I write stories. Short stories, to pass time or sometimes just because I feel like it. I have been writing these since the last 3-4 years. Most of them are sitting somewhere carefully tied up in a pile at home. Many of them were written during the long journey from home to college and back, to while away time. Most will never be published. Some will, added to some that have already been. These tend to be longer than posts so they have a separate home on my blog. This section is their home. For now and forever. 

Short Story #1  

They fought like enemies. Yet they were the best of Friends. They argued like rabid lawyers. Yet they were together. They never agreed on any topic. Yet they agreed to disagree. They did not have anything in common – She was an extrovert, he an introvert. He to read, she couldn’t stand it; she liked to watch movies, he would fall asleep watching them; he loved to travel, she preferred staying at home – yet they had something in common – LOVE. For each other.He sat in his room. Thinking about her, about what had happened. For where she had gone , he could not follow easily. Not on foot, not in any vehicle. Nothing could be done now…except… He remembered the fun times they had and the not-so-fun times; the time they spent together. How he wished he could get them all back. But he couldn’t, he knew that. He was hurt, he was angry. Not at her, but at himself. Their last meeting had been a fight, and he felt he was responsible. why couldn’t he control himself? He asked the question again and again, till the words lost all meaning.Yet he was smiling. Smiling the sweet innocent smile that she liked so much. He was smiling, looking at the pool of blood formed on the floor where his wrist rested, the blood oozing from the cut he had made with a blade which rested now in his other hand. He was going to meet her afterall. He had decided to in the morning itself…standing next to her grave…  

Short Story #3  

He parked his car in the compound of what was his old society. The place where he had grown up. He was tempted to go to his old house and relive some of the old memories, talk to the people in the building – the few from his childhood that hadn’t left the place. He had brought along the keys too. But that would have to wait. He walked out of the gate and towards the school gate. It was close by. As he crossed the road, he looked around the surroundings; so much had changed, yet he felt comfortable here. He had, after all, spent all of his childhood here.

He entered the school gate. The approach to the school compound had always been this narrow sort of road, flanked by trees and filled with gravel. As the gravel/pebbles shifted under his feet as he walked, he smiled. Some things don’t change, he thought. The school compound had changed though. Interlocking instead of concrete. Impressive, he thought. The banyan was still there thou. As was the stone bench under it. The same bench on which he had sat 15 years ago on a chilly February evening during the farewell ceremony and wondered aloud if he could do something to stay there some more. “You could flunk in the exams”, she had said, sitting next to him. He had smiled back at her then; he smiled now. Thinking of her always made him smile. He shook his head, berating himself for thinking of her. But he couldn’t help it. He moved on. He took the stairs. He always did. It will waste time, he thought. But it was ok.

He looked up at the topper board on the first floor landing. Names long forgotten were etched there. Some familiar, the others not. He could never even think of being up there. He had never aspired to. That was for the students who were serious with their studies. Not for me, he thought. Though he had come mighty close to being up there. Immortality, he thought, was your name on that board. And he had lost that by one place. He had come second.



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