Farmer's Market

It was a busy Saturday morning at the Farmer’s market. People meandered through stalls of fresh produce, fast food and artistic handcrafted goods. Tobias stared morosely over the top of a fat, green cabbage at the bustling activity. His nose twitched as the scent of sizzling hamburgers and banana bread wafted past him.

He had been assigned temporary management status over his father’s vegetable stall for the next two hours while his father dealt with a minor family emergency. Their dog, Dog, had tried to test the edibility of a can of boot polish and deciding that it was better out than in, had proceeded to throw up all over the house. And on his great-aunt Mirabel - who’d fainted. Until she was resurrected, Tobias’s taciturn neighbour who sold melancholy woodcuts was asked to kindly watch over him.

Tobias wasn’t particularly happy about this arrangement. He’d rather be partaking of the colourful activity on the other side of the artichokes than exchanging silent nods with a man who hadn’t spoken three words since the continental drift happened. Instead, here he was, organizing a mêlée between the fearless red peppers and the circumspect, yet no less formidable beets. It appeared the brussel sprouts had sided with the peppers and were insidiously infiltrating the beet camp. The beets didn’t really have much of a plan. They just rolled over all opponents. Toby liked beets. He felt this was good enough reason to grant them victory. The peas cheered from the stands.

Giving a carrot one last poke, he sighed. As far as sighs go, this was the sort that indicates that though the sighee has come to grudging terms with the present situation, he is feeling decidedly put upon, and would seriously, honestly, die to be anywhere else, doing homework in his room even, than be here with vegetables for company, Mr. Woodcut included.

“Well, hello there, sweetie, aren’t you a big boy looking after your daddy’s business?” enquired a middle-aged voice, dripping sweetness.

Toby stared. Was she serious? He was ten years old, not some gibbering toddler. 

The woman’s mega-wattage smile faltered in the face of Toby’s unimpressed stance, “Uhm, so where is your daddy? I’m having the girlfriends over for supper tomorrow, and Muffy just loves her veggies. Oh, let me tell you, that woman could use a bit more meat in her diet but it’s that husband of hers, always going on about some new diet fad-”

“Peas are 3$ for the pound,” Toby cut in.

Startled at the interruption, she paused.

“For your vegetarian friend, Fluffy. She’ll like them. Very fresh. So are the carrots. You can make her a nice tofu steak to go with it,” Toby said quickly, filling a bag with farm freshness, “Honest, she’ll be surprised it’s not meat, that’s how good they are. You can buy them at Penny’s Organic store. That’ll be 5$ and 53 cents, please.”

Dazed, Muffy’s considerate host accepted the bag shoved into her face and handed Toby the money.

Before she could recover, he desperately grinned at her, “Thank you for your business, please come back next week, oh, I think that lady at Penny’s store might be waving at you…’kay bye!”

Toby felt a tiny pang of guilt as she uncertainly waddled away. Sitting back, he sighed and caught Mr. Woodcut’s gaze.

He had an impressed glint in his eye, and nodded his approval. Toby wondered what Mr. Woodcut would have done. Just stare people into silence, probably. For all that people wanted to be listened to, with or without the listener’s consent, there was something very unsettling about the yawning receptiveness of the truly unflappable.

Proud of his first sale, Toby surveyed passing customers shrewdly, but not too closely, in case they felt the need to coo over the young proprietor of the fruit and veg stand.

“Toby! Hey! Whatcha doing?”

It was his friend, Wren, trailing behind his mother.

“Hey, Wren. Just watching my dad’s store for a bit,” he said as indifferently as he could, trying to imply that this was minor compared to other important things on his agenda.

“Cool! My dad would never let me do something like that. He says I’m as unmanageable as a sack full of angry cats.”

“Wren!” his mother flushed, “Wren is just joking, as was his father. Isn’t that right, Wren?”

At his mother’s pointed expression, Wren replied slowly, “But you also said-”

Coughing loudly, Wren’s mother took his hand in hers and turned an embarrassed smile at Toby, “Well, these sure do look fresh. How much for the asparagus?”

As Toby completed the transaction, he caught up on the events since the previous afternoon, because everybody knows that an evening is a lifetime of interesting happenings in the life of a ten year old. Virtual villains were slain with gut-spilling gusto, empires were created, and strategies spawned; but only for an hour because too many videogames are bad for the eyes, and you better clean your room right now, young man, or you’re not getting any chocolate fudge ice cream after dinner.

And thus did the time pass, with Toby filling up his father’s cash box using his winning smile and excellent customer service, which largely involved saying, “Yeah, 4.50$ please, thank you, laters.”

Toby saw his father rushing through the crowd, looking frustrated and not a little anxious, “Hey son, how’s it going?”

“Good,” Toby continued proudly, “We made 64$ and 29 cents. Wren’s mom said to keep the change and your friend Alan said to remind you about fishing tomorrow. He said you should pick up bait. Is that worms? Can I see them when you get them?”

Grinning affectionately, his dad ruffled Toby’s hair, “Good job, son. Maybe next time, you can come with me when I go pick these up from the farm. Thanks for watching him,” he said to Mr. Woodcut, who simply nodded amiably.

“Can I go see the stores, now?”

“Sure, ask Mel to go with you. Here’s twenty dollars. Get whatever you want,” he grinned as Toby whooped and gave him a quick hug before dashing off to fulfill his dreams for the day.

All in all, he reflected later, as he chomped on an artery-clogging cheeseburger with one hand and hacked at invisible opponents with his newly purchased wooden samurai sword with the other, market day ruled.

