Short Story Archive for Emotions:

Dear Neena ….

tis almost a year and am still reeling from your loss as so many little big things remind me of you …
upon waking up in the morning when I make myself a cup of tea I remember how I made you laugh and the tea would stream out of your nostrils and you’d beg me to shut up … and nowadays as I reach out for cardamom for my tea I remember how you’d so generously shared few small packets with me…
when I grab cloves for flavoring my tea ..I remember your quick tip on how to press the clove pod between thumb and index finger for instant seasoning … and all those quick-fix recipe suggestions for your domestically disabled little sister still make me smile….
songs from old Hindi movies remind me of you..especially the ones we sang together trying to drown out each other …in one-upmanship…..
last week of October brings me close to you as we’d had so much fun on your birthday by ourselves …you’d say I am the step one as there’s no party for me on my birthday ..only on yours ..and I’d try to cheer you up by getting your favorite flavor in ice-cream bars and then we’d insert a lit sparkler in a cup cake and you’d sing “Happy birthday to me” amidst many giggles….as we foxtrotted and waltzed around the living room …
you were always the strong one in our growing years…how can I forget that you singlehandedly dismissed the whole opposition team while playing kabbaddi in our usual haunt …the five gardens in Wadala, Bombay of yesteryears ….that victory still tastes sweet upon recall…
I miss you so much that I often avert my eyes while combing my hair as I see you looking at me …
I don’t know when this gaping hole in my heart will be filled as it’s tough to carry on without your cheery encouraging voice…
I miss you so much that it hurts… …I hope you know …
“You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.” ~ Anne Lammott

can love be passé

can writing about love be passé tad overdone? no, never

there is so much to love,

a veritable Smörgåsbord in sights, sounds, emotions, songs, poems and all those beating hearts that resound with love in all its more than fifty shades –

everything has an aching beauty that makes my eyes smart involuntarily, heartbeats quicken, catches in my throat choking as I silently clap and weep at same time-

such is life’s bounty-

we are all brigands of love in its splendored glory made keener when its lost and found- there is an innate joy in everything

Even when stuck in a pitiful morass of depression, I found a firefly –
a tremulous feeling of hope as I grabbed that last straw and
fumbled my way back to life –
I am a diehard romantic
hopelessly in love with life
longing to bid goodbye
as every ending is a new
adventure in the making


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Pierre Auguste Renoir (French artist, 1841-1919) Young Woman Sewing

Painting is by Renoir

Saudade (Portuguese)

The feeling of longing
for something or someone
who you love and which is lost.
Or as Manuel de Melo has put it,
“A pleasure you suffer, an ailment you enjoy.”

there is an inexpressible sense of cozy comfort knowing that you’ve fully loved someone who even though, no longer a physical presence in your life, still thrives as a crucial part of your mind, your soul and continues to lend impetus to your imaginatively woven scenarios of “what ifs” “if only” speculative tangential wanderings giving daily life an intriguing twist and turn – an intrinsic part of life’s fabric of you as a whole


Changes face

In mouth
Sands fall, scaring
Heart further

Wound musically

Gaps in names

Salty roots
Of darkened
Hair, time to let
Hair down
For heart to heart

Are those precious
Gems that need
To be enjoyed

Hope – 55 word Micro

Collecting money from turning in recyclables, she bought lottery tickets.  Prayers
had been futile.    Determinedly, she scratched.  One ticket was a perfect match.
She’d won million jackpot.  Falling on her knees she thanked the Madonna.

A gentle voice replied, “Child I did hear you and once you did your part, I did mine.  Bless you”.


They’d written him off.  Relegated to nondescript office, he felt like a used newspaper.
After years of loyalty, he’d become redundant.  It was time to collect his debt.
Biting the bullet, he made the call.  Next day he was reinstated with alacrity amidst
great fanfare of backslaps and sheepish apologies.   “Given word” bore much clout.


“Ella, you cannot win.” screamed Bella.  Pretty and spoiled she’d become a bully.  Plain Ella had a fine mind.  Being younger, she’d let Bella win.  Their socialite parents favored Bella over Ella except granny.  Hoping to win parent’s love and attention she decided to outshine Bella by fully applying herself.  Next day, she stood first.


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