The Murderer

Photo (c) Ted Strutz

The Murderer

 Words 101

“I’ll kill you!” Sagar lunged at his son-in-law. “You blood sucking leech…”

“Calm down!” Family members intervened. “Meeta committed suicide.”

“Why would she?” An overwrought Sagar spat. “Meeta wanted nothing. I gave her everything, TV, car, even a luxury cruise. Besides she had a lucrative job.”

“Meeta was depressed.”

“Nonsense!” distraught, Reeta interrupted. “She often complained about her in-laws. They were torturing and abusing her. Meeta wanted to leave them.”

“Exactly.” Sagar brushed his cheeks. “They killed her.”

“Meeta begged you to let her to come back home.” Reeta retorted. “But each time, you sent her back. You killed her Papa.”


A/N Forgive me I am rather obsessed with this subject. Over here in India, stringent laws are in place against in-laws regarding dowry and bride burning. But my question is if parents were more supportive why would girls (especially qualified educated financially independent working women) commit suicide or even stick around to be murdered or worse? Perhaps it is time parents are booked as well.

Written for the Friday Fictioneers – a story in 100 words or less. Thanks to Rochelle for hosting this challenge and Ted Strutz for the photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.


The Foster Parent

Foster P

This week, for Becca’s Sunday Trees, I have a massive Neem (Azadirachta indica) tree in idyllic surroundings.


Isn’t she magnificent? And not just that. Here’s what I missed in the first time I took this aerial shot.


Just a little lower down, nestling within the hardened bark are the tender young leaves of the Peepal (Ficus religiosa) tree. Truly a miracle of nature don’t you think?

Thanks for visiting 🙂

WPS: When the Going Gets Tough

Screen Shot 2017-10-07 at 7.50.11 pm

Image from Google maps

WPS: When the Going Gets Tough

Words 151

 “I don’t want to go school.” Ronak whined.

“You got no choice.” Sara packed their lunch. “Hurry up Palak!”

Palak jogged her arm. “Mom can I stay over at Rima’s?”


“You’re mean!”

“And you’re late. Hurry!”

“Where’s my sweater?” A querulous voice called.

Damn. “Hurry!” Sara hustled them. “The bus is here!”

“Sara,” the husband popped up, “The boss is coming to dinner tonight.”

Ugh! Better soak chickpeas.

“Ma your sweater…”

“That isn’t mine.”

“Take it please.”

“I want mine.”

“Please Ma! I have a meeting.” Giving the crinkling tea a regretful look, Sara slipped the sandwich into her purse. “Bye!”


Rohit dropped into her cabin. “Need help with your presentation?”

“Almost done.” Sara gave thumbs up.


“Thanks Tullika,” Sara smiled, “Just make sure nobody disturbs me until the meeting.”


Sara slid into her chair, kicked off her heels and bit into her sandwich.

Thank God for office.


A/N Sorry I am terribly late (Sara’s story could be mine!) but the linky was open so I jumped in 😀  Thanks for reading!

Written for What Pegman Saw – a story in 150 words or less.  Thanks to K. Rawson for hosting the challenge and Google Maps for the photo prompt. To read the other stories inspired by this prompt click here.



WPC: Windows

I am a ‘bit’ behind in my photo challenges but since I had them sorted I insist on posting them. The weekly photo challenge topic last week was Windows and here’s my selection – hope you like. 🙂

WpubWindows come in all shapes and sizes, with or without balconies and serve all kind of  purposes.

ArtAs a showcase for art


AirportOr marvel at the thick clouds rolling in from the mountains and wonder if your flight will be on time or perhaps even take off…

RiverAnd then when the flight does take off, fret – why are all the rivers dry?

TrainYet, nowadays I find it more fun to look at windows rather than through windows.

Airport WindowThe distorted images remind me of the masks and facades we wear all the time, sometimes even to our own selves.

MeltdownBecause of which we often miss the imminent meltdown until it is too late

Train rainWallowing in our own selves, our vision blurred by our own tears we can no longer appreciate the beauty of the world that has been gifted to us.

Crack wIt is up to us if we wish to focus on the crack, the skew, the distortion or the serenity of the mighty Ganga as she flows steady and sedate ready to meet her destiny and lose her self in the Bay of Bengal.

ReflectionSometimes it is imperative to draw the curtains on our own self and look beyond the self.

W cleanersWe must appreciate and count our blessings as we look out into the world secure and safe while others hang by a thread just so that their bellies are a little bit fuller.

But it is just possible that the overdose of philosophy may have made your life a tad bit more difficult and depressing. 😦

In that case there is only one thing to do…

ShoppingPut on your most comfortable pair of shoes and go for a bit of window shopping! 😀 But wait, why just window shop? While out, loosen your purse strings, spend some dough and spread some cheer this festive season 🙂

Thank you for visiting – have a great weekend!






#WordSante – Let the blog love begin

Yohoo fellow bloggers here’s something that is exactly what one’s dusty old ignored but beautiful posts have been waiting for – a fresh lease of life. Read on and join the refreshing initiative by Varad and Namrata



Feel free to add the badge to your posts. 🙂

Hey fellow writers,

Right off the bat let me join my better half, fellow writer and partner in crime, Namy (@Namysaysso) in welcoming you all to WordSante – a fortnightly linkup party aimed at creating and providing a platform for you, the writer, to display your work.

Sante in Kannada means ‘market’. So this is a market for the written word. You might wonder ‘What? Yet another linkup party?’ or ‘I’m already involved with quite few such linkups. Where will I go for content for one more such linkup?’

The simple answer is ‘Your blog’. WordSante is an open for all platform where you can link your blog post written maybe even 10 years ago. Let me give you an example. When I decided to create a blog for my stories, the first post I wrote was a…

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Just 4 Fun # 57

Hello peepuls! How was your week? I had a blast of course what with it being the festival season and a long weekend. Now I am too exhausted to even think of going back to work routine 😦 Oh well time for some fun. About ten days ago I sent the car in for some repairs and the mechanic lost my car keys! What a mess right? Anyway the chap was good enough to have the locks replaced with his own money although my brother did suggest using the great Indian jugaad strategy 😉


I am sure it would have saved the mechanic a lot of money 😀


Here’s another example of the Indian jugaad – the new roti-maker. Wonder if he has patented it yet 😀 That reminds me, during my college days my iron conked off and I couldnt be bothered to get it repaired but i needed to iron my clothes. So I put it on the hot plate, heated it and then ironed my clothes. True story!


For some reason I found this terribly funny – what about you?


Speaking about finding…


On a more serious note, I would like to end this post on a sensational murder…


Hope you found something that you enjoyed – none of which are mine by the way. I received all of them as forwards/shares and am just keeping the fun going.

Have a super week and don’t forget to have some fun as well 🙂

And do let me know your favorite – or better still post your own and leave me a link I will be along in just a bit.


The Beefy One


Standing at the edge of a children’s playground this tree seems to have been working out 😉

I came across an excellent piece on trees by Hermann Hesse. I thought perhaps you may like to read it too.

Bäume: Betrachtungen und Gedichte [Trees: Reflections and Poems]

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one’s suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

Linked to Becca’s Sunday Trees – 307