-built, and muscular with a large red bindi. 

He said, “I would have preferred to have the woman in my lodge, but since morning, there was a large crowd of people and police there. Somebody had a heart attack or something,” and watched her closely. 

He felt he saw a trace of fear in her eyes, but she maintained her cool. Then she became businesslike and said, “I will call a couple of girls. You can choose anyone.”

He said, “I don’t want anyone else. I want you only.”

She laughed and said, “I left this profession many years ago. I just run the show with a few girls. They are all young. I am in my mid-thirties.” 

He was adamant and said,” No, if I have any, it is only you. Expense is of no consequence. Will pay you whatever you want.” 

She hesitated for a moment and said, “OK. I can spare you just one hour, and from next time onwards, you should not insist on me.” 

“Can I use your toilet? “he asked. As he surveyed, he saw a big washing machine in the corner. He rummaged through it and found a pink blouse with one button missing. He matched the one in his pocket with others and found it was from this that it had fallen.

He revealed his identity and confronted her with strong evidence of the button and her hair. After some theatrics, she confessed that she knew him earlier and that he carried money. She was tempted on the spur of the moment by the huge amount he had in his wallet and killed him as she was in financial straits.

 After her pleadings and long discussions, he spent the next hour with her in the room and left the place a satisfied man. Sunil’s wife got a diamond necklace that she had been longing for in a few days.

The last report heard about the murder was that the police, despite their best efforts, were unable to break the case and that all leads led nowhere. They were still defending, the department was vigorously pursuing the case and hoped to nab the culprit soon.

 

 

Flight to Miami (713 words)

 I took a respite and sat in a chair watching my colleague handle the traffic at the counter. Our gate at the New York airport was as usual, busy with flights leaving every 30 minutes. After the gate is closed for one flight, the boarding work begins for the next flight immediately. I saw an old couple presumably from India as I surmised from the dress of the lady. She must be in her late seventies, and her husband, in a wheelchair, looked past 80. The lady stood in line for every flight at the gate to be asked when her turn came to wait. Maybe they were wait-listed passengers or had the buddy passes that entitled them to accommodation only if seats were available after meeting those who paid for tickets in full.

I could see that they had missed three flights already. Whenever the lady asked something, I saw, my colleague was irritable and even said once, “You have to wait. I do not know how long” She could not follow his accent with the American drawl. I felt both had difficulty in comprehending one another, and my colleague did not exhibit the patience and helpful disposition needed in a front desk job. She lingered, trying to explain, when my colleague said with certain acerbity. "Please move away. Passengers are waiting in line.” 

I could discern the irritation in his voice even from this distance. All eyes were on her. Embarrassed, the lady wiped her eyes with her upper robe and came near her husband in wheel wheelchair. He looked sick.

I decided to do something. I am a very tall black American, unlike my white colleague and when I went near her, she looked so small. I bent low and asked her slowly, word by word ’You seem to have some problem. I would like to help you. Please show me your tickets”

She looked at me, wondering whether to hand over the tickets to me, though I was in an airline uniform with badges and a name on it. Her husband nudged her and told her in a whisper in her dialect to give me the tickets. When I saw the tickets, I found they were bound for Fort Lauderdale, and the tickets were buddy passes entitling them to seats only when available. 

I told both the lady and her husband that I would take charge of the counter soon and that the lady should come along with her husband towards him when signalled.

I went to my colleague and released him for some rest. The next flight to Ft Lauderdale was full, and there were no spare seats. The next flight had only one spare seat. I could see a slight disappointment in the lady’s face when the counter closed after those two flights. I smiled at her and tapped my chest to show that I was there to help her.

The next flight was for Miami. There were two seats available. Others were waiting with buddy passes. I ignored them and called the old couple.” This flight is for Miami. Please ring up your family and ask them to pick you up at Miami. It is not far from Ft Lauderdale. I hope you have a mobile. Give me their number. I will inform them.” They said they have a mobile and would do the needful. I took them inside and spoke to the airhostess to help the old couple, who I said were waiting for more than four hours. She promptly put them in the vacant Business class seats, though theirs were economy.

