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Anuttam Anant - II

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  Village. ‘Mr. Ananta Suri, lawyer. He is from New Delhi. He had read about our struggle from the news article that we had published last week in the newspaper. He is here to support us.’ Lobsang was relieved at the presence of someone from the capital city showing interest in their cause. He introduced this young, handsome lawyer to Athang. Also, inside his mind, he was ambivalent about this stranger suspecting it to be a foul play of the opponent. Lobsang was disappointed to see Athang with no one by his side, ‘Where is Sheshnag? You had promised me to ...’ St. Athang’s head was already drooped in embarrassment. ‘Sheshnag instructed me to be here. Rest, I don’t know.’ Both were dismayed. Anant talked with the villagers in their local language with empathy and concern so that everybody could relate to him. In a short time, he was popular in the village. After learning the views from the villagers, his next agenda was to know the company that was to do the construction. ...
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Anuttam Anant - I

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  Village. The ‘ mukhiya ’ was sitting on the pedestal of the huge statue of the first chief of this village. The pedestal was made such that it extended outward, creating space for a person to sit comfortably on a higher platform than the rest of the sitting area, imitating a king’s throne. For the first time in his tenure as the ‘ mukhiya ’, Lobsang was clueless about the solution for which everyone had gathered today. Lobsang was a kind-hearted person with acute decision-making capability. The Dihang River was the life of this village. The abundant nature, comprising both flora and fauna, was considered to be blessed by the Dihang. They regularly worshipped the mighty river to receive its blessings. ‘We need to save our Dihang from the encroachers.’ An octogenarian shouted from behind. ‘I am leaving for Amarnath to meet St. Athang. I believe he has a solution for us. I agree, we want development in our region but not at the expense of our Dihang.’ Lobsang looked at eve...
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When the Courtyard Contemplates

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Little Meena, oblivious of her circumambient, was twirling, dancing, and hopping around her mother, firmly clenching the  pallu  of her saree. The teeny-sized frock and the two bunches of hair tied securely near the scalp, symmetrically on either side of her round head, also accompanied this whirlwind. The frock was gifted to her by her aunt just a few months ago during Durga Puja and she has already outgrown its length, evincing her fast growth. She was giggling and shrieking in joy. The mother would now and then reprimand her softly with a buzzing sound while she unreservedly toppled over her head. ‘Ma.. ma.., what are you plepaling?’ The three-year-old enquired with a lisping and sputtering voice while her eyes scrutinized the ingredients that her mother had kept aside to prepare her famous mango pickles. Some of these were introduced for the first time to her eyes. The only element known to her was the mangoes because of her excessive affinity towards these delicious drupe...
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#awritingquill 
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THE DOOR

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  Sunaina pushed the blue door with her entire body force. The long steel handle on each door of the pair was enough to establish a firm grip. But its texture suggested it to be cumbrous, made up of pure teak wood, very large, lofty, and high. She had never seen such a door in her life and was amazed by its beauty. She whispered in her husband’s ear, ‘What kind of door is this? So big and blue in colour. No thief on earth will ever be able to break it open.’ The husband pushed her to the left, with a fake smile to the waiters scattered all over the restaurant near each table, eager to serve and take orders. It was dinner time. The man had never taken his wife to such a costly restaurant earlier. Earlier, it was mostly the ‘ chat’ houses serving ‘ panipuri ’, ‘ tikki ’, etc. He had recently started earning a lot when a business venture had clicked at the right place. His long-awaited dream of dining with his wife in such a luxurious eatery had finally come true. They dressed th...
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