The Ride Back Home

You wait amidst the bustling crowd, your face turned towards the right in a synchronous display of neck arching that is the custom about 30 seconds before the train arrives. A huge billowing column of air smacks you in the face and you position your feet in an alert, ready-to-board stance.
Train stops, you clamber on with your newly styled crazy-cat lady hair and race a high-school kid/punk to a vacant seat with your name on it. Sure, the lady next to you is oozing on to half of your seat, but as someone who identifies with the burden of excess blubber to a lesser degree, you hold no grudges, and with a gamely attitude try to keep as much of your behind on the seat as you can without toppling over.
You give a small smile as you think about what awaits you at the end of the ride. Old comedy episodes on youtube, reheated food from the day before, and at the end of it all…that comfy bed with the stuffed multicoloured chameleon that doubles as a pillow or even a foot-rest. Sigh, life is good.
As you gaze out the window, you notice a large truck with six pairs of wheels drive by, with another pair hovering in the midsection. Spare tires, you realize. It occurs to you that even you, like the truck, carry your spare tires around your midsection and chuckle inwardly. Then you make a solemn promise never to say this joke out loud in public.
You make the cursory glance to the doors as more people climb in at the next station and freeze. There he is, you think. Your daily dose of tall, handsome man. He’s not even dressed like a tramp. What a bonus. Trying to keep your expression neutral you try not to bounce in your seat when he sits across from you.
You drift into daydreams while trying to pretend that you’re not checking him out. You’re hardly a hormone-driven adolescent with uncontrollable urges. For a moment, you clench your bag tighter and think, maybe not literally. He meets your gaze. You’re struck motionless. You flush guiltily. He’s smiling slightly.
You wish you’d reset your hair. Maybe worn a less conservative shirt. And then, that hideous, ugly wench that calls herself your sense of low self-esteem crawls on to your shoulder and whispers to you, “He’s probably looking at the girl behind you. Oh, and did I mention, you suck!”
You deflate just a wee bit, but before that bitter hag fills your ears with more poison, a tiny flea-sized entity also known as your spirit rears up like the champion it is and smites the venomous wench with the sword of rationality. In a frail voice, your spirit quavers, “Don’t listen to her! Maybe you do look a bit weird right now, but I think you’re cool! On a side note, I think he is looking at you.”
You notice a quizzical light in his eyes. Then you realize that while your will waged an internal battle you likely had a glazed look in your eyes reminiscent of that seen in the eyes of slain pomfret in the seafood section at the supermarket. You clear your throat, and smile tentatively. His smile broadens.
Little cherubs explode with joy in your heart and you can barely hear anything what with the loud trumpeting and cat calls. As the train slows down, he gets up and waits at the doors, winking at you before he gets off.
You gape, mouth slightly ajar in an ultra-cool response. The lady next to you leans over and says, “That boy, he is fine.”
You nod meekly as you watch the pretty boy shuffle along, and out of your life. Oh well, at least you got a wink out of it. Maybe there’s ice cream at the end of the ride home too.