Before exiting the plane, I turned to look at the lady. She waved her hand with a smile. It left me wondering whether I felt an affinity towards them because their brown colour was closer to my dark complexion than the fair colour of Americans or whether it was a natural concern in me for very senior citizens, or my maternal grandpa’s Kenyan ancestry and his study in India. Be that as it may, I must admit that a thought crossed my mind about what I would have expected of others had it been my mom in a far-off Eastern land.

The counter opened for the next flight for Ft Lauderdale, and I got busy...

 

The Saviour (742 words)

                           A Story for Thanksgiving Day

He lay twisted on the road with the toppled auto’s side wheel still rotating beside him. The world around him blurred for him with faces, silhouettes and a crowd of about a dozen or more people crowding around his broken body. They stared with wide, anxious eyes, the driver drenched in blood and still flowing, wringing their hands, waiting for someone to take the lead.

The truck that struck him had already disappeared into the distance, a hit-and-run. case. A life abandoned on the road.

He tried to call out, “Help me… please...” but his throat failed him. Not a whisper came from the onlooking crowd. Only the noise of passing traffic that did not halt. He could feel the warm rush of blood under him, the heat fading from his limbs.

People murmured to one another, shaking their heads. “Drunk truck drivers…”

“Police hassles… summons… courts…”

“Taxis won’t take a bleeding man…”

“Hospitals refuse these cases…”

Each excuse felt like a nail sealing him into loneliness. Some watched for a moment before slipping away, glancing at their phones and their watches. Everyone had somewhere more important to be than to help the dying man.

He felt panic rising. The minutes were slipping away even as he needed to be at a hospital without loss of time. He needed someone—anyone—to come to his rescue

His vision wavered, and drowsiness was slowly setting in. Sweat streamed down his temples. As he drifted in and out of consciousness, memories rushed in.

His daughter’s voice echoed through the house that morning:

“Appa, come home early today! We have the birthday party, remember? You promised!

He saw her bright eyes, her small hand tugging his shirt, her excitement bubbling like music.

He saw his little boy, clinging to his legs with chubby arms, pleading silently to be taken in his arms.

And then he saw his wife, her shy smile as he hugged her before leaving, the way her fingers lingered for a heartbeat longer, as though unwilling to let go.

Will they be waiting for me now?

A crushing thought: Will they have to wait forever?

He felt the darkness curling around the edges of his mind. There was still no policeman. Only bystanders. Watching him die and not a single hand reaching out.

Somewhere in the crowd, someone casually mentioned that they had already called the emergency number. He heard the remark faintly. A social task completed. A conscience soothed. And still he lay on the road, life ebbing away grain by grain.

Just when the world began to shrink into a small tunnel of fading light, a sudden voice cracked through the air, a loud, urgent shout commanding the crowd to move aside.

“Give way! Let him breathe! Move!”

A young man, no older than his mid-thirties, pushed through the ring of onlookers with fierce determination. He knelt by the dying man without hesitation, his eyes blazing, not with fear, but with purpose.

“Brother,” the young man whispered, “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

With the help of one other soul finally stirred into action, he lifted the limp body and rushed him into his auto rickshaw. The engine sputtered, then roared to life. In seconds, they were flying down the road, faster, louder and braver than the silence of the crowd had been.

At the hospital, doctors and nurses raced to their stations. They worked quickly, voices sharp, hands steady. Later, they would admit quietly among themselves that if the man had arrived even a few minutes later, he would have been gone.

When they turned to thank the auto driver, he only offered a small nod. His clothes were splashed with blood, and the floor of his rickshaw was soaked. But his face… it glowed with a quiet, humble happiness.

“I just did what anyone should do,” he murmured, already stepping back toward his vehicle. He did not expect any praise. No desire to be remembered.

He simply wanted to clean his auto and go home to his waiting children and wife.

But in that moment, in that simple man, lived a truth larger than the crowd that had watched without moving:

Blessed are those who give without remembering and those who take without forgetting.

