It lay there on the table, untouched for a week, a seemingly innocent envelope that had become a huge source of discomfort to her. Whoever said letters got lost in transit was obviously wrong, as this envelope had travelled five cities – each time redirected via multiple addresses in hope of finding her