Kalpana

The little black bird perched itself high on a branch and started nuzzling its feathers with its bright red beak. Kalpana stumbled up to the base of the tree and grinned at the little bulbul. Unable to decide which path to take in the woods, she had decided to just follow the bird instead of making a choice. As the bulbul crooned its song softly, she felt her impulse had once again rewarded her.
She turned, her bare feet absorbing the dew-coated forest floor. She wiggled her toes and squatted to watch a little spider scuttle across her big toe. Careful not to step on anything that moved, she took in her surroundings. Tall forest trees, the names of which she’d probably learn, and just as soon forget, stood around her like sentinels. Some had smooth, long trunks; some, gnarly and multi-branched. Their dark green leaves were laden with moisture and barely stirred. Some of the taller trees seemed to shoot straight through the thin mist that blanketed the forest. It was like a cloud had temporarily sought rest overhead.
She squelched her way to a gigantic banyan tree. It must have been at least 5 metres in diameter; its branches trailed down like whiskers on an old man. Alongside the branches dangled colourful scarves and ribbons. So many wishes for the sacred tree, she thought. Bright red, blue, pink, even a yellow polka-dotted dupatta that looked like it had a great deal more sequins than it had now. Some of the birds likely plucked them off it to beautify their homes.
The banyan tree had a history. It simply had to. It may have been dwarfed in height by the surrounding trees on the little island of mist, yet it stood out, twisted, colourful and ancient. Not as old as the forest, but a continuation of the wisdom, the cycle of life. Surely, in many of the stories, the events that unfolded here, this tree would have had a part to play. Longings: for a lover, a parent, a mansion or maybe even a confection, had left their mark here. How many had been fulfilled, Kalpana wondered.
As she walked around the banyan tree, so did her imagination drift. There was magic here. Secret pacts of childhood, whispered promises of love, and solitary moments of thought…they all hung in the air, taking on a life of their own. She could imagine giggling children weaving in and out of these trees. Tales of dark peril and heroism. Soldiers of another time, of an ancient kingdom, fleeing for their lives from a greater threat, or perhaps advancing to defeat it. As Kalpana scraped her fingers over the tree trunk, she wondered what her mood demanded today. Was it a story of valour and triumph, or one of fun and laughter?
She turned abruptly when she saw a tiny dark shape scurry away. She smiled widely. Mystical and awe-inspiring. Perfect. She envisioned a young boy. He would have to been an outcast from society. Why else would he seek refuge in this vast and dangerous forest? There would be beasts. Great, mythical, fantastical beasts who walked the earth, like maybe giant white wolves with piercing blue eyes. Perhaps the boy would have the power to make them yield to him. Hmm, a world with humans, and not-entirely-human people. People with the traits and powers of animals. There would be wars of course, but far away. Where she was in the moment, there would be harmony, and the strife borne of an unfortunate beginning, but tinged with hope of joy to come. Anything she could imagine, was. All she had to do was change her mind, and the world would be as she wanted; the magic bleeding out into her reality from that of her imagination.
She sighed and decided it was getting late. Her mother would probably have a lecture prepared for her for vanishing in a new place. She began humming a tune and skipped in time with it, back to her grandmother’s house. She noted that her mother was standing on the back porch, looking out towards the woods. She quickened her pace, and waved.
Her face lined with concern, her mother lightly swatted Kalpana when she raced up to her, “I told you not to be away so long! You shouldn’t go into the woods alone. You’re new to this place. God knows what kind of people roam there.”
Kalpana gamely accepted the rest of her mother’s admonishing, figuring it was due anyway. Her sparkling eyes shone with amusement, and belied her contrite expression. Sandhya knew her daughter perhaps better than she knew herself, and merely sighed, “You’ll never learn. Come, your grandmother needs help in the kitchen.”
Her grandmother was a sturdy woman of seventy. She never revealed how many years over seventy, so they’d been wishing her a happy seventieth birthday for a few years now. She was sitting on the floor, one leg stretched out, as she ground some pungent-smelling ingredients into a paste. The heels of her feet were cracked as a desert parched for water, and almost hard as stone. Her head, thick with white hair tied in a bun, lifted as they came in. She cackled, showing her betelnut-stained teeth, “There you are. You’ll worry your mother to death some day. Lost in the woods again, were you?”
“Lost in the woods, lost in my thoughts, same thing,” Kalpana hugged her grandmother around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.
“You’re too old for daydreams. Now you’ve finished college, you’ll find a job soon. And before you know it, marriage!”
Kalpana made an exaggerated gesture of pain, making her grandmother laugh. They busied themselves in making dinner whilst chattering about the latest in village gossip.
Later that night, Kalpana tossed and turned in bed. Normally she rather enjoyed the prelude to falling asleep. Here, in the dark, her imagination was most uninhibited. In her mind’s eye, she would see civilizations fall and rebuilt, underdogs seizing victory after a lifetime of antagonism, sailors adrift on an ocean blanketed under stars…and sometimes, she would see herself. She would be impressing her colleagues with her skills, confronting someone who had wronged her while still being dignified, meeting the love of her life at an unexpected moment.
She’d been trying to sleep for 3 hours now, without succeeding. Her waking dreams were giving way to frustration and the hopelessness of facing that none of them were actually true. Quietly, she crept out of bed, trying not to wake her mother. She made some coffee, heavy on the sugar, and poured it into a small, steel glass. Inhaling deeply of the scent of caffeine, she settled down cross-legged on the verandah and watched the moon. The dark silhouette of trees rustling in the breeze cloaked the night.
Sipping her coffee, Kalpana watched the night come alive. The crickets were chirping somewhere nearby. She could hear the distant cry of the nightjar. She tried not to think of the responsibilities that lay ahead. She turned when she heard the tinkling of her mother’s ankle bracelets.
Her mother smiled, “You’re turning into more of an insomniac than me.”
Kalpana sighed and rested her head on her mother’s shoulder, “You don’t understand the stresses that we, the new generation have to endure each day.”
Her mother laughed and poked her in the ribs. They sat in contented silence for a while.
“It’s a beautiful night,” Sandhya murmured.
Kalpana hummed in assent and settled her head in her mother’s lap.
“Were you dreaming again?” her mother stroked Kalpana’s hair.
“Maybe,” Kalpana smiled, her eyes closed, “Do you think I dream too much?”
“Of course!”
Kalpana’s eyelids flickered open, “Well, yes, I do. But do you think it’s like grandma says? Am I too old to be doing this? Maybe I should grow up.”
“Who said you aren’t grown up? You have the sensibilities of someone older than you.”
“Yes, but. None of it’s real. And, perhaps it’s childish. I have all these things I need to do. Get a job, get married, have kids, grow old. None of these things seem to encourage being fanciful.”
“Now that does sound dull when you put it like that. Kalpana, why do you make these fantasies up?”
“I suppose…because I enjoy them. I don’t know. I don’t really have to try very hard. Sometimes they just come when I see something, or hear some kind of music. I just run with them. I mean, I’m not ignoring my duties. I do everything that’s required of me. Mostly,” she grinned.
“Yes. The point is, it doesn’t consume you. It comforts you. You see magic in the most ordinary things. That can be a very precious gift. You laugh more, you live more.”
When Kalpana remained silent, her mother went on, “I know you think your name is too common, but do you know why you were named Kalpana?”
“Why?”
“Your father named you. You’re so much like him,” Sandhya paused and stared at the moon wistfully, “The first night after our wedding, I was so nervous. I had been told some awkward stories from my married friends and my mother. Your father had always been courteous and kind to me until that point, but…”
“You were afraid that in his amorousness he would forget being gentle,” Kalpana pouted her lips in kissing motions.
Her mother laughed and slapped her lightly on the cheek, “Essentially, yes. So there I was, lying shyly on my side of the bed, waiting. Then all of a sudden he sits up, bolt upright in bed, and insists that we go for a walk. I thought he had gone mad. We were staying here. There was nothing for miles around, then. I was a city girl, so I thought there would be wolves and bears in every corner of the woods.”
Her eyes alight with interest, Kalpana asked, “What happened then?”
“I agreed. I wanted to delay the inevitable. It was frightening at first, but he just held my hand and pointed out the different trees, and named the creatures making the sounds. Then he began telling me stories. I was so enthralled I hadn’t even realized it was almost sunrise,” Sandhya sighed, “He was the most charming man. And a good one. He often told me stories, you know. And you, as well. Even when you were a baby. You used to like the sound of his voice. You’d cry if he didn’t tell you a story before you went to bed. I wish he had lived until you were a little older. ”
“I wish I could remember him more,” Kalpana said softly.
Her mother leaned down and kissed her forehead, “Coming back to why he named you. Kalpana means ‘imagination’. He said then, that he didn’t know what legacy he would leave behind with his daughter, but at least if she had the gift of seeing the magic in things, he would feel like he had passed on something vital.”
“I never knew that,” Kalpana whispered, her eyes damp.
“You’re his legacy, my love. Don’t ever let anyone convince you that you’re too old to dream. You know better than that. Your father certainly did.”
Kalpana swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and squeezed her mother’s hand. She buried part of her face in her mother’s sari, which smelled of her, like talcum and jasmine. As she watched the moon, her eyes fluttered close, and she slowly drifted into memories, of what was, and what only existed in dreams.