And somewhere in a hospital bed, a father, a husband, a man who almost slipped away drew another breath, because one stranger refused to stand and watch. A sense of gratitude enveloped him

 

A tryst with a spirit (856 words)

  

Inspired by a visit to Chottanikkara in Kerala, I wrote this several years ago

Govindan,22 years old, was learning Sanskrit, Vedas, and Sastraic rituals from Kesavan Vadhyar, a learned pundit who was also a tantric, well-versed in astrology. The pundit was a strict person not given to unnecessary talk. He had forbidden his family members, particularly his young daughter, to pass through the front patio where the classes were held. Govindan had seen her a few times and found her very charming. 

Govindan was intelligent, and with his prodigious memory, he used to stun his teacher with his flawless recitation of the Vedas and slokas. 

He had to walk about two miles from his village to the teacher’s place. The road passed through a lonely and long stretch covered by shrubs and trees on both sides. He found one day a young girl of about 17 or 18 waiting at the beginning of the wood for someone to come along. Presumably, she was afraid to walk alone through the shady and deserted path. This became a regular feature with both reaching the spot around the same time. If she were delayed, he would wait for her. He got to know of her as Vijaya from his village and became friendly with her, which over a period blossomed into love. He cursed the weekends as he would miss her company. 

One day, when he was slightly delayed, the pundit asked him in a stern voice, “I have been seeing you coming late frequently. Are you not able to start early from home to be on time?” 

When Govindan did not answer, the teacher got annoyed and said, “Why are you silent? I cannot wait to commence the classes for your sake” 

It was then that one of his classmates blurted out, “Govindan is escorting a girl from his village and gets delayed if she is late” 

“What is all this nonsense I hear? Who is that girl? Is she related to you? Are your parents aware of your accompanying a girl daily?” he asked angrily. 

Trembling in fear and feeling embarrassed, he replied in a low voice “She is from my village and afraid of walking in the lonely road alone. Her name is Vijaya and she follows me daily.” 

“For a young student given to the study of Vedas, to hobnob with a young girl is highly deplorable. Let me see the girl tomorrow,” he said 

The next day, Kesavan Vadhyar was waiting at the gate when he saw Govindan, accompanied by Vijaya, coming at a distance. His eyebrows shrank, and his face became red in anger, but he maintained his calm. When Govindan entered the class, he bellowed, “Go and wash your legs and hands and come to my room alone”. 

“I have seen Vijaya and, with my tantric powers, could find out that she is possessed by an evil spirit out to harm you. You must get out of its clutches by stopping coming with her. Wear the amulet that I will give on your right hand. She cannot harm you as long as it is there. Never take it out. You should not wait for her, and if she is there already, stop talking to her and ignore her completely. She will persist and ask you why. If you are determined in your silence, she will stop coming with you and go after someone else. Do you understand the seriousness of the matter? Follow my instructions for your well-being,” he said and tied an amulet after chanting some mantras. 

That news reached Govindan’s parents the same evening from one of the students who had eavesdropped on the conversation. Strangely, Govindan’s dad did not speak about it to him, even when the young man feared his dad’s wrath. It was 9.30 pm. Govindan could not sleep with his mind torn by the day’s events.

 He then heard his dad’s voice clearly in the stillness of the night. He was speaking to Govindan’s mother in their bedroom. “That girl Vijaya is a very nice girl, studious, well-behaved and efficient in work. Her father met me two days back and wished Govindan’s hands for her. I promised I would talk to you and revert. That Kesavan Vadhyar has some ulterior plan. He wants Govindan for his daughter because our son is not only handsome but also very intelligent. So, the cunning man has scared our boy by concocting some story of a spirit having possessed Vijaya. I have heard that both Govindan and Vijaya are friendly, and I suspect are in love with each other. I wish to help them” 

“I have seen that girl a few times at the temple. She will be a good match for our Govindan” his mom replied 

Govindan could hardly believe his ears and could not sleep that night, elated at the pleasant outcome 

The next morning, his dad called him and said, “Govinda, you may stop attending Kesavan Vadhyar’s classes. I will admit you in another patasala (school) in the same area. I have some nice plans for you. I will tell you at the appropriate time.” 

