(My flash fiction entry for the theme: Face to Face on the Arttoons Writer’s room)

word count: 1000

prompt: the main character takes a journey to meet his online friend… and then?

My mystifying rendezvous

The Uber breezed along Marine Drive as the dusky sanguine hues spread their grace on my pounding heart. It wasn’t every day that an almost thirty-five-year-old single woman rushed from one corner of Mumbai to the other to meet her online ‘date’ in person.

Despite having an excellent career to boast about, my acne-scarred face and plus-sized contours made me stick out like a sore thumb in our Tam-Bram social circles. Christopher Gomes accidentally entered my life when I hit rock bottom post a broken engagement.

Actively blogging about financial market trends, I connected with like-minded tribes like Chris. His CV flaunted his footing as a freelancer in the entertainment industry. A Goan native, he was in Mumbai for the past decade.

We hit it off instantly, and our conversations surpassed financial barriers in the next three months. I began to fall for this non-judgemental Adonis. But did I bite more than I could chew?

Last week, I was horrified when he sent me a few links unraveling the details of his profession. But my infomania won over prudent discernment, and tonight I stood outside the elite La’ Della café. My galloping heart could give a thoroughbred a run for his money.

“Miss Padmavathi?” My reverie was broken and the patron guided me towards a unit reserved for two. A huge cabin, secluded from the rest of the café.

My fear quotient raged on a bull run, and with good reason.

Chris was a professional pornstar.

I edgily halted in my tracks when I heard a deep voice behind me.

“Penny for your thoughts, Pads?”

I turned around, startled at Chris’s usual endearment, and thought my jaw would hit the pristine floor. If sensuality had a name, it was Chris. His pictures failed to do him justice.

He towered over by over a foot, as his sparkling brown orbs held me captive. The Almighty had taken time to chisel this man. I had seen his videos and knew what was underneath as my eyes undressed him.

“Shall we…?” He nudged my shuddering back as we moved towards the cabin. “…I hope you like the ambiance.”

I was on autopilot, trying vainly to calm my fluttering nerves as he held out my chair. I was never physically attracted to a man with such intensity, and right then, from across the table, Chris was piercing my veneer with his mere look.

“So, Chris… You aren’t working today?” I wanted to shoot myself for asking that, but my estrogenic levels comminated to break the ceiling tonight.

Chris chuckled.

“No dear, I took an off today… I had to make this date right. And… I ordered the starters….”

As if on cue, the server got us a plate of paneer tikka, my favorite dish. My heart soared at his gallant move. But right then, my subconscious reared its ugly head.

“Look, Chris… I have… questions” I looked away, my palms clasped on my lap.

Leaning back, he crossed his hands at his chest.

“Chris… since when … I mean, you were born and brought up…” My verbal diarrhea saw no end.

“Pads, I wasn’t made in a Petri dish….” He smiled, and my heart skipped a beat.

“But… you are… Handsome, educated… hot…” I clamped my mouth shut.

He stood and held out his hand. “Let’s go for a walk. The poolside is beautiful.”

When I stood, I saw roses and marigolds strewn at the end of the table, and a pouch with my favourite toon painted over it was placed on them.

He remembered every detail I had mentioned in passing.

“All this is for you… but let’s take that walk first…” Chris smiled, and I placed my cold palm in his warmth, engulfing my soul.

“Pads, what I do, is strictly professional with all precautions. There are no emotions involved. I have been doing it for the last eight years.” He spoke after we walked for a while.

I halted and looked into his eyes as the poolside light simmered in their depths.

“Why do this, Chris? You are well educated…”

“It’s by choice, Pads. I did it part-time for extra bucks initially. But now I like it. It gives me space, and rakes in the moolah.”

“But as a profession?” I wasn’t able to get my head around this.

He held my shoulders.

“Pads, this isn’t easy. I am almost forty but have maintained my physique well. I work arduously, following strict fitness protocols, diets, etc. These aren’t surreptitious videos but professionally shot consensual and scripted acts….”

“So do you … escort?” Someone please shoot me.

“No, dear, neither am I a whore. I have no attachments to any of those women and vice versa. We are hard-core professionals. But you … I like you…earnestly. I know, it’s difficult for you to accept …” He sighed and looked away.