White Noise

It started out as a light drizzle. Little dark brown spots speckled the earth, growing in size as the rain fell harder. Fé stared out the window, eyes blurring until the school grounds swirled in a hazy mix of muted colours. Her textbook lay open on page 54, detailing complex theorems, which their teacher was replicating on the blackboard.
She sat at the back, as usual, her gaze half lingering on an empty seat two rows ahead. Her pencil made a point on her notebook, unmoving, as if waiting for the rain to finish dictating before it copied down its message. A sudden gust of wind sprayed water through the rusted bars of the ancient windows, splattering her desk. Some girls sitting next to her shrieked, in turns asking or ordering her to close the window before they all got soaked.
Fé merely ignored them, locking away the foreign sounds of the classroom in a corner of her mind. Her ears were tuned in to the noise of the pounding downpour, straining to hear something, a whisper, an indication. Something. Against her will, she looked at the empty seat out of the corner of her eyes, pleading for reassurance.
But all she could feel was the world around her threatening to drown out the low murmur she was trying so hard to decipher. Her hand trembled on her page. She dismissed it as a reaction to the cold rain that was currently drenching her.
“God, Fé, would you please shut the window, we’re drowning here!” someone wailed.
She didn’t hear them. She blinked at her notes. A small raindrop was collected around her pencil point, slowly dissolving the peripheral graphite. She watched the little grey flecks swim in the little pool, entranced. Another raindrop appeared just beneath it. She gently dabbed her fingertip in it, faintly surprised at its warmth. What an unusual raindrop, she thought, unaware of the moist line running down her cheek.
An annoyed classmate was about to get up to close the window when an arm reached out to stop him.
“What?” he asked, very annoyed.
“Don’t. Just, just let her be, alright?” responded a worried voice.
“You don’t think that…look, it’s been three months since Abigail…well, you know. She should be over that by now,” he concluded, slightly unconvinced himself.
“They were best friends, it’s…hard for her. Just let it go.”
He looked over at Fé, shrugged and subsided.
Fé pretended like she hadn’t heard the hushed conversation, and a little angrily, turned her gaze heavenwards, questioning the selfish grey clouds that hovered low on the horizon.
She vaguely acknowledged the bell that marked the end of classes, playing the shuffling sounds of students leaving in her head while resolutely staring outside.
She didn’t know how long she sat there, kept company only by the rain, and the empty seat, made conspicuous by the fact that it would remain so for a very long time. Perhaps she wouldn’t be around long enough to watch someone replace the last person who sat there. Maybe she’d have to spend her life with the memory of a void that would remain unfilled.
Finally, she rose, turning her back to the classroom. She faltered at the doorway. She clenched her eyes shut as she whispered softly, “I’ll see you…” tomorrow, she’d meant to say, like she did every single day for the past three months, dreading the lie, at the same time depending on it to assuage her grief, even if temporarily. She couldn’t. The word died in her throat. She began taking quick strides away from the door, running down the hallway, and out in the rain. Her breath heaved in ragged gasps, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t seem to outrun the deafening silence that encapsulated her, imprisoning her in an endless tempest.

Once Upon A Light Year

It was a thoroughly ordinary day aboard the SS Vesuvius, champion of Earth’s starship fleet. Complicated machines beeped and hummed, the crew shuffled back and forth between their menial duties. Outside the Captain’s office, the higher-ranking officers also went about their work. But all was not normal here in the spacious control room. A heavy cloud seemed to weigh down on them, as gloomy and depressive as a half-hearted storm which doesn’t quite have enough fuel to find release.
They worked with funereal enthusiasm; listlessly processing data reports, pushing buttons which blinked with half their characteristic brilliance. Things would have progressed in a similarly bleak manner if it weren’t for the assiduous Lieutenant Daniel Sawyer, who decided to tackle the source of this dreariness and bring back the spark in his precious colleagues’ lives.
He stood up, his features set in determination, and walked heedlessly towards the maelstrom. His comrades stared at him as if in a trance, expressing varying degrees of concern, fear and hope.
“Don’t,” he raised his hand to silence their pleas, “It has to be done. We can’t go on like this,” his voice quivered on the last note.
A warm hand squeezed his shoulder, bolstering him, “Be strong, Danny,” Second Lieutenant Ururu Obotti whispered.
Nodding decisively, he strode to the captain’s office and knocked on the door none too lightly.
Silence.
Sawyer knocked again, and thought he heard a faint sigh.
“Captain, I’d like to have a word with you,” he announced.
More silence, followed by more sighing.
“Are the Gorgons attacking?”
“No, but-”
“Is the lumilator malfunctioning again?”
“Well, not really, but-”
“Are you getting those warts again on your-”
“Really, Captain!” interrupted a slightly red-faced Sawyer, “This has gone on far too long, I must let you know that you’re depressing the entire crew with your dismal attitude and that you’re being very unsporting about this whole affair.”
Everyone hung on to this exchange with bated breath, straining to hear the Captain’s response. Sawyer tried to ignore a curious voice that wondered aloud about where exactly his warts were bothering him.
Tentatively, Sawyer opened the door and peeked in. What he saw made his heart ache with pity. His idol, his mentor, his beloved Captain was languishing in his chair, watching his pet hamster Lily snoring on the papers he was supposed to sign three days ago.
“Captain,” he implored softly.
“I miss her Danny boy. Alas, why is it that all great romances are fated to end in tragedy?” he asked in a small voice.
“But sir, she’s…she’s their Princess, and well…the consequences of your union, sir!” Sawyer beseeched, trying to be the voice of reason.
“Ah, Danny, Danny, Danny,” he began with his standard dramatic flair, “You are so young, so ignorant about love. I hope you’ll understand some time, it isn’t everyday your true love walks into your life…oh, the heartbreak. Love, she is cruel, giving you hope, that one chance, and then snatching it all…”
Being used to his Captain’s soliloquies, Sawyer choose this moment to indulge in thoughtful reverie. All of a sudden, he straightened and left the Captain lamenting to no one in particular. Closing the door behind him, he faced his colleagues, who looked up at him expectantly.
“So, is he still in mourning?” asked Samson Mckennon, Data Analyst.
“Worse. He’s reciting poetry about doomed love affairs to Lily,” Sawyer looked around gravely.
“We have to do something, anything,” Mimi Defrou fretted. As for her post, well, no one’s quite sure. She’s presumably one of those token curvaceous women whose job is to look fabulous in a tight red uniform.
“I’ve been giving this some thought,” Sawyer began hesitantly, “The Captain, he’s done a splendid job, very honourable, and well, he’s been a good Captain. And he’s getting on in age, so I was just thinking, he’s supposed to retire soon anyway, and I hate the idea of him wasting away, lonely and miserable, with no one to care for him…”
“No one to remind him to eat his vegetables,” Ururu added.
“No one to force him to exercise,” Samson pitched in.
“No one to talk to except Lily…” Sawyer trailed off.
This last comment was too much for everyone to bear. Mimi burst into tears. Samson saw his opportunity and rushed off to comfort her, ensconcing her in his eager arms. Sawyer cleared his throat loudly.
“Listen! I have a plan to get them together,” he yelled over the mass hysteria.
The sobbing stalled, the murmuring subsided, and all eyes were focused on him once again.
With a deep breath, Sawyer told them of his plans, what later came to be called ‘Operation Save Captain from Self-Destruction’, or OSCS for convenience.

