Clouds and their conspiracies

Wife likes to believe that she holds some power over the weather. Husband can't help but play along. And to his dismay, every morning, while leaving for work, it begins to rain. Thus forcing him to acknowledge that the sky—if not the entire universe—conspires against him. But then, he can't be late for office either. So he sets out with his umbrella knowing pretty well how ineffective it is in keeping one's pants dry. However, just as he's about to leave the room, Wife says something to effect of "The rain won't trouble you!" like Lady Indra would have. Husband nods and smiles at her pretending to be grateful for her divine intervention. As soon as he gets out of the building, the rain stops as if on cue. He looks back up at Wife standing near the window on the first floor. Both her eyebrows rise together, forcing his face to fall down. After all, as always, rainfall will resume once he's moved out of her sight. Something she isn't aware of.

Gastronomical bereavement

How much we crave the food we like! Don't we? The poor old man of our story did too. Things were better for him before he fell unwell and saw himself sentenced to an unbearably insipid diet. And his caring wife wouldn't let him astray. Even a bit. He was banned from consuming anything that resembled pickles, spices, sweets, oil...The list got longer while his lifelines grew relatively shorter. As the pendulum swung by, she got so caught up in this race against time that her gentle heart couldn't realize how deprived her husband felt. Maybe she knew perfectly well what was going on but then, she wasn't his enemy. The debilitating disease was. She was aware of the fact that he grew up on the food he craved and he had no vice otherwise. He was a man of tasteful tongue, not a glutton. Torture can't come close to describing the vocabulary of his gastronomical bereavement. One day, as his frame became thinnest, he gathered his breath. Her ears greeted his lips as he whispered the anthem of death. He is said to have said, "Cook what your hands are used to. Please." She must have cried a thousand times but in the end, she decided to stick with their doctor's sagacity. A few more days passed them with him suffering his nosh instead of relishing it. Stomach is innocent enough to not know what it's being fed. To his extended ordeal, he wasn't. He summoned his wife's ears again. This time around he only mumbled, "Feed the crows once I'm gone." The voice's desperation superseded the anger within. Silence followed this imperative line before he was transferred to ICU where they drilled a hole in his throat for essential fluids. He didn't make back home. However, even today, birds with 50 shades of black—who loiter around their veranda—are grateful to his last words. 

Asleep for good!

Everybody leaves their home sooner or later. One can't stay in the nest for long. The little boy of our story seemed to be in a hurry though. All of seven, he was already fed up of his family's dysfunctionality. Apparently, circumstances left him with nothing but the decision to leave. So as a part of preparations for the tough life that lays ahead of him, he stuffed all his comic books into his satchel and filled the water-bottle too. He wanted to leave his house that very night but then he reminded himself he's way too young to be not afraid of darkness. In the end, he also convinced himself that waking up early and carrying out his plan would serve him better. With that delightful thought, he resigned himself to sleep. At dawn, the sun rose up. The cock followed suit. However, our hero remained in his bed. After a hour or so, his mother woke him up with a smile that was nowhere else to be found. All his anger evaporated at that very instance. It was one of those moments when you're glad for not being able to wake up on time.

Blossoms of monsoon

One rainy night, he looked out of his window and then peeked into himself. The contrast between crowd and loneliness was evident like never before. He pondered for a minute and then took out his smartphone to foolishly text "I think I'm falling for you!" to an unsuspecting female friend. She, on the other side of the town, picked up her cellphone in return and read his loud message under her noiseless breath. Since chivalry was synonymous with this guy, it was bit of a shock to her to receive something as straightforward as this from a person like him. Well, love indeed makes people act in irreversibly weird ways. So she too decided to act weirder and didn't reply a word. But then she couldn't sleep either and the same was true about her poor cellphone. After all, she kept reading the message again and again as if it revealed her entire future. In the end, she replied "Think again!" unlocking a brand new gate of conversation.

Through the looking glasses

Grandma appeared upset. Even the smallest of things managed to trouble her. As if the whole world was taken to conspiracy. Or maybe, it had. For somebody who went to college in the 1940s despite taking birth as a girl, she didn't exude her nice ole literary charm anymore. On the contrary, she just came across as someone unabashedly grumpy and distressed. Something troubled her like anything. Nobody in the family could guess what it was. Some assumed that grandpa's recent departure is to be blamed. After all, she was an altogether different person before he decided to settle in heaven. Others zoomed on senility that often accompanies wrinkles. The drama continued for quite a stretch. In the meanwhile, although everything else bore the brunt of her disdain, her beloved grandson was spared any of the absurdity. And deservedly, it was he who figured out her problem... and fixed it too! Apparently, he used to watch her watch him through her thick glasses. So it didn't take him long to notice where exactly the problem lied. Turns out her spectacles had clouds of sticky marks, fingerprints and whatnot on them that obstructed her view. On the brink of his rather short life's greatest troubleshooting, he set himself to work and scrubbed the glasses neatly. Lo! She could see things properly again. With her past vision back, her nature changed for good. But what she couldn't acknowledge clamorously –– and what her grandson didn’t know –– was the fact that her late husband used to clean her specs. Almost every single day. Once upon a time.

Last Man Standing

He thought he was a sad human being. It had nothing to do with truth. He just believed so without
allowing himself a reality check. For most part of the day, he kept walking with his eyes staring at the ground below. If not, then he'd be standing somewhere, lost in his own cloud. Well, some people like being depressed. It gives them a soothing feel like a warm smile in an air-conditioned office or something. Perhaps this guy in question was one of those. Who knows for sure? We're just speculating here. But he did look morose. After all, he never seemed at peace. Something was bothering him inside. If he had a lover, we could have figured out what his problem — other than the girlfriend — actually was. But he was too lonely to be associated with anyone, especially not from a fairer sex. He simply continued appearing worried, friendless and in dire need of a mention in someone's silly blog. If only he had somebody to share the fart-breaking news that he was suffering from piles and can't sit on his third eye as comfortably as he once could!

A Strawberry Tale

Since he secretly liked her a lot, he always desired a casual conversation. His head rattled with millions of flop ideas. Finally a plan stuck his mind and his ears almost bled. Well, not really, but it’s always fun to inject exaggeration into matters pertaining to heart, love, mind and ear. Anyway, he went ahead with his stratagem and didn’t want to wait no longer. It was 2012 already and there was no point in leaving things to a destiny that followed the Mayan calendar.

So he decided to confront her in the office canteen. Accordingly, he walked straight up to her table where she was having lunch alone. He leaned forward and looked straight into her bespectacled eyes and asked, “Do you like strawberries?” Needless to say she was startled and could barely manage a perplexing “o_O” in reply.

But for him, it was as if every sound dropped mute. Time froze back to Ice Age. Life seemed meaningful after an interval of a lifetime. He just stood there like an idiot which he was and witnessed her beauty create a never-imagined-before frown. But being a true lover, he simply couldn’t quit admiring the art form that her face had turned into. All thanks to his one benign question. This episode must have carried on for about 189 seconds when suddenly she changed her stance and uttered, “Yes, I do.”

Sensing an incredible opportunity, he pulled the chair in front of her and started talking in his native tongue Gibberish. Within moments, the equation rolled down to status quo and things went f—ing downhill from then onwards.

Moral of the story: Strawberries are helpful for budding love-stories during winter but some languages ought to be banned for good.