Govindan was on cloud nine and restless, wanting to break the news to Vijaya at the earliest.

(The happy ending story ends here with no sequel)

 

Ammanji and His Mysterious Box (706 words)

My great-granddaughter gave me a Polo mint this morning, and it brought back memories of an elderly granduncle who, during my teens, would hand me a small, round white mint candy every time I met him. I had written about him years ago, and the memory felt warm enough to revisit.

I was a schoolboy then. Since my school was close to home, I came home for lunch every day. One afternoon, as I stepped in, I found my mother in tears. She asked me to accompany her to my grandfather’s house a few miles away. When I inquired why she was crying, she said, “You know Ammanji, your grandfather’s cousin. He passed away last night, and the cremation is in a few hours. I need to go now, and you must come with me.”

I agreed. All I really knew about him was that he constantly chewed raw arecanuts and kept, in his almirah, a carpenter’s kit, some cobbler’s tools, and an old wooden box. Still, I was secretly happy at the chance to skip school that day.

I had seen him many times during my visits to my grandfather’s house, a frail, short man with thick glasses, dressed in a white upper garment that was neither a vest nor a shirt. He wasn’t a real cousin of my grandpa, just a distant relative. He had lost his wife early in life and had no children or close family. My grandfather, comfortably well-off and living in a sprawling old house full of helpers, had persuaded him to come and stay there. And though no one quite knew the exact relationship, everyone called him Ammanji and treated him with dignity and affection.

He had once been a schoolteacher, known for his command of English. A voracious reader, he rarely returned from the local library without a new book. Though reticent by nature, he could fill a room with laughter when he chose to speak, his comments always laced with gentle wit.

I suspected he had little income beyond what he needed for daily necessities and for his beloved arecanut. To be honest, I never felt particularly drawn to him and even feared him a little; his features reminded me of a bulldog. Yet he always smiled when our eyes met. He would hand me round white mint candies, the kind that tasted even sweeter after a sip of water.

He had a small wall-mounted almirah of his own. Inside it sat a little wooden box that fascinated all of us children. He rarely opened it in anyone’s presence, but we knew he peeked into it twice a day,  once in the morning and once in the evening, staring quietly for a few minutes before locking it again. The key, tied to sacred thread across his shoulder, was never out of his sight. We boys often speculated and invented imaginative theories: perhaps it held gold jewellery belonging to his late wife, or bundles of currency, or, as one mischievous boy suggested, old love letters.

 Once, I mentioned his strange habit to my uncle, hoping for some revelation. Instead, I received a sharp rebuke for poking my nose into others’ private matters and was warned to mend my behaviour.

As I accompanied my mother that day, memories of the arecanut, the mint candies, and the mysterious box played in my mind. The atmosphere at my grandfather’s house was heavy with grief. My grandfather, whom I had always seen as strong and stoic, was in uncontrollable tears. Many elders and former students of Ammanji had gathered, praising his teaching and his gentle, virtuous character.

About ten days later, I went with my mother again for the concluding rituals. The subject of the mysterious box naturally came up. My grandfather asked one of my uncles to fetch it, and using the key recovered from Ammanji’s body, he opened it. All of us, uncles, aunts and cousins, crowded around eagerly.

To everyone’s disappointment, the box was almost empty. Inside lay only a few coins, a copy of the Bhagavad Gita, and a faded, postcard-sized black-and-white photograph, turned brown by time. My grandfather’s eyes grew misty as he picked it up.

“Ammanji and his wife,” he murmured.

 

 

The serpent that Meenakshi saw (678 words)

Meenakshi continued to stay at her apartment alone even after her husband's demise. She declined her daughter's pleading to stay with her but comforted her, saying that since her house was close by, they could meet daily. Though past 70, she was keeping fit, except for the pain in her legs and could cook her food. She spent the time watching TV, reading and cooking. She always had her nap at noon.