* * *

After much plotting and more scheming, the four dedicated crew members of the lovesick Captain William Deverell and some other extraneous unimportant helpers had devised the perfect plan, and were currently in the process of orchestrating it.
It was a setting rather similar to the beginning in the control room, except the storm clouds that were hanging over them were crackling with energy, spurring everyone into action.
Unable to wallow by himself, the Captain decided to make a rare appearance among them. Unfortunately for him, they were rather absorbed at that moment. The Captain felt distinctly ignored while everyone rushed around him, triggering another attack of self-pity in the pining depths of his heart.
“For the love of God, Captain, could you please sit down somewhere, you’re in the way!” Sawyer barked, finally reaching his breaking point. He immediately caved into guilt and remorse when he saw the wounded expression on the Captain’s face.
“Please sit down, sir. Trust me, you’ll know what’s going on soon enough. What’s our position?” he yelled out at the navigator.
“21.3 light years to Andromeda, sir!”
“Good, Buxley, prepare the vessels. Right, Captain. Ururu, you and I will be taking the space vessel to Alencia. We already sent word to Princess Shaila through a reliable source, she will be waiting for you. I’ve made arrangements for the two of you to escape to Isen, you’ll be taken care of there. Here, I’ve written down what you need to do somewhere…no, memorize this, just in case. Oi, you, what the bleeding hell do you think you’re doing?” he stalked off to berate a stumbling subordinate.
“Sawyer,” the Captain called feebly, and was ignored once again. A little indignantly, he called out again. No response. This time, he snapped, “Sawyer!”
Looking the Captain dead in the eye, Sawyer answered calmly, “Captain, you have never let us down in all the years we’ve served the Enterprise. I ask that you let us do our part in returning the favour.”
“Danny, do you realise what this could potentially result in? You will all be court martialed for conspiracy, I will be stripped of my rank and possibly worse, and Shaila - I shudder to think what her people would do to her,” his voice trembled.
“I told you Captain, it’s taken care of. You and Shaila will live an anonymous life with untraceable identities in Isen in relative peace and comfort. We have fake medical reports that will certify your, ah, demise, due to a deadly toxic virus that accidentally made its way…never mind that, the important thing is, everything’s taken care of. We just ask that you let us help you, it’s the least we can do,” Sawyer concluded.
“You’re not exactly giving me a choice, are you Danny boy?” the Captain sighed.
“No, sir, I’m not.”
Captain William Deverell was not a man of few words. He was unabashedly garrulous by nature. But for once in his life, he was speechless. He was unbearably moved. At the same time, he was torn between his desire to see the fruition of his love, and to do his duty. So, he merely looked at his trusted Lieutenant with moist eyes, and said quietly, “Thank you.”
Sawyer gave a small smile, and nudged him along, preparing to board the vessel.
Everyone bid their hurried, tearful goodbyes, alternately wishing the Captain good luck and thanking him profusely.
Sawyer set off first, and Ururu followed with the Captain in tow. The whole universe seemed to just zip past; stars, planets and moons all morphing into each other. The minutes flew by so quickly that all the Captain could do when they landed on a deserted cove was blink in surprise.
“We’re here?” he asked uncertainly.
“Yes, Captain,” Ururu said kindly, and squeezed his arm.
“They’re here, come on, we have to hurry,” Sawyer said urgently, appearing along with two cloaked figures.
One of the cloaked figures gave a half-sob as she prepared to launch herself into the Captain’s waiting arms. They embraced tightly, and dissolved in sweet mutterings of love. The onlookers waited patiently for a few moments before scooting them along.
“Captain. Princess,” he bowed a little, “You have to hurry. Captain,” he breathed deeply, “You know what to do. You and the Princess go first, Ururu and I will follow you till the end of the quadrant, and once you get to Isen, please send us a message to assure us of your safe arrival.”
“I shall, my dear boy,” the Captain pumped his hand, “I could never thank you enough, all of you. I…as an expression of my gratitude, I would like you, Danny, to have my Lily,” at this he started tearing up, “Take good care of her.”
Sawyer flinched yet tried to smile as if to say, “I’m honoured”, but instead he just looked like he was having indigestion. Severe indigestion.
“And Ururu, you can have my Kaftan, the one with the purple paisley work, and I want Mckennon to have my harpsichord…as for Mimi, eh, she can have my collection of stamps,” he ended generously.
“You don’t have a collection of stamps, Sir,” Sawyer reminded him.
“Eh? Well, then buy her another red suit. I must say she looks rather-” Captain Deverell merely coughed and laughed nervously when he noticed his soon to be wife look at him pointedly. “Well, then, I guess this is goodbye,” he concluded brightly.
“Yes, well, good luck, Sir, have a happy life. And you too, Princess,” Sawyer bowed some more.
Ururu just sniffled and hugged the happy couple.
Amidst a lot of thanks and goodbyes, they shot their last looks at each other, and hopped into the vessels.
Later, as Sawyer and Ururu were en route to the mother ship, Ururu asked quietly, “You think it’ll work out?”
Sawyer seemed lost in thought as he contemplated the recent happenings.
Finally, he said, “I think so.”
A companionable silence settled over them.
“So,” Ururu drawled, “I take it you have a dinner date with the delectable Lily tonight?”
For propriety's sake, it would be safe to pretend that the rest of Sawyer’s words were lost in the blasting jet of the engine, and scattered across the skies interspersing with the stars as they made their way home, slightly heavy-hearted, yet for the most part, happy.