“Isn’t this illegal?” I had read a bit after he dropped the bombshell.

Chris smiled. “The laws here are debatable. The videos we make are usually for overseas channels. Every paperwork is in place. There is no child abuse or violence against any individual. Our videos are scientific….”

“…This is… overwhelming, Chris.” I shivered, trying to absorb the information overload.

We returned to the cabin and resumed chatting on our favorite topics and movies, followed by dinner. Every moment there opened a chasm of tender adulation, drawing me deeper.

It was past 1 AM. As we waited for my Uber, he pulled me into a hug. I was taken aback but realized that’s what I craved as well.

He kissed my head as we stood in silence.

As he set me free, he said, “I don’t know what the future holds, but… Pads, can we meet again? Maybe, after a while…”  Was the ever-confident Chris hesitating?

Under the flickering lights of the café canopy, he looked like a kid asking permission to have his favorite candy.

Without a word said, I got into the waiting cab, smiling.

The date was enthralling indeed!

Author note:

This story was an attempt to get a little insight into the life of a professional pornstar. Here is an article for further information regarding the legalities.

https://blog.ipleaders.in/is-watching-porn-a-crime-in-india-an-insight/

(Short story on the given word: Prison. For the facebook platform, Did you write today, Kuch toh likho)

Prison

The clash of cymbals pierced through his ears.The tympanitic pulsation of the assembled percussions and the cacophonic indulgence of the humbled ‘tutari’ set his heart pacing. The throbbing inside his head was a time bomb ticking both figuratively and literally. Kartik Deshmukh was sullen on his big day.

The Pandit began to chant the ritualistic mantras trying to bellow over the existing discordance, and Kartik tried to zone out. The tight pheta adorning his head with the floral mundavalya thankfully obstructed his vision. Everyone assembled would otherwise know how dismayed he was. He was the groom… the man of the day, the lone heir to the Deshmukh conglomerate. His bride-to-be Namita was not only from a family equating to his social status but also his best friend since childhood.

He couldn’t understand why Namita had agreed for this. She knew him… everything about him. Why was she so determined to ruin her life and his in the process, to fulfill archaic norms? She knew he was shackled to tradition, to patriarchal beliefs, and he had accepted his destiny. Yet, she sounded excited about her future with him….especially when she had purchased the bright vermillion material embroidered with the golden thread for her trousseau. Was she insane?

The glimpse of the holy matrimonial fire through the fragrant mogra armoring his face resembled his turmoil. He was burning too… a slow burn. Expectations from all spheres encumbered him. Would marriage with Namita liberate him? Would it change mindsets? He knew Namita would understand, and that was the only silver lining.

But then what about Rajat? What about the two years of coital and emotional bliss he experienced with the guy? What about the promises they made to each other?

His father had threatened to harm Rajat if he were to revisit him. Hot tears cascaded down his cheeks as he inwardly moaned over his helplessness. His chest constricted, and he feared an anxiety attack before the entire taluka who had gathered to witness the wedding of the year. No… he couldn’t create a scene today. At least Namita deserved better. She was an IPS officer and had an image to keep too. He couldn’t do that to his bestie, the only soul who understood him, his paradigm shift, his preference… and Rajat.

He inhaled deeply and tightened his fist in an attempt to calm his heart.

“the bride may now be escorted to the dias…” The Pandit declared, and Kartik’s heart skipped a beat.

No… no… no… Despite his rationalization, Kartik felt the walls of the massive auditorium closing in on him. No defense mechanism today was proving its worth. Instead, the metaphorical prison had him completely in its clutches.

The musical notes reached their strident crescendo amidst the populous din.

Suddenly there was silence… pin drop silence.

What? What was happening… he wondered.

He moved the floral strands and stared wide-eyed at the sight ahead. Rajat stood resplendent in a bright Vermillon Sherwani… it was the same material Namita had shown him, a perfect contrast to Kartik’s off-white. Rajat was flanked by Namita and a group of their common friends. The blinding clicks of the assembled photographers provided the right strobe effects to soar Kartik’s emotions and hopes.

But his heart resumed its plundering when his father bellowed.