 It was around 1 pm, and she was woken up from her sleep by the bell. It was Muthu the carpenter who had come. He had done plenty of petty jobs when her husband was alive. He knew plumbing and some electrical work. A handyman, he came whenever asked to come to fix minor repairs. But she had not asked him to come today. Wondering about the purpose of his visit, she opened the grill and asked him, “What brought you here? I trust you are doing well"

"Amma, I always remember Ayya (her husband) and wish to check about your welfare. I also have some other business with you," he replied. He seemed slightly drunk from the smell that emanated when he spoke. She felt she had made a mistake in letting him in, but put on a smiling appearance.

"It is nice of you. It is very hot. Let me get you a glass of cool butter milk, “she said.

When she went in, he surveyed all the sides of the hall. He knew the apartment well as he had worked in all the rooms. There were two bedrooms, and one of them had cots and a steel almirah. Ayya used to get money from it. Things were as they were when he came on the previous occasion.

"Drink this. It is cool," she offered the glass of butter milk. After he had finished, she asked him whether everything was fine.

"Amma, by god's grace, I am fine. Can you bring the silver plate you keep in your puja room?"

She was taken aback at his audacity. She suspected his intentions were not honest and that she was in a piquant situation. Wanting to buy some time, she said," I don't know why you want the silver plate. Any way please wait. I will bring it"

"Please get it. You will know why I asked,” he said with a smirk on his face.

After a couple of minutes, she came trembling to the hall with the silver plate. To her great surprise, she found him taking from his cloth bag a dozen plantains, betel leaves, areca nuts, turmeric sticks and an invitation letter in traditional yellow and pink combination. He wound his towel around his waist and placed the things on the plate. When she looked at him with wonder, he prostrated before her and said, "Amma, I want your blessings for my daughter whose marriage I have fixed. Ayya was like my father. You are the first I have come to invite. It will give me utmost pleasure if you can come and bless the girl"

She felt small and bad at mistaking him and said, “I am happy to hear the good news. Ayya would have been very happy if he were alive. Please wait"

As she gave him two thousand rupees, he said, " Amma, please give it to the girl when you attend the wedding. You must not fail to attend."

Just then, three of Meenakshi's neighbours entered her apartment and asked, " Mami, what for you wanted us. There was some urgency in your tone."

“Please wait. I will tell you presently. Incidentally, he is our carpenter Muthu and known to us for several years. My husband had a liking for him. He has come to invite me to his daughter's wedding."

After Muthu left, she said," When I sent you the message, I thought I saw a venomous serpent enter the house. I realised later there was no serpent, and it was only my foolish imagination. Everything is fine. Thanks for coming"

Not understanding her, the neighbours looked at each other with a quizzical expression as they left.

 

 

 

Kokila Mami’s (aunty’s) Cool (773 words)

Kokila had an early dinner, afraid that the incessant rain might cause the power to be cut at any time. She had the candles ready on the dining table. Luckily, her fears seemed unfounded as there was no power cut and she could see her favourite serial till the end. It was 8 pm. 

There was a knock at the door. She wondered who could call on her at this time. After her husband’s demise, she continued to stay alone in this house. Her only daughter, who was abroad, had come to visit her old mom and left only the previous month. Kokila opened the door, keeping the safety chain intact, to see a young lady of about 35 standing there drenched in rain. Her clothes were completely wet and her hair dishevelled. 

When she saw Kokila, she said, “Sorry to trouble you. Can I stay in the portico till it stops raining? I should have left my office a little earlier.” 

It was dark outside, and she saw the lady alone. Taking pity, Kokila said, “Please come in and dry yourself.” 

The lady smiled with profuse thanks and entered the hall. Just as Kokila was about to close the door, there was lightning, and she saw in the glimmer of light a car parked outside the gate. She immediately felt she had made a mistake in allowing a stranger inside, but did not show it on her face. She gave her a towel, asking her to wipe herself while she made hot tea. She started making tea and decided not to betray her scare. In the rain, no one in the adjacent houses would hear her scream for help. Newspapers were abuzz daily with the news of old people who were alone being mercilessly killed for monetary gain, and warning against letting strangers in when alone. 