Just Like Sunshine

It was typical as far as weddings go. Loud, colourful, and an overall assault on all of one’s existing senses. A cursory glance would reveal people divided into the usual categories: the harried ones fervently rushing about, attempting to see to last-minute details; the relaxed ones, who lounged around exchanging betelnut and laughs; the furtive ones who tried not to look like grate-crashers drawn by the alluring scent of the lavish buffet; and finally, the bored ones. These were the ones who looked like they would just as soon stab their own eyes with a pen than use it to sign a congratulatory card addressed to the happy couple.One such member of this last category was currently scowling at his feet; albeit half-heartedly, for he had come to accept with stoic resignation the hopelessness of his situation. So absorbed was he in his troubles, that he did not immediately notice a small pair of feet with extremely fidgety toes parked at the periphery of his narrow view.
He directed his grimace towards the small offending toes, which cheerfully wiggled up at him. When the feet made no attempt to leave, he tiredly raised his gaze which rested upon the curious face of a little girl.When she made no attempt to speak, choosing only to solemnly observe him, he snapped, “What?”
“Nothing,” she mumbled, unfazed by the power of his withering stare.His silence, however, was mistakenly interpreted as interest, “You look like somebody died.”
A glare.
“I’m Gauri.”
Stony silence.
“Who are you, then?”
Never before had his fingernails looked so intriguing.
“You don’t have a name?”
Frustration mounted.
“Okay!” came the bright response, “I’ll just call you Bunty then!”
An extremely dangerous twitch below the eye.
“Bunty uncle? Hey, why won’t you say anything? Bunt-”
“Don’t call me Bunty uncle,” he managed through gritted teeth. The twitch aggravated.
“But you won’t tell me what-”
“Look, kid. Go away. Stop annoying me, and stop calling me stupid names and just leave me alone,” he glowered, and would have continued on his vehement rant if it weren’t for the sight of those unnaturally large brown eyes swimming in little pools of tears.He gaped in horror as her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, and even her shiny black braids hung limply.
“No. No, no. Oh, no. Don’t cry. Ahh...hey, now, don’t cry little girl, I didn’t mean what I said…” he trailed off helplessly. He knelt in front of her and made wild waving motions with his hands; so acute was his despair, “Chirag, alright! My name is Chirag. You can call me Chirag Bhaiyya, how’s that? No, really, I’m too young to be your uncle…please, kid?”
Gauri sniffed, and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, leaving black Kohl smudges around them. She regarded him seriously for a moment, before breaking into a wide grin, “Okay!”
Breathing normally once again, Chirag muttered under his breath, “That was fast.”
“What?” she chirped.
“I said you look like a raccoon,” he collapsed in his chair.
“What’s a raccoon?” she asked in a sing-song voice.
He merely sighed and shook his head.
“Chirag bhaiyya? You want to see something really nice?” she suddenly went still.
“Eh?”
Her eyes alight with an unsettling excitement, she began bouncing up and down, “Something wonderful! Come we’ll see it together!”
“What? No, I’d rather not-” he stopped abruptly when her mouth quivered ominously, “Don’t…”
She grabbed his hand and attempted to pull him up, “Come! Let’s go…please,” she looked up at him imploringly, and pouted a little for effect.
“That’s not fair, no puppy eyes, that’s…” the rest of his sentenced came out as a groan, as he reluctantly allowed himself to be abducted by the tenacious, raccoon-eyed girl,“What the – don’t you have family or something, wait, don’t run so fast, don’t-” the rest of his grievances were drowned out by her gleeful shouts as they weaved through tables and meandering waiters and crossed over the wedding grounds into the adjoining fields.
“Gauri, are you sure we should be-” Chirag started, trying to keep up with the object of his exasperation without tripping.
“You worry too much! That’s all you big people ever do – worry, worry, worry,” she interjected.
He searched his mind for a decent comeback but it was a tad bit too hard while dodging stray goats and trying not to trip over conveniently placed rocks, a hyper five year old, or his own shoes.They ran through green grass, which rippled under the soft, dancing breeze. It made quite a picture against the backdrop of distant mountains and deep blue sky. It was all lost on Chirag, however, who was still cursing his wretched fate, which was presently engaged in singing a made-up tune, punctuated by giggles.
Gauri slowed down from her rapid pace. They had reached a small incline so he couldn’t see what was beyond it.Heaving for breath, he looked at her questioningly.Only slightly breathless, she beamed up at him, “Close your eyes!”
“What?” he frowned.
“Please close your eyes Chirag bhaiyya, it’s a surprise!” she started bouncing again.
“Fine, fine,” he grudgingly agreed, wondering if he wished hard enough, he could disappear from this thoroughly unpleasant situation, “But don’t try anything funny, you hear?”
“Yes, yes…now hold my hand tight,” she started taking cautious steps so as not to ruin the surprise.
He smelled something he thought he recognized. Definitely organic. Unsurprising, considering they were in the country. He jumped as he felt his hands brush something that seemed to him to be tall stalks of…something.
“Okay, open your eyes now!”
Still frowning, Chirag slowly opened his eyes, and for a second, forgot to breathe.They were drowning in a yellow lake. A velvety yellow lake with brown dots.Chirag stared around him, engulfed by a sprawling thatch of sunflowers almost as tall as the annoying, yet persistent midget who was currently cutting off blood circulation in three of his fingers.“This is…” he looked down at his companion, and regretted it the moment he did.
She was smiling up at him, with all of her pearly white teeth seemingly illuminating her surroundings. And the sunflowers. To his dazed mind, it seemed as if they were all mirroring her action, leaning in towards him, beaming up at him in all their resplendent glory. So much yellow, surrounding a happy little girl with expectant eyes. Desperately, he fought for control of his faculties.The corner of his mouth quirked involuntarily.
“Just like sunshine, no, Chirag Bhaiyya?” she tugged his sleeve adorably, her cheeks dimpling.He knew he was fighting a losing battle. His fingers twitched in her hand.
Oh, what the hell.
“Yes, Gauri. Just like Sunshine,” he grinned down at her.