“What on earth is going on…?” The man stood to his burly form with eyes blazing in rage. “… what is that wretch doing here…? I had warned you, hadn’t I?”

Before Rajat could speak, Namita walked ahead, and Kartik watched in awe as she stood up to his father.

“Kaka, with due respect, keep everything aside and just think like a father… your son’s happiness lies with Rajat and not with me or any other woman. Why don’t you accept that Kartik’s orientation is different from yours? I hope you disenthrall not only him but also your own imprisoned mind that refuses to accept him the way he is. I hope better sense prevails….” She then turned towards the gathered crowd. “…Does anyone have an objection to this union? If you do, then please leave….”

Kartik was stunned by her demeanor. At that moment, she was not only his friend but a thorough police officer in every sense of the word. He knew she was going beyond the realms of her duty since same-sex marriage was still debatable in the court of law.

No one moved. Kartik’s father tried to object but was restrained by his mother and Namita’s parents.

The ceremony proceeded without any further obstacles amidst murmurs and gossip. As Kartik began the traditional circumambulation holding Rajat’s hand in his as the latter followed him, he blinked back tears of joy.

He knew there would be gossip and ridicule, and probably, he would be abandoned and disinherited by his father. But nothing mattered anymore. Not only was he united with the love of his life forever, but he was liberated.

He was set free…

Author note:

Disclaimer: this story is only meant to increase awareness of the ‘right to live’ for the LTBG community.

https://theleaflet.in/do-same-sex-couples-have-the-right-to-marry/

(this was 500-word flash fiction, a contest entry on the platform, Penmancy. The theme was ‘verve‘, where we had to include the following lines in the story.

the buffaloes bellowed, the boys shouted, and the birds flew shrieking from the trees.)

The futile trial by fire

The chariot set in motion as Lakshman cracked his whip, and I turned around to look at the massive palace I had painstakingly and dedicatedly restored to its glory. Unfortunately, I missed meeting my beloved Ram since he had already left to douse some statesmanship trouble brewing at the Ayodhya borders.

I was on my way to the holy abode of revered Rishi Valmiki. Having lived in Panchvati* during exile, I missed the forest’s enchanting freedom. Despite having worldly opulence and the love and respect of my family and the people of Ayodhya and beyond, I felt an esurient lacuna in my heart.

Given the coronation duties, I barely had the time and energy to reminisce and reflect on my life. As if sensing my discomfort, my twins began their somersaults in my womb, changing the contours of my convex belly, calming me instantly.

As the chariot entered the thresholds of the forest, I was enamored by the lush greenery as the trees waved their welcome, the bushes showing off their flowers like their prized ornaments. I reveled in the embrace of the wild-smelling air and let the wilderness seep into my soul.

However, the sense of untowardness returned with a vengeance.

Did I disregard the presages?

Was it when Hanuman bid adieu? Did I fail to comprehend his fathomless deep eyes despite the merriment around? Or when Sage Vashishtha frowned on the coronation day regardless of blessing Ram amidst the cacophonic roar of applause?

Was it the vision of Lord Shiva with his matted locks, beautiful blue throat, and arm raised in benediction? “Keep your mind on Me…in the darkest hour,” Why did the Lord say that?

As we neared the Yamuna river close to the hermitage, I decided to freshen. I smiled, watching a group of ashram boys who had brought the buffaloes for a bath. My heart soared, watching them sparkling in the majestic water sprays as they drenched the buffaloes. The melodious birds perched on the surrounding trees provided the needed balm to my anxious mind.

Having washed, I turned to Lakshman to proceed on our journey, but to my horror, he was weeping silently

“What… what is it, Lakshman?” I asked, my sense of foreboding bearing heavily on my heart.

“I am sorry, sister-in-law; I am only doing this on Ram’s command.”

“I don’t understand….”

“I am here to leave you in Valmiki’s ashram… forever. Ram has banished you from Ayodhya…. and…”

I didn’t hear the rest. My head spun, and I held on to a fallen muddy sprig to maintain my footing.

Subdued susceptibilities and rage overcame my prudence, and an unwomanly strident wail escaped my dried lips.

In tandem with my disposition, the buffaloes bellowed, the boys shouted, and the birds flew shrieking from the trees.

