Compassionate Creatures

compassion-lady

“The word was on the tip of his tongue but still he couldn’t say it.” – Today’s Author

He gulped hard and tried again.

“Mom?” He couldn’t go further. He signed in exasperation. His mother was looking at him bemused, with a slight open mouth.

He wet his lips.

“What’s wrong, Raj?” She gazed into his worried eyes. “What did the doctor say?”

Raj wrung his hands, “I’m sorry, Mom.” He shook his head. “She’s not going to make it.”

For a split second, Raj was terrified. His mother hadn’t reacted; her face was impassive. Then she shrugged lightly and bit her lower lip. “Oh well,” she heaved, “about time too,” she added gently. She smiled encouragingly at him.

“Huh?” Raj was shocked. He hadn’t expected this. “Mom?” he tried slowly, “did you understand — ”

“Oh yes, Raj” his mother replied thoughtfully. “I understand that my dearest dog isn’t going to survive.” She betrayed no emotion. “And it’s only natural; she’s been with me ever since you left with your wife — and that was twelve years ago.” She smiled again, raising her eyebrows; the knowing smile.

“Pity. The most compassionate of creatures have short life spans.”

Everything that has a beginning…

Paris!

He signed. She echoed. Next moment, he was on one knee — “Yes!”

They stood at the base of the majestic tower, looking upwards. Memories thronged.

He signed, she echoed. “It’s over.” “Oh, yes!”

Paris


Love is pretty uncertain, isn’t it? What do you think?

As a part of my collection of Flash Fiction.

What I’ve Learnt From Eating Alone

eating alone

I eat alone. Not only because I’m comfortable with it, but also because no one else is comfortable with my schedule.

Breakfast at 6 am. Lunch at noon. Dinner at 7 pm.

From where I come, that’s insane. But that’s how I am, and I don’t expect anyone to comply with my schedule either. I’m perfectly fine with eating alone.

I’ve been following this schedule for some time now, and have come across a lot fine myths about fine-dining.

People’s natural reaction towards lone-diners is that they are lonely and depressed. Some people even go as far as giving lone-eaters some company, believing they’re doing us a favor.

But here’s the truth: eating alone is a cherished art.

When I started, I was a little self-conscious. I was uncomfortably aware of what I was eating, and sometimes the food felt really squishy in my mouth — a sensation that had nothing to do with the food.

As time went by though, I became more confident. Yes, people do raise eyebrows and concerned looks, but it doesn’t bother me anymore. Because I’m too involved in my meal.

Eating alone, I’ve noticed a few changes in myself and my eating habits.

  1. I now eat slower and more mindful than I used to. This is odd, because people usually say you eat faster when you’re alone. I look at my plate, take in the meal, and then taste it. And as I eat, I sometimes try to figure out the ingredients and the preparation of the gravies. Since I make my dinner, I like to try out new stuff.
  2. I eat my full. Another paradox. I’ve seen in a diet article, they recommended eating alone because the anxiousness makes you eat less. I successfully busted this myth. I indulge in my meals, and being alone only gives me more freedom to spend time on myself.
  3. No one to satisfy. With only myself at the table, I don’t have to engage in conversations and other social niceties. I can focus on what matters most, and be rid of the compulsive need to agree, or provide an opinion in discussions I hardly care.
  4. What table manners? You know that awkward moment when you’ve just finished a great meal, and all you want to do is lick the remains off your plate, but you’re worried what your fellow dinners might think? Well, I don’t have to worry about that at all! And it’s the best part of a meal; savouring the last.

There’s something much more important than these though. For the first time in my life, I was appreciating what I ate. This would never happen if I were surrounded by a bunch of over-excited people talking about the latest movie.

I learnt to appreciate the art of cooking and the science of blending flavors. South Indian cuisine thrives on a combination spices and, here I was, experiencing it all by myself.

Nothing can compare to the thrill of it. Anyone here who’s a lone-eater?

Rootless

Born in Atlanta —
To a Swedish mother
And a Welsh father.

Started speaking when in Moscow,
Set little steps in Morroco.

Landed in an Irish high-school,
Passed an English junior-high.

Built an American corporate,
Lived with a Canadian model —

Married to a Mex dancer,
Fathered a confused offspring —
And died rootless — the nomad.

rootless


My response to this week’s Weekly Writing Challenge. I didn’t want to go with anything serious, and so I came up with this little poem-story of a nomad to add to my collection of Flash Fiction. Also it’s National Blog Posting Month – #Day27

Just One

No one was around to see him so what did it matter if he took just one? – Today’s Author

Crouching low, he picked a single blossom.
Clara loved flowers next to her hospital bed.

just one


Another prompt from Today’s Author. National Blog Posting Month – #Day22