She gave the hot tea to the lady who was comfortably seated on the sofa. She looked strong and well-built woman. Kokila’s mobile was on the dining table. She wanted to get it, but did not want to create a doubt in the lady’s mind. Instead, she chose another sofa a little away from her. 

“Thanks a lot. Do you live alone? Any servants staying with you? I do not see any. Any children living with you?” she asked softly. 

“I am not alone. I have a cat to give me company. My maid’s daughter comes to stay at night. I think the rain is almost gone. Do you have far to go? Did you come by walk?” asked Kokila, wanting to test whether she would tell her about the waiting car. 

“I came by walk and will presently leave in a few minutes. I have a question to ask. You don’t know me. You are old and alone. How could you trust me and let me in?” she asked. 

“Your face looked innocent, and your bearing indicated that you are from a decent family. You were completely drenched. I did not think about anything then except to make you comfortable. I think I have not made any mistake in my judgment,” she said with a laugh.

“Oh, I am sorry, madam. You were not wise, but you have been very nice to me. I would not like to hurt you. You are like my mom. Please hand over the cash and valuables without any protest. Any attempt to draw the attention of others would invite immediate death to you. I hope you understand,” she said, like a snake hissing. 

Kokila did not lose her cool. She said, “Please do not do any physical harm. Whatever you want, take it. Let me get up and fetch the keys in a few minutes. The shock makes my head reel. Please give me just five minutes. I will cooperate with you fully.” 

In three minutes, they heard the shrill blaring of sirens from police cars and one screeching to a halt outside. The lady was struck with fear and asked whether any exit was available on the rear.

 Meanwhile, there was loud knocking on the door and a voice over the microphone that the house had been surrounded by police. As Kokila opened the door, a constable with a gun in hand walked in and asked in an amiable voice, “Where is our intruder?” The young lady was promptly handcuffed. 

When the young woman, as she was being led to the police car, turned towards Kokila with venom and anger in her eyes, Kokila triumphantly smiled at her without letting her know of the hidden buzzer under the sofa and the security arrangement made with the police.

 

 

Ignorance is Bliss (755 words)

 

Sharmila was restless. Her daughter, Anita, kept asking how soon they would see Grandma​a. Unable to hide her anxiety, she urged her husband, Ravi, to drive faster.

Ravi frowned. “The road’s not only kutcha but dusty and uneven. I can’t go any faster. It’s just forty miles away. We’ll be there in about an hour, maybe a little more.”

“I know,” Sharmila sighed, her voice trembling. “But you’ll never understand the agony and suspense I’m going through.” She started reminiscing about that fateful day as she often did.

That morning had turned her world upside down. The truth had slipped out not through confession, but by accident. Her parents had guarded a secret for twenty-seven years, one that might never have come to light if her uncle hadn’t blurted it out.

Her uncle had come to his brother’s house, unaware that Sharmila had come to her parents’ place the previous night for the weekend. As he stepped into the living room, he casually asked her father, “Where is your adopted daughter?”

Her father’s face went pale. He hastily signalled his brother to be silent, pressing a finger to his lips. But it was too late as Sharmila, in the next room, had heard everything. She saw the gesture, the alarm in her father’s eyes.

Her heart pounding, she walked straight to her parents. “Is it true?” she demanded. “Am I adopted? And if so, why have you hidden it from me all these years?”

The shock and guilt on her mother’s face were answer enough. Tears welled in Sharmila’s eyes. “I don’t need excuses,” she said softly. “Just tell me, who are my real parents?”

Cornered, her father finally spoke. “Yes, you were adopted,” he admitted. “But we don’t know who your father is. You were left outside our gate one night by a woman who didn’t want to be seen. We heard your cries and rushed out. When we found her running away, we stopped her and assured her that we’d take care of you as our own, as we had no children. We only asked that she never try to claim you. She agreed, saying you were born out of wedlock. We gave her some money… and she left.”

Sharmila’s voice shook. “What was her name? Did she ever come back to see me?”

“She said her name was Singaram,” her father replied. “Yes, we used to see her sometimes, standing quietly outside the compound, watching you play or walk to school. She never spoke to you, but we’d often see her wiping away tears. She seemed… happy just to see you.”

