Editor's Pick

Short stories

30 April 2010
• LITERATURE
LITERARY EDITOR'S NOTE
This Saturday we continue on with the Writers Block interpretations on beginnings. And thus we begin on A New Day, dealing with Doubt, till we find Room 301 where stands Kalika warning us against the Fairway to Hell; encouraged so we make the necessary Transformations and prepare for new Beginnings...

A New Day

M.K.Aaref THIS is it. The suitcase is filled with three saris and two sets of salwar kameezes. The rest are all her daughter's clothes. As soon as he leaves for his office, she is going to leave too. For good. He has hit her for the last time. Her body has enough evidences in the form of stitches, bruises, healed bones and a broken ego that will take years to rebuild. Last week he had slapped the five year old daughter that left his hand imprint very visible on the cheek. Afterwards they had to pretend to be the happy couple and it was her, not him, who got blamed for that visible injury. It is always her, apologizing to his sulking frame to break the screen of silence that follows his bouts of violence. No more. She has to get out of here while her sanity is still intact, still has the strength to do so. She has to ignore the nay-sayers who keep reminding her of the 'sanctity' of marriage and the fact that it was a 'love' marriage. It's a pity the future cannot be foretold, otherwise she would have chosen to remain a spinster rather than go through this ferocity. The daughter is everything. She is the reason she, as a mother, has kept herself alive and smiling. She wants her to grow up to be a determined woman who speaks her mind. At this tender age, all she has seen is her mother being verbally abused, followed by slaps, then boxing and kicking and then being dragged to the bedroom, holding on to her through fistfuls of her hair, where more beating continued. Then he comes out and calls her 'Mamoni'. She will grow up either hating men or believing that this is the lot of woman, neither of which is pleasant. Only five years old and so much wisdom brimming out of her. It totally un-nerved her when she addressed her and her father together after one of those episodes, "How much more of this?' She had broken down in tears, and the father scowled and then gone out for one of his 'walks'. Why can't she think like her daughter? This is it. She will leave for a small town up north where her distant khala lives, and a job as a primary school teacher is more or less lined up. The rest? She will take that a day at a time.

Doubt

Srabonti Narmeen Ali I begin where I end. I seep into the cracks and crevices of peoples' minds and stick to the back of their thoughts like honey. I drip through their veins and reach their hearts, spreading my stickiness all over. I infected a bored housewife the other day. She was watching Hindi serials and drinking sweetened tea with lots of milk, laced with cardamom, while waiting for her husband to come home from work. He didn't show. She tried calling him, but he didn't answer. She became restless and I honed in. I drizzled questions all over the under-stimulated part of her brain. I took a picture of her husband's attractive, young secretary and slithered it from the back of her mind to the front. I left her staring blankly at the TV screen, with visions of her husband and his secretary in her head. I caused a fight between a man and his brother last week. I came in the shape of his wife. Together we slithered around his brain, slowly convincing him that his brother was cheating him out of the property that was rightfully his. It wasn't hard. I planted greedy dreams in his wife's head, with images of the Jodha-Akbar bangles that she had seen on her sister-in-law's wrists at the last family dawat. She sank her teeth into the dreams, and slowly worked her way into her husband's thoughts. We erased the happy childhood memories of him and his brother from his mind, one by one, until he let his wife's greed consume him. An old lady came to my attention yesterday. She will be my next project. She sits in her rocking chair, neglected by her children, shunned by her grandchildren who cannot stomach the sour smell that emanates from her wrinkly skin. She is alone except for the two women who work in her house. They cook and clean for her, rub her aching arthritic limbs, massage her long stringy hair with hot oil every morning. Like all old people, she is possessive about the few trinkets she has left from her past life. She has mislaid an emerald brooch in the back of her drawer, its red velvet casing now faded and hidden in the dark, musty corner. It was a gift from her dead husband on their first anniversary. I will remind her of how the two maids admired it. I will bring up past instances of bazaar accounts that never quite added up, using her aristocratic prejudices of the lower classes to my advantage. She will fire both women, and she will be left alone, with only me for company. I begin where I end. I am doubt.

Room 301

Lori Simpson RED hot screams still the humid night air, Cool blue sweat soaks her tied back hair. Salty ocean swells fall in raindrop tears Sweet voices to calm her overriding fears. Pushing, pushing, with all her might Moaning; panting hands that hold on tight. Doctors, nurses, and saline drips Hard painful contractions, her body it grips. Fortitude and Anticipation all bearing down Courage and Hope wear a green hospital gown. Thunder! Lightning! A white light room; The infants cry, a harmonious boom. Restless feet that paced and tread the halls Come to a halt, and rejoice to the crying calls. Teddy bears, flowers, blue or pink balloons, All carry announcements that life is abloom. Moon and sun join together in colors of a new dawn Bundles of joy wrapped in a flowery babies breath yawn. Life is beginning in room 301 With the birth of a daughter, the birth of a son.