Desert Song

“Those men are staring at us. We should leave,” Reena muttered, pulling her bag closer to her as she warily eyed the group of men crouched in a circle, animatedly playing a game of cards.
Leah closed her eyes and rubbed at the headache that was threatening to take over, “The chai-wallah said it’ll be over in an hour or so.”
“Like he knows anything, he probably lied just so we’d stay here for a bit longer. Did you see the way he was looking at us? All of them,” she hissed, eyes darting around, filled with disdain.
“If you weren’t so absorbed in yourself, you’d have noticed he wasn’t looking at us like that, he’s just a simple villager-”
“Oh, so now you’re a defender of the poor? They’re just lazy, illiterate opportunists,” Reena interrupted, a spiteful gleam in her eye, “You never cease to amaze me. You have so much compassion for the poor, and none for those who care for you. Maybe Christopher was right.”
Her voice coldly polite, she asked, “About what, Reena?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You’re just a frigid, insensitive and lofty idealist. You’ve always been such a pretentious snob, Leah, even now, pretending like you care for them. Admit it, you don’t care for anyone but yourself,” her delicately beautiful face crinkled in righteous anger.
Leah gazed at her nails, face set in an inscrutable mask, “Maybe I don’t.”
Sputtering indignantly, Reena turned away in disgust.
The sandstorm raged outside, wind moaning with the sound of what Leah liked to think were the battle cries of men who’d fought to survive in this harsh land for hundreds of years. Perhaps if she listened closely, she might have heard the clatter of swords, and felt the tears of the women, resigned to watch from the sidelines, as those that they loved were lured away by the mournful song of the Desert Siren.
She gazed through the little gap in the walls at the tarpaulin that flapped wildly in the gale. The storm didn’t seem to dampen the enthusiasm that flowed inside the teahouse. Old men reminisced; the few little children were huddled in a corner playing with marbles, the even fewer women kept a watchful eye over them whilst exchanging village gossip. But for the most part, there were men, seeking refuge from a hard day’s work with a hot cup of tea and a lively gamble.
Much to her annoyance, Leah found herself enamoured by the life around her. Despite first impressions, here too there were formalities, a code, rules of conduct, but strangely, they didn’t seem as suffocating as she would expect. But then again, the grass always seemed greener on the other side.
A movement to her right caught her eye. Ignoring the restlessness of her companion, Leah watched, as a man cloaked heavily in a rough shawl, splashed water on to his face, which was gritty with sand.
He was surprisingly tall, a little over six feet. Wet strands of his unkempt black hair clung to his forehead. His skin was the colour of tanned leather. She watched the water drip down his strong chin, which was dotted with stubble.
Her eyes completely focused on him, she followed his large hands, which scrubbed his face clean, noticing the paler skin that stretched over his knuckles. In an impatient move, he tossed his shawl aside, revealing a traditional white kurta, which failed to conceal his strong build.
Unconsciously, her breathing grew shallower, as she mentally tried to envision what his body would look like underneath his garments. Wide shoulders, a strong chest, there was nothing about him that seemed weak. So lost was she, that she failed to notice that he was staring back at her.
His dark eyes pierced through her, as he continued rubbing his face with water, his long fingers passing over his frown. He was young, possibly around her own age.
Instead of deterring her, she blatantly returned his gaze, looking straight into his eyes, as if in challenge.
He momentarily paused, one hand still gripping the tumbler. As his frown deepened, he seemed to consider her, before slowly dipping his fingers into the tumbler.
He ladled a small amount of water out in his palm, and eyes unwavering from hers, touched his lips to his palm. Somehow, through the wet locks of hair covering his eyes, his intent still divulged itself. The corners of his mouth slowly curved upwards in a smirk, as if staking his claim over her.
His arrogance both enraged and exhilarated her. Her lips moved to mirror his sneer. Desire, so foreign, engulfed her. Absently, she noted the rhythmic beats of the blood pounding in her head, gazing at him as much in surprise as a brazen hunger.
As he continued watching her, his smirk turned into an amused grin, revealing pointed incisors.
She faintly smiled back at him, eyes still simmering.
With an almost imperceptible nod, he broke away from her gaze and sauntered away to join his companions at a crowded table.
She closed her eyes, still smiling as power hummed within her, igniting a painful need, for something more. Something as loose and reckless as the tempest, devoid of restraint. Her eyes only revealed a spark of the fire within her, ruthlessly under her control, for none to see and judge but those she deemed worthy.
No one would know of the comfort that she unexpectedly found in the honest eyes of a stranger, nor of the shameless understanding that passed between them, unsaid, yet acknowledged.
Perhaps, she mused, it was that quest for the extraordinary, for that something more, that had enticed so many men into the Siren’s arms. It was a sad song she intoned, that had endured freezing cold nights and blisteringly hot days, but it had sustained. And so had the few fortuitous travellers, who despite being weary from the journey, clung to life until they were rewarded with that very abandonment the capricious notes of her song offered.
For all the storms that she would have to endure, Leah knew then, that she would be one of those few fortunate travellers.