Her mother added softly, “She lived in a small village near Kanchipuram, about fifty miles away. She was very poor, so we helped her whenever we could. But after you married and left, she stopped coming.”

Now, as the car neared the village, Anita clapped her hands in excitement. “We’ll see Grandma soon! She’ll tell me stories, right, Amma?”

Ravi smiled faintly but said nothing. When they reached the village, he asked a few locals about a woman named Singaram. Most didn’t know until an old man pointed toward a small hut at the end of a narrow lane.

As they approached, they saw two women in their fifties chatting outside. Ravi greeted them politely and asked, “Do you know anyone named Singaram who lives here?”

One woman narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask? Who are you people? You look well-off.”

The other woman, silent till then, studied Sharmila and little Anita closely. Her eyes softened, but she said nothing.

Ravi explained, “We’ve come looking for her… to ask about her daughter.”

At this, the silent woman suddenly spoke, as if in haste. “Yes, Singaram lived here—but she left about three months ago. Didn’t say where she was going. Just… disappeared. She seemed happy, though.”

Sharmila broke down, sobbing quietly. Ravi placed his arm around her shoulders and gently led her back to the car. “Come on,” he said softly. “There’s no point staying. We’ll find her somehow.”

When the car disappeared down the dusty road, the first woman turned to her companion. “Singaram,” she whispered, “why did you lie? That beautiful lady must surely be your daughter. And the little girl, your granddaughter. Don’t you know that?”

Tears flowed in Singaram’s eyes as she looked at the fading car. “I know,” she said quietly. “But I don’t want to disturb her peace and happy life. Let her mother ever remain a memory. It’s better this way for everyone.”

A man of worth (654 words)

 

My son virtually drove me out this morning. I bear him no ill feeling. In his position, I may have done the same.

He had lost the job he had held for twenty-two years due to downsizing. With no special skills, a quarrelsome wife, and four children to feed, life had become miserable. The few months’ salary he received as compensation was already spent. In such circumstances, a worthless old father with no income was easily dispensable.

He asked me to forgive him, saying it was for my own good. He advised me to join an old-age home for the poor. At least there, he said, I would be sure of a little gruel instead of starving in his house. He promised to take me back once things improved. There was truth in what he said, though it was painful to hear.

I loved my only son dearly. He had always been a good boy, kind, dutiful, and respectful. However, the crushing weight of poverty had driven him to this desperate act. What hurt me most, however, were the harsh words of my daughter-in-law:

“What is the earthly use of feeding this worthless old man who can’t even bring in a paltry hundred rupees a month?”

I sat in the local temple for hours, not knowing where to go or where this old-age home was. When the sun went down, I began walking along the busy road in search of a place to spend the night. Those I asked about the old age home claimed no knowledge of such a poor home.

I hadn’t eaten all day, except for a banana someone had given me at the temple. At one point, someone dropped a two-rupee coin near me, mistaking me for a beggar. Weak with hunger and dizziness, I spotted a tea shop across the road. I started to cross, and then everything went dark.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself in what seemed to be a hospital. Tubes ran through my body, bottles hung above me, and I could see doctors and nurses moving about with serious faces. A policeman stood silently in the corner.

Someone said, “The patient is showing signs of consciousness. He’s opened his eyes.”

A young doctor came closer and asked gently, “Where do you live, Thatha (grandpa)? Do you have any son or daughter we can call?”

“No,” I replied. “Please don’t disturb my son. He is very poor and cannot pay even a rupee. Leave me alone. I have no desire to live.”

The doctor frowned. “Thatha, your condition is serious. We are obliged to inform your family.”

“If you believe I will not live,” I said, “tell me honestly. I would like to donate any organs that are still good. Whatever money they fetch, please give it to my son. I’m saying this in full consciousness. If I can’t sign, you can call the policeman as witness. If you agree, I’ll give you my son’s address.”

The young doctor took my hand. “Thatha, we are doing everything we can to save you. But we have heard your wish and will honour it if the need arises. Please, give me the address.”

I told him my son’s address. Then the world faded again in a short while, and I felt weightless.

