Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Ferns and Petals and the occassional Moss


When the call went unanswered the nth time, she opened a new mail and started typing

‘I wanted somebody to send me flowers today.

And then I thought why not send them to you. I chose twelve yellow roses that looked just perfect on my computer screen.  For a moment the screen, that otiose piece of machinery looked perfect against the stretch of ardently greying Delhi sky outside my window. The forecast says it would rain in a few hours. ‘Forecast’, such a beautiful word, isn’t it? ‘Anticipation’ is prettier still.

I placed the order. Called you a minute later to make sure you are at home. An hour later I revoked the order.

 I do not have someone to buy flowers for.’

 

The phone rang; the boss wanted her in the office. Her design briefs were still on the printer.

Once again she had slipped; once again she was losing her edge. Once again she was letting Darwin get the better of her! (Yes, apparently everything is always all about making babies)

She scrolled up, read the email and couldn’t imagine ever sending it to anybody. Heartbreaks are sloppy, slovenly after twenty-four. An attempt at expression is at any cost disappointing. And well disappointments these days, are plain immature.

7 comments:

ike said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
ketamine said...

Well, this is a blog. Not a journal.

The author reserves the right to keep fluctuating between the fictional and the confessional.

Ever heard of short fiction contests? There’s a lot you can do with your blog these days.

Names and numbers give credibility to fiction; used in closed succession (and pitched against timeless sentiments) they might even hint at something more.

I do not believe in disclaimers. But the author of this blog could only complain of receiving flowers out of time, season and or reason, and perhaps only too often.

The idea of ‘that someone’ has long lost its sublimity. It has been consumed by a metaphor. But that’s no trifling matter. ‘Metaphors are not to be trifled with.’

And finally, I do not understand Urdu. I cannot even pretend to.

ike said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
ike said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
ike said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
ketamine said...

It took you four (okay three) comments to trash the piece.

It took me some meddling with online translators to even understand what you wanted to convey.

I am no writer either. I have never written anything remotely profound or even ingeniously clever to match the standards of good advertising. I was not born with an elevated taste. Neither have I assimilated any better. This is not a fit puddle for an enigma to stick his toe into.

But this space shall always remain open to criticism. I can take it, with or without the influence of carbide.

ike said...
This comment has been removed by the author.