Note: This is a story I came up with after I asked a friend to give me three elements to base/include in the story, namely:lust, desert, and water.

Whimsical Musings

Sara watched, mesmerized, as a blue butterfly flitted across the terrace and settled onto her untouched coffee mug with a twitch of its boldly patterned wings. There was a gentle wind blowing, just enough to barely rustle the leaves of the bougainvillea that crept along the walls of the terrace.
To her tired eyes, everything seemed mind-numbingly vivid, until for a few seconds she could discern no form, but merely colours. The blue of the little insect in front of her suddenly seemed to spread into the faded stone tables, the only thing standing out in the backdrop being the startlingly bright pink flowers of the creeper. The air smelled so crisp, so clean.
“Would you like anything else, miss?” interrupted the waiter.
The butterfly flitted away, snapping Sara out of her reverie. She focused on the waiter’s face, as she replied, “Er, no, well actually, I’d like another cup of coffee, I’m afraid this one’s gone cold.”
As she watched him walk away, she smiled wryly. Predictable. Such moments never lasted long. She supposed she should have felt thankful that she had those moments, as ephemeral as the butterfly’s life. She nearly giggled at the idea of resorting to a cliché like that to describe what she had felt for those few moments.
As she glanced up, she looked at the man sitting a few tables away. She'd noticed him the moment she'd walked in. She'd seen him come here before. He was dressed in a suit, he usually was. Blue tie. Her favourite colour. He had short black hair, just a little spiky, although not like those wannabe-cool teenage boys. It suited him. A narrow chin. He made her feel apprehensive and nervous and excited all at once. She wasn't used to this feeling. She wasn't sure she liked it too much. What was the point? There's no way he'd even realize she existed. She looked down quickly to avoid meeting his eyes. She felt a little prick of self pity.
She was being unreasonable. She had so much to be grateful for. Yet, she wasn't satisfied. She wouldn’t say she was unhappy with her life. She had a wonderful, steady job, which even allowed her to indulge in her fancies. She had the two best friends anyone could ask for; both thankfully different enough to even keep life interesting. Her family was doing well, she loved them so much. She felt a bit guilty at having to add that thought after mention of her family, as if someone had implied otherwise. Annoyed with herself for falling into that same trap of old insecurities and guilt, she frowned into her new cup of coffee that the waiter just brought in. She found this whole line of reasoning utterly ridiculous.
As she breathed in the rich scent of her black coffee, she relaxed a bit, slumping her shoulders in resignation.
It wasn’t that she was sad. It was obvious she had no reason to be. Everything about her life seemed perfect. She was reasonably accomplished for a twenty-four year old. It wasn’t so much that she was unhappy as not-happy. Yes, that was it. She was so blasé about life in general. She supposed it was expected. Such monotony. Was she setting her standards too high? She wasn’t going to be predictable by thinking of all those who were deprived of the good things in life to remind herself that she already had enough. Damn! She just did. Ah well what can you do. It’s what you got when you argued with yourself. She caught herself before she drifted off again into aimless thought.
She needed to focus. Her life. Boring. Gotta do something. But what? Wait, wasn’t she just speculating on the ‘whys’? When did she get to the ‘what next'? She was getting ahead of herself. Or maybe she had the attention span of a four-year old. Staring at the bottom of her now empty coffee mug, she sighed exasperatedly. She blew her bangs out of her face with little success. Expecting that, she brushed her hair away from her eyes with a grim smile. As a shadow fell across her table, she looked up to see the man looking down at her with an uncertain smile.
“Hi. My name’s Kanishk. Uh, do you mind if I join you?”
Caught off guard, Sara fumbled for words, “Um, actually, I was just about to leave…”
“I won’t keep you long then, a few minutes at most”, he insisted.
“Um, sure, uh, go ahead.”
As he settled into the chair opposite her, Sara looked at him more closely. He had chocolate brown eyes. He was even better looking up-close. Now why in the world would someone this cute sit down at her table? She immediately grew suspicious and eyed him warily.
“You know, this is exactly why I was tempted to come over and talk to you.”
“Huh?” was all she could come up with. Here she was talking to this incredibly gorgeous man, well maybe not that gorgeous, but reasonably attractive man, one who she'd happen to have her eye on for some time, and all she could say was ‘huh’? She willed someone to come stab her.
“I was watching you from that table over there, and I didn’t mean to pry but it was a bit difficult to look away when I saw your face change expressions faster than Elizabeth Taylor could ever change husbands,” he said, wincing at his dreadful analogy. Nervously fiddling with his tie, he bravely continued, “ I know I should feel guilty but…uh…well, I was wondering, when you’re convinced that I have no ulterior motives and are well on your way to sympathizing with me for the absolute mortification I feel right now for torturing you with the worst analogy ever made, maybe you’d want to go out with me?”
She just stopped herself from gaping at him. Surprised? She was more shocked. Did she happen to think her life was boring? Or was that predictable? God, he has little gold flecks in his eyes. What are the odds of that? And if she were to believe what she just heard, he was floundering even worse than her. He just made a fool of himself over her!She felt the blush creep into her cheeks. She was being silly. Good God, he was cute. Adorable. Did she just think he was adorable? She didn’t even know the man! She couldn’t possibly say yes to him!
“Okay! I mean, I’d like that. That would be quite nice. We could meet here…same time Friday?” she finished breathlessly.
“You would?” he asked, clearly astonished, “Um, that would be wonderful…”
“Sara, my name’s Sara…”
“Right, Sara, I’ll see you then”, he smiled again, a little more confidently, got up and started to walk down the steps leading to the road below. He stopped after a few paces, turning back, much to Sara’s satisfaction, twice, before he finally disappeared down the stairs.
Completely forgetting about her earlier worries, she smiled foolishly into her coffee mug, shaking her head, already wondering if he’d actually make it next Friday. Even if he didn’t, at least she could pretend she had something to look forward to. Biting her lip, she let out a breathless laugh as she paid and left, her stride easy and carefree, giving in to the urge to sing softly as she walked home.