I pushed my way barefoot, impetuously through the bushes, the heartache more agonizing than the pricking thorns.

My Pyrrhic Agnipariksha* ineloquent, I was never a part of the decision-making but a sacrificial goat.

I was a woman…

Author notes (*)

• Panchvati: One of the forests where Ram, Sita, and Lakshman spent the days during their exile.
• Agnipariksha: Trial by fire. Sita had to face this to prove her chastity after she was freed from Lanka. Metaphorically used here.

A winning contest entry on the facebook platform ‘did you write today-kuch toh likho’

Prompt word: Blind

Blind

I stood outside the tent that night gazing at the enormous coppery moon hanging low in the sky. The sliver of brightness wasn’t enough to elevate my spirits. My heart thundered in the confines of my chest chambers as I got the premonition of something untoward yet to happen. Vyasa’s boon was already taking shape, and I cannot forget the unfathomable expression he bestowed upon me along with the boon.

Why wouldn’t he tell me what would happen? Would my husbands be safe? Would my sons live to see their progeny?

All he could have assured me was, “Panchali, all will be well.”

But that was not to happen. Not since the perversive disaster that occurred in the court of Hastinapur where I was humiliated in the presence of the elders, the keepers of Dharma…

In fact, it was way before that. When my late father-in-law Pandu was elected to take over the throne since his older brother Dhritarashtra was blind. The seeds of discontent were sown right there. The power of the throne is such that it crumbles the righteous veneers of the most conscientious warriors. The Kaurava’s uncle Shakuni did the rest by fanning the embers of resentment and before we knew it had become an inferno of wrath and outrage towards my husbands.

I sighed as I heard the cries of mourning. The battle was a week old, and my long unkempt tresses blew carelessly. There was a shuffling nearby, and my heart stilled, wondering if it was a wild animal out to catch its prey. But no… it was a woman gathering dried twigs for building a fire. She was scrawny with a patched saree knotted at various places in its efforts to cover her frail body. Was she one of us? From our camp? A relative of a soldier, maybe?

Royal decorum ingrained into me signaled its approval and I held out a coin. To my horror, she stared at me wide-eyed and flung her hands in a gesture before she ran away. I recognized the gesture as ‘warding away the evil eye.’

Was I the evil eye? Was I the harbinger of ill luck? Was I entirely responsible for the war?

I always thought I was wronged. Right from the time, I entered this realm through the holy flame when my brother Dhristadyumna was the only wanted child. But looking around at the strange stillness engulfing the cacophony of grief, I realized these soldiers were with us not by choice of supporting our cause. They were mostly forced by poverty and starvation and fear of their masters.

I couldn’t sleep a wink for long and sleep claimed me only when best friend Krishna’s words resonated in my ears. ‘Just like the body casts off old clothes to wear new ones, the soul casts off the body to find a new one… to work out its Karma. So, the wise grieve neither the living nor dead…’

I woke up tired and aching, and the fragments of my dreams stayed like a crown of thorns on my corrugated head. There were visions of my husbands and sons emerging from dark nothings to the man with ancient unsettling eyes… the only man I loved. A love that never saw the light of the day.

At that moment as the bright rays of the morning sun hit me, realisation struck. Everything happened because we were blind…

My father was blinded by his hatred and avenge-filled vendetta towards his old friend Acharya Drona and chose to ignore me. My brother’s blind devotion towards our father and the archaic royal decorums failed to make him see right from wrong.

My feelings towards Karna remained unrequited because I was blinded by the knowledge that he was an outcast and not a blue-blooded prince. I chose to look the other way and landed up insulting him every time our paths crossed. I was figuratively blind when I chose not to let him participate in my Swayamvar.

Duryodhana and the Kauravas were blinded by their quest for power and wrapped in a distorted sense of being wronged.

Yudhistira, in his momentary blind love (or should I say lust?) for me that superseded the love towards Arjuna, made him say those words to his mother. He knew what her answer would be and I was suddenly propelled to life with five husbands.

The elders, including Pitamaha Bhishma, turned a blind eye to the wrongdoings in the court that day which put the final nail in the coffin.

Last but not least, I am sure King Dhritarashtra himself would agree. The root cause of everything was, that he was born blind.