When I next became aware, I heard the sound of my son sobbing beside me, striking his head in anguish, his wife weeping quietly nearby. The doctor was explaining to him about my last wish and that patients were waiting for organs like eyes, kidneys, and liver, and that he would receive a few lakhs from it, in addition to the compensation for the truck driver’s mistake in ignoring the signal.

A deep calm filled me. My son and his family would be safe and comfortable.

At last, I could leave this world knowing that I was not, after all, a worthless old man.

 

The reunion (844 words)

It had been more than three years since I had last seen my dad. He was still living in the same house where I had grown up and lived until my marriage. Having lost my mother at a young age, he was everything to me, both mom and dad. I was the only child, born late to my parents, and after my mother’s passing, he never remarried.

He showered me with affection and pampered me, fulfilling every wish of mine. Because of him, I never truly felt the absence of my mother. He put me in the best school and would stay awake late into the night while I studied. Often, he made me tea when I worked through the early hours and woke up early again to prepare my breakfast and lunch.

When I went to college, he bought me a scooter and encouraged me to choose the course I loved, even though it wasn’t popular. He taught me to stand by my convictions. When I completed my postgraduate degree in journalism, his joy knew no bounds.

After I joined a newspaper, he said one day, “Lakshmi, I am getting old. I would like to see you married. I am receiving proposals from different families.”

“Daddy, I’m glad you brought it up,” I replied. “I wanted to tell you something but didn’t know how you would react. I’m in love with a man who studied with me in college. He’s well employed and comes from a good family, but he belongs to a different religion. Please allow me to marry him. I can’t think of anyone else in his place.”

For the first time in my life, I saw him explode in anger. “You ungrateful girl!” he shouted. “Is this what you do to me after all my sacrifices for you? I will not permit this. If you marry him, you are no longer my daughter, and I am not your father. You make up your mind, either me or him!”

I didn’t pursue the matter immediately. I knew his misgivings came from concern and needed to be handled gently. After a week, I tried to reason with him, but in vain. Even after two months, he remained adamant. Finally, I steeled myself and walked out of the house.

I soon married the man I loved, and in time, we had a child. I tried later to reach out to my dad, but he neither welcomed me nor visited. My letters went unanswered.

His birthday was approaching when I heard from a neighbour that he hadn’t been keeping well. That night, I had a disturbing dream that he was very sick and wanted to see me. When I woke up, the urge to meet him was overpowering. My husband suggested that we all go together, but I refused, unsure how my father would treat him.

I decided to go alone with my little daughter. He lived just three hours away in another town. I bought some fruits and sweets and waited for the bus. The return bus from his town was delayed, so I sat there, praying fervently that he would forgive me and agree to come and live with us. I wanted to ensure his remaining years were spent in comfort and love. Yet a part of me feared he might still turn me away.

I was determined, however, not to return without reconciling with him. What I didn’t know then was that my husband, sensing my silent pain all these years, had quietly written to my father a week earlier. In that letter, he expressed his deep respect and admiration for him, for the values he had instilled in me and for the love that shaped me. He ended the letter saying, “Sir, Lakshmi may be your daughter by birth, but I see every day how your upbringing shines through her. I would be grateful if you could forgive us both and let her smile freely again.”

The waiting passengers around me stood up as the bus arrived at the stand. As I picked up my daughter and bag, waiting for my turn in the line, I saw, among the passengers alighting, a frail figure climbing down. When I looked closer, my heart skipped a beat; it was my dad.

“Daddy! Daddy!” I cried out.

He turned towards me, his eyes moist, and came rushing forward with a broad smile. In that instant, I knew he had changed. He took my daughter from my arms and showered her with kisses, leaving her bewildered and shy.

As we walked hand in hand toward my home, he said softly, “Your husband’s letter reached me at the right time. I realised how foolish I had been. I only wanted your happiness, and I see now, you already found it.”

Tears welled up in my eyes. My prayer had indeed been answered, not by chance alone, but through the quiet love and effort of the man who had once been the cause of our distance and was now the bridge that brought us together.