Mistakes

Mistakes are mine to make,
Not yours to decide.
No matter how acrid they are,

They are mine to savor.

Smelly Smell

Women love the smell of flowers, men love the smell of 50 year-old whiskey, and children love the smell of fresh rain on the mud. Although it sounds simple, is it so? Is each and every woman supposed to love the smell of flowers? What if she doesn’t like it? Take my example. I not only hate flowers but I hate their smell too. Unfortunately for me, the deodorant and perfume companies simply fail to grasp the fact that women love other smells too apart from flowers. Every time I need to buy a deodorant, I want to weep.

As soon as I enter the perfume/deodorant section of any mall, a salesman/woman will drag me to the women’s section and will start showing off their cloying fragrances to me. Usually, I just get disgusted and walk away in huff, only to barge into the men’s section.

My Work: My Art

“Achla, you do remember today is the D-day, don’t you?” Kalini asked her excitedly, practically bouncing up and down.

“Yeah, I do.” How could Achla forget this day when she had been waiting for it since last one month? And she hadn’t just “waited” for this day; she had practically started living for this day since last couple of weeks.

“So do you know at what time the results are going to be declared?” Kalini asked her.

“No, I don’t know that but are you anticipating to win?”

Stuff Your Comments!

We are humans and so we have got a brain that works. Yes, it thinks and ponders whenever we read something, listen to something or talk with someone. Quite interesting, isn’t it? Whenever we read something, knowingly or unknowingly, our brain does go into a trance to understand the concept behind the written piece and its implications. We would also like to discuss our thoughts on that piece with the author and other readers if possible. I am all for it, and I believe others will agree with me too.

So what’s the problem?

Big Dreams

Since childhood we are told to not to dream with open eyes because usually those dreams remain just that. Dreams. Not reality. However, this is the story of a man who not only dared to dream when everybody told him not to but who spent his entire life molding that dream into a reality. This was a man who was born in ordinary situation with extraordinary dreams. 

Anuraag was the 5^th child of a small-time teacher in a tiny village. He had 3 elder sisters, 1 elder brother and 1 younger brother.

‘I killed 8 girl children’

Yes, this is straight from the mouth of a mother: a mother who was supposed to protect her children, a mother who was supposed to stand before death to defend her children, a mother who was supposed to be the God for her children. But alas this God discriminated against her own children simply because they were girls; she couldn’t stand her own blood when it took a form of a baby girl. This mother, who belongs to the rural South India, killed not one, not two but eight – yes eight – baby girls of hers.

Power Play

Warning: This is a short story about sex, money and power. If you are below 18 or you are sensitive toward these concepts, please do not continue to read.

My hands were shaking and palms were sweating. Every now and then, I was rubbing them against my demure black-colored formal skirt to make sure they wouldn’t feel damp when I shake my hands with Mrs. Seema Sharma, CEO of Beautiful You Magazine. Just then Mrs. Angela D’Souza, secretary of Mrs. Sharma, approached me. “Mrs. Sharma is ready to meet you. Please go in straight.”

“Yes, thank you Mrs. D’Souza.” I winced when I heard the tremor in my voice. Apparently, Mrs. D’Souza heard it too and recognized it for what it was because she gave me the most sympathetic smile, the kind that we generally reserve for the poorest of the poor. I returned her smile with a quivering heart and walked toward the cabin door with as much confidence as I could muster.