©priyagole

References:

• Translated snippets from Ramdhari Singh ‘Dinker’: Kurukshetra
• The Palace of Illusions by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

(Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction based on my limited knowledge of the Mahabharata, particularly from Draupadi’s POV. The views here are my own and are not intended to hurt any sentiments. But if it still does, then apologies.)

Here’s our winning entry for a contest on www.beyondthebox.in. We had to write together and within 800 words.

60 teams participated in Season 2 of this one-of-its-kind contest and the winners were chosen by best-selling author MV Kasi. Below prompt was given to the writers and they were asked to narrate the same story from two different points of view.

Prompt – Write a fictional story in which a viral video plays a key role. Feel free to creatively interpret this concept in any genre of your choice. 

The winners in the Adults’ category were Akshata A. Hegde & Priya Nayak-Gole

Read on….

Story Title: SEVERED

“…. The most heinous crime… severed head of acclaimed singer Radha Madhavi… recovered from the overflowing sewage plant. Singer had disappeared a week ago …” the hypernasal background voice boomed in the staccato buzz of the low fidelity microphone. The police inspector in charge of the case was seen talking to the hospital authorities, his ‘Maa Bhavani’ locket peeking out of his shirt, gleaming at the camera…

Dhanush dropped the hammer used to adjust the Tabla resonance. The news was abuzz with a viral video of his incognito ex.

So why did Radha come home that evening a month after they separated? Everyone had heard them scream profanities at each other before she left, banging the door out of its hinges.

Radha was last seen emerging out of his apartment complex. Since then, the police had hounded him. His credibility was under the scanner; Overnight he was under trial by the media, declared an abusive husband, a megalomaniac, and adorned with every psychobabble defaming his hard-earned reputation.

Radha, portrayed as the victim of marital abuse, was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She had been at the peak of her singing career when she had had her tryst with substance abuse.

But… did she know about his extra-marital flings?

He  had finally pulled down the curtain over their ill-fated relationship. But Dhanush shuddered as the world stilled.

He would now be made the scapegoat.

With trembling hands he picked up his mobile phone and speed-dialed the one whom he reckoned, had his back. They hadn’t spoken for while, but Dhanush was sure help awaited him.

“Prish… I am scared… Hello… hello…?”

He redialled, umpteen times, but the call went unanswered. Why the avoidance, now when they had shared so much…

Teary, Dhanush stared at the tiny instrument that had engulfed the world in the garb of technological advancement.

He typed yet another text.

*******************************************************************

Seventeen missed calls. Countless messages. He smiled snidely….

His painful journey was set to come to a thunderous close!

The pain, agony, and shame had fused into a bloody rage a while ago and the result…. felt deeply cathartic.

Closing his eyes briefly, he clasped the trinket that had borne witness to his downfall.

No one knew his truth.

He had carefully chosen a profession that redefined authority and masculinity, and for a while, that was his erstwhile cocoon. Late nights and his whereabouts were never questioned. After all, he had a permit to scour the city.

Then he met Dhanush. 

A maestro and a popular socialite, Dhanush was regularly plastered across the social page of the newspapers.

The flattering part was Dhanush chose him.  That bar and that fateful room key he placed on the table….

He discovered Dhanush was insatiable and as for him, he had never felt so wanted before.

So alive…

The morning after, Dhanush exchanged numbers before he left.  

It soon became a regular rendevouz. Wednesdays and Fridays.

Dhanush being very much married, never stymied their escalating frenzied passion. And they had conversations after. Banter.

Memorably, Dhanush teased him often for his middle-class ways, especially the religious trinkets on his being.

He knew he was in love. And that is when it spiraled…

What started as a hesitant question escalated into an insistent pleading to leave Radha….

Finally, one day, Dhanush had enough and rolled his eyes.  

Looking straight at him, Dhanush pulled out a cheque book from his bag, scribbling as he spoke the dreaded words marked to be a blood wound…

“You are taking boinking way too seriously, rentboy” Casually smiling, he added, ”Time to part ways. Don’t worry about compensation!”

Stunned, he watched as Dhanush left the cheque on the bed and walked away….

Rentboy…. The offensive word was branded in his heart but the knife that sawed it completely came a few days later…

He was the security at Radha’s concert. As it happened, he had to escort her to her car after it ended.

