Posts tagged ‘concoctions’

On a war footing

He took a brave step forward, much to the chagrin of his cowering second-in-command, who had been forced into that role.

“No, come back. Seriously.”

      “You can stay there if you want. I am going on.”

With that delivered in the imperious style befitting a commander, he gazed forward at the enemy gathered ominously in the distance. Still far, but they had speed. If they wished to charge, they would reach his fort in minutes.

      “Do you really not wish to go? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Are you crazy? Why must you go there when it is obvious they will be upon us soon enough?”

      “Oh stay. But be silent. They will charge when they wish, but I don’t want to hide behind .. behind stuff. That is not the manner of a war chief.”

With that, he ran forward uttering a war-cry. A wind, gathering up speed and matching his howl with one of its own, tore from his grasp the only weapon he carried. He had refused point-blank to wear an armour, and so this had been forced into his hand, with a terse command to atleast be a little sensible. He now relinquished it without fuss. His second watched this proceeding with dismay.

Whether in response to his challenge, or because its own mind was made up, the enemy charged. It roared and came rushing and flying down to his fort, loosing all its arrows upon the dimunitive defending army of two. There was such a fearsome noise it was difficult to ascertain who made it. The battle was as short as it was furious. The victor had been decided even before it was known there was to be a war.

The vanquished chief returned to his fort, drenched to the bone, with a grin on his face.

      “That was fun.”

Grim fairy tales

The shoemaker and the elves – reincarnated as ‘The programmer and the elves’

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There was once a programmer who worked very hard and was very honest. He did earn enough money to live on, but never got the time to spend it, as he was always hunched over his laptop, working on the latest assignment which had unreasonable delivery dates.

One day, he was assigned a task and given a more unreasonable than usual deadline to finish it. It looked like he would have to skip – 6 meals, a bath, charging his iPhone, checking his emails – and still travel back in time to last month to get it done. No wonder he was panic stricken. He gulped several times when told to do the task, and then, like others of his ilk, nodded and got down to it. He stayed in the office as long as he could, and then when the insistent phone calls (they were from his home, btw) took a threatening turn, he hibernated his machine (Powered down? Are you crazy?) and travelled home. Once there, he had 1 meal, mollified the threatener and then, of course, got back to work. If it is any consolation to you, he did not charge his phone, neither did he check his emails. Time travel was of course out of the question.
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Do I know you?

 Shalini tapped her fingers on the railing, in time to the music she was hearing on her music player. Occasionally, her foot also tapped, independent of the music and in time to her impatience. After having all checked in together, her friends had gone on an impromptu, and yet, seemingly pre-decided loo break, leaving her to mind the luggage. Now she was attracting the stray, curious glances of people, glances which needed no words to ask the question – Why was this girl looking after so many pieces of luggage?

 Someone apprached her and asked, “May I sit besides you?” Shalini shrugged and emptied the chair next to her and then paused to look at who had spoken. It was a girl her own age, and looking like she’d gotten married yesterday. She had all the typical signs about her – the armful of bangles, the long smear of sindoor, the newly shining mangalsutra , long jhumkas swinging in her ears . And yet, she was no village belle. Her clothes were of a fashionable cut, she was wearing stilettos, and her hair was casually yet purposefully twisted into a neat knot. 

‘Definitely newly married, and going on her honeymoon’ thought Shalini. The girl smiled at her, probably understanding her thoughts.

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To be or not to be?

He would win. He always had. The goal in question could be an argument, a promotion, or the hand of his fair lady, as was the case now. He had the conviction he was in the right, which usually lent untold power to your plans, as well as fear and doubt to your foes. Be they the bosses at work, or parents, as was the case now.

His lady was fair, intelligent, accomplished and much sought after. Perseverance was not her virtue. It was his.

So he would win. Or had he already lost?

‘Tis the season to be jolly

‘Tea’. ‘Coffee’.

It was meant to go downhill.

‘Tiramisu for dessert’. ‘I don’t have a sweet tooth’.

‘Please take away the candle’. ‘Let’s not spoil the romantic mood’.

Your risotto sir. Madam, the fish you ordered is not available. What can I get for you instead?

‘Why are you mad at me? It’s not my fault’. ‘Sorry, but it is. Why did you book here today’?

‘Why don’t you order for us’? ‘I’ll have the tomato on ciabatta as a starter. He’s not having anything’.

‘You look like you are enjoying this’. ‘Oh yes,  I try’.

‘Impossible. Can you not arrange something..’? ‘Let’s adjust, shall we, sweetheart’?

Madam. Sir. There has been a mistake.

A table, double-booked by mistake, in an over-full restaurant during Christmas.

***********


P.S. Do read it both ways.

Two versions of the same story. Do tell which one you like better.
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I)

Ornate, simple, detailed and simultaneously beautiful. A circle, supposed to symbolize never-ending love, wrought in the exact colours and way she used to like. A gold circlet, breaking up into 2 bands to hold a triangle of diamonds, with one of the bands being white gold.

Try it on. It fits. It’s for you.

Big grins and hugs.

She tilted her hand and carefully slid it on to the polished glass counter. It hit the counter with a soft tinkle.

Ma’am, we can give you so much for it. Although it is our own design, wrought by us, you have to understand it’s more than 2 decades old. We will have to break it and mould it agai..

Sighing, she got to her feet. Yes, I understand, Dahlia. I don’t really care how much it brings. Credit it to my account.

After all, it was another life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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