Kalika

Tisa Muhaddes MY journey began with a death. My mother's. I was the cause and effect of her death. Her death imparted upon me a power. A secret power. When I shared the secret with the other children, they all ran away calling me pagol kali. But I knew better. I was special. So I nurtured my clandestine power. I use it now and then, just to test it out. I've used it thrice so far. On a bird with a broken wing, a toad, and once on a dog that had bitten my friend's sister. A tap here, a tap there, and they all fall down. Once I inadvertently used it on our gardener. Badal khalu. I confess, it was a mistake He was a good old man, he used to give me pony rides on his back. He was weeding the rose bush, and I was playing nearby pretending to zap evil goddesses when I accidentally bumped into him. One small tap on his shoulder and he dropped to the ground. And he didn't wake up. I was so frightened that my father would know it was me, he would know of my secret power, and that he would punish me. I hid in my room for days. I pretended I was ill. He left me alone. He was too busy figuring out what happened to Badal Khalu. I should have known better from that mistake, but now I've gone and done myself in. You see there's a bully named Shagor. He always picks on us younger kids. He's also the one who coined the label 'pagol kali'. I try to stay out of his way. But today I couldn't. I was walking back from school, almost nearing home, when I heard yelps. I followed the noise and saw a young boy surrounded by Shagor and his cronies. Shagor held the boy by his hair. His friends were laughing and pointing at him. Ordinarily, I would have minded my own business. But today I felt so bad for the young boy. I saw that he was pleading to Shagor. I couldn't help but notice the puddle gathering around his shoes. Without thinking, I ran towards them, shouting "Let him go!" and caught them off guard. I quickly circled Shagor and his friends, tapping each of them. Tap tap tap tap. They all fell down. The young boy stood transfixed. He smelled funky. He looked at Shagor and his friends lying motionless, and then at me. With a sudden jerk, he yelled 'pagol kali' and ran away from me. I ran the other way towards home. So much for using my secret power for good. I hope my father doesn't find out.

Fairway to Hell

Samir Asran Rahman THERE was a global media frenzy about the latest golf publicity stunt. On TV, reporter Trish McNeilie said: 'The world is abuzz with the news that Golfing Pro, Desmond Adams, is going to be making the world's largest golf drive, from space.' The footage cut to a sea of protestors, outside the Kennedy Space Center, who were holding up signs like "Space Junk Must Go and "Don't Pollute the Universe". Then it cut to an interview with Tiger Woods. 'It's cheating,' he said. 'Out there in space, there's no gravity. The ball can keep going on and on forever. This shouldn't be allowed in the record books.' 'As you can see, everyone isn't happy about it,' said Trish. 'Detractors say that this is a frivolous act that only adds to the garbage we've left out there, from our space missions. Nevertheless, it marks a new beginning in cross-galaxy promotions. Let's hope Adams doesn't lose his cool as he looks down at us.' Adams was looking up at Earth, actually. Perspective was so relative in space. It depended on where you were standing. And he was clamped onto the hull of a space shuttle with magnetic boots. 'Damn!' he swore as he hooked his shot. The ball knocked over a distant satellite and Holland lost its TV feed. 'It's hard to swing properly in this blasted spacesuit. Edit that out, will you?' 'You've only got one ball left,' said the cameraman, recording the moment. 'Space regulations say we can't make too much of a mess out here.' 'Please,' sneered Adams. 'What possible harm can one tiny golf ball do?' He got off a good swing and watched admiringly as the ball smoothly sailed into infinity and beyond… …Some millennia later, on the planet Fala-Fel, the scientist Oberon was trying to convince the Council of Elders about their impending annihilation. 'My telescopic scans have picked up something heading our way,' he fired up the holo-projector. 'Look at it's dimpled surface. The craters are too polished for this to be space debris.' 'What else could it be then?' 'It is made up of unknown synthetic materials. And there's the matter of the strange alien script on its surface. I am certain that it's a weapon, sent to destroy us' 'You speak folly, Oberon,' said the Elders. 'This spheroid object is tiny. It will most likely burn up in our atmosphere.' 'It has been traveling for a very long time, and will have a catastrophic effect on our planet, when it hits us at its current speed and velocity.' 'Spare us your paranoid delusions.' 'You must listen!' he cried as the guards dragged him away. 'We must vacate the planet. Whoever sent it knew that it would remain undetectable, until it was too late to do anything to stop it.' But the Elders wouldn't listen. And in the ensuing days, when they realized that he could be right, it was much too late. Fala-Fel was destroyed in a cataclysmic explosion, in an attack that nobody could have expected.