She looked at him when he approached her. He almost stepped back at the intense dislike and …. Was that disgust?

As they navigated through the crowd, someone tried to grab her. He reached out instantly, trying to shield her. She turned around and pushed him away with sudden violence…

“Don’t… Touch… Me… You… Filthy…Gigolo…”

The seemingly deafening silence that followed turned him into stone. Inside him, the eddies gathered quickly…

Decapitating Radha and having her blood splatter had felt like his burning soul had been doused with ice-cold water.

“Inspector Paritosh …?”

Releasing his vise-like grip on the trinket-  his “Maa Bhavani” locket, he flexed his fist.

Looking straight into the camera, his rehearsed words were measured as he brought the focus of the world on Dhanush.

To be hanged, drawn, and quartered. Soon.

His phone beeped. Dhanush blinked on the screen, ‘ Prish…Please answer!’

Author note: 500-word story on a news article or story I read or saw ( contest entry for ArtoonsInn Writers room) This was a story from 2012 December that took the country by storm and was named Nirbhaya’s story.

Here is the link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2012_Delhi_gang_rape_and_murder

Disclaimer: Contains disturbing news on sexual assault. Read at your discretion.

I have attempted the SOC (Stream of consciousness) narrative design.

Title: Her fault…

She had to take the bus that night, the municipal bus with a broken headlight, paint peeled off, exposing rusted body parts—all in cahoots with the cracked number plate.
For it was Sunday night, and Delhi metro was shut for repairs. So the authorities claimed, unmindful of lesser mortals like her.
Yet she loved the metro night’s misty serenity, how fresh how lively. The gentle night breeze patting her like Amma’s calloused yet soft palms (for she was only nineteen). Amma’s courage and sorrow, tears and endurance holding up in their sleepy town, pea-stick hands adorning her forehead with the ridiculous sindoor for an absentee husband….
She sighed at her silver ring gleaming under the streetlight.
“Stop digging a hole into it…?” Rohit mused in the college cafeteria last evening amidst the cacophony of students and cutlery alike. “… internship’s only for a few weeks.”
Rohit would be back soon; she forgot when, for she was overwhelmed with his sudden proposal, the dull-grey eyes piercing her soul every time he looked, his shy smile lighting up her universe.

She stiffened; horn blared, announcing the bus’s arrival, screeching angrily, halting. These guys sure know to maintain their wheels (she chuckled inwardly). Boarding the creaking stairs in the seemingly-empty-dark-bus, she took a seat that had seen better days, like the corner-most battered library seat. But she loved it (actually, she loved moments spent with Rohit, away from the prying librarian).
She would remember the moment she fell in love with Rohit, not the head-over-heels type, yet endearing.
She loved Delhi streets, loud psychedelic honking mixing with the cranky bus trajectory…  But she missed her town-rickshaws groaning on the roads, if one called them; roads receiving touch-ups only before elections!
Suddenly, hands bore down before the raunchy-hooch-breath stormed her olfactories. She gasped, shocked, bus staff rode on. ‘Don’t travel alone at night.’ One of Amma’s interminable warnings screamed out.
Dragged behind, painfully bumping her head somewhere en route…. the stench unbearable, her fear clouding every other sensation, she saw more. Ghost-like forms emerged out of shaking darkness. Her screams logged in her throat, for a rough hand clamped on her mouth.
Bile rose, fabric ripped (that was Rohit’s birthday gift), her thighs forced apart; Somewhere, Rohit stared above his reading glasses, Amma sobbed…
The painful intrusion into her secret apex shocked her beyond words; wails muted, flailing limbs held down. Numbness seeped in.
‘Don’t wear revealing clothes…’ Amma bizarrely warned.
She was dragged before the sudden flight in the cold air, finally landing with a thud.
Everything had come to a black standstill; the throb of the motor engine as the bus moved away irregularly drummed through her entirety, an Infernus halo engulfing her. The world wavered and quivered as cold wetness clouded her vision; blurring, she saw him above her holding… a rod?
People must notice; people must help. People… she thought.

Darkness raging further; engulfing… was she crossing over? His hand rose; intense cracking excruciation, then darkness…

… silently forever.