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Light Millennium #15 Issue, May 2005
--Two short stories


Did not choose...


by N. BANGOLORE


I did not choose my children’' names, people called their off springs with names that sprang out of love, mine were insignificant flowers of some undecided minutes of uncontrollable lust..

Their names are like them they .do not make sense to my life or being...it is as if they blew in the air and sat on my belly -traveled on some wild whim towards a long unhindered journey .

His name is: Spring

Pudgy and content
His name is great friend: lanky and wanting
How could I have chosen their names when my name itself wasn't chosen by me?


Growing up thirsting, haunted by memories… wanted by duties. The rest was all in the hands of others who made shapes out of my being...Couldn't control anything. I randomly laid eggs hatched them, someone made them happen…

These thoughts are mediated on a lazy afternoon when I could not shake my fear of being ...A little… child, I have often wondered sitting on the windowsill    which were dark, huge unassumingly friendly at my school... … that was let off 10 hours ago, waiting to be picked up on wallowing nights, no one would come.  It is like they do not know that I sat there cold hungry and dizzy, tiered and drowsy… it was after eons I heard a bark and a black dog climbing the steps of the school...I stealthily slithered to the windows hugged them closely watching the dog sniff my boots…. the dog just left without a whimper . The tall gates of the school had closed…

I looked at the looming nuns quarters beside the school. As I walked along the little windows I could hear the clutter, I could hear lilting voices of the celibate nuns. The aroma of fresh bread. made me feel quite comfortable to the surroundings..

Time ticked away. I watched the empty roads for a long time…dark and scary, may be some day...my legs will be big enough to take me home…I could go home when I wanted to..

Just then I heard footsteps behind…as I turned a strange strong hand grabbed me and too weary to protest my eyes close to the darkness inside..



* * * * *

Bottle of Wine



He was opening the wine bottle..and telling her

“You shouldn’t give up”

Padma was looking at the opener, which was drilled slowly in to the bottle..the light red Merlot eventually filling the glasses..

She took one of them and both retired to the living room, Padma began her interview with this budding Movie director who was barely 30, she stared at his short pouchy pudgy hands, cute face, restless eyes under thick glasses.. He smelt good and felt distant, she remembered the e-mails they had exchanged the whole day. He had grown on her like the thorns on a cactus tree, it hurt in a peculiar way as if the hurt was growing with you.

He lit a cigarette and questioned,

“Does your husband drink? Smoke?”

“Sometimes”…said Padma

“So tell me what’s the problem with your husband”?

 “I pity him”

“Whom”?

“I pity my husband”

She felt like a slut.

“You pity him”?

“Sad- pity is a loaded word”

She fumbled- she wondered if he would barter her 13 years with his?

He insisted

“Don’t give up”

She was furiously thinking,. she gaped at his hands, burning tip of the cigarette all those jokes n sundry they shared, his warmth, his thoughts which goaded her to live.

What is he waiting for?

Forget about my marriage she thought-marriages are made in heaven let them stay there.

We are ordinary mortals beyond that we are human beings with simple needs.

She ignored most of what he rambled about commitment. He was a good man all he needed was a good fuck she thought.

He seized that moment and stared at her, their eyes met… he bent over her softly kissing her lips…she succumbed to his touch, his breath...his song.

_ . _

Light Millennium #15 Issue, May 2005 - http://www.lightmillennium.org

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YES To Lighting Our Souls & Minds.

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