Transformations

Farah Ghuznavi Mean girls are everywhere! Seriously. They're an inevitable part of school life; as ubiquitous as pimples, bad canteen food or forgotten homework. It's best to stay below their radar; and crucially, not to let them realise you're smart. Unless you also happen to be pretty and popular, it can be the kiss of death! I'd managed the task reasonably well until I transferred schools. My parents wanted me to have better educational opportunities. But I just wanted to move because my best friend Layla had started here last year. We'd been inseparable since Nursery, so she was as excited as me when I gained admission here. Honestly, I'd been amazed at how Layla had changed over the previous year. We were both hitting fifteen - teetering on the edge of that metamorphosis whereby Bangali girls magically shifted from the 'clunky glasses and generous hair-oil look' inflicted by merciless mothers, to suddenly-svelte, glossy-haired, doe-eyed beauties. The transition was effortless for Layla, but I trailed well behind. The girls in this school weren't particularly friendly - with the exception of Adiba, the debate-team star. But she was clearly a smart girl; I couldn't afford to hang out with a possible geek before settling in. I felt bad, but that was the reality. Besides, I already had Layla, and she didn't like Adiba. She disapproved of her indiscriminate friendliness. So I remained noncommittal towards Adiba. Though I had to give her credit for persistence; she kept trying. At our old school, Layla and I had been considered similar; good students, but not social superstars. Simultaneously changing schools and transforming image meant Layla was hugely in demand here. I was stupid enough to imagine that it wouldn't change anything between us. Until the day I overheard her telling her adoring hangers-on about how "embarrassing" it was that I just "didn't get the message"; that because our parents were friends (not true), I'd had the temerity to assume that I could hang out with her, cramping her style. She'd had her back to me, but the others saw me, relishing the added spice of my humiliation. Unwilling to display the extent of my hurt, I turned away sharply, brushing past Adiba. She shot me a look of such understanding and pity that I almost started crying right there. Layla later concocted an explanation about how she needed to spread her wings and 'be herself'; something that I apparently held her back from. This school was a new beginning for her, she said, an opportunity to "move on". I didn't really understand what she was talking about, but I knew it was an excuse. I was the one who needed to move on. But before that, I reminded Layla to think twice before badmouthing me again. After all, I'd been keeping her secrets all these years. I understood that I just wasn't "cool" enough to be Layla's friend here. But that was ok - I didn't need her anymore. She was now officially a mean girl.

Beginnings

Sal "WELL of all the meanest and most selfish of the people I've ever seen you really take the cake," said she vehemently. "I beg your pardon, Miss Wonder, you don't do too good yourself. I've had my fill of you" he replied. "You have, have you? I decide who gets to have the fill of me. And you ain't anywhere near the top." "But why is that? Weren't we once real special? You know, got all the news together." "Yeah I suppose. But you're the one who became a jerk. Like I said you're always thinking about yourself. Whatever is good for you is what matters." "But maybe that's the same as it being good for everyone?" He was deliberately obdurate. "I take everyone along with me." "All this big talk! What are you doing about even the littlest thing I asked you? Did you talk to my sister?" He was gloomily expecting this. "That's really asking something. You know how hard I find it to deal with her. Is it really necessary?" "That's just typical of you. Always trying to get out of doing what I ask. So she's a bit over the top. So what? Don't you have to talk to people like that all day at work?" "Yeah but at work I've got the whiphand. You should see how they cringe and clamour when I threaten to cut off their credit." "Speaking of credit I'm going to need an enhancement. You have to see this new dress I'm going to get. It really sets off my figure." She rolled her two hands tightly down each side of her body while rolling her hips suggestively. "I don't see why I have to get involved in your money problems. It's not as if we're even exactly married. Every time we're together it's 'gimme this, gimme that'. Besides I'm saving for the new IPad." "Saving, huh! Don't think I don't know how you're getting along, cadging loans from your mum, which you're never going to repay. How about thinking of me for a change? You certainly don't forget to do that when you're hot for it!" "I told you not to bring my mum into it. She owes me big-time for everything she's got," he said stretching his legs on the ottoman, "You shoulda seen the look on the dumb bastard's face when we caught him cheating." "Well, if that's the way you're gonna be…" "Don't get mad. I didn't mean to say I didn't care what happens with you." "No, honestly I've got to look out for myself it seems." "So you're mucking about with Jimmy Payne again? He's even more of a deadbeat than me!" "Will you get the hell out of here? You don't know the first thing about all the things I got going for me. There's lots of people who know how to do right by me." "Yeah, yeah and you're finally going to get your act together and your head straight". "I'm better than you'll ever be anytime soon. I've stopped drinking, and even eating right these days." He gazed at her ample form with undying light. "I think the rock has reached the very bottom of the hill. Should we start all over again?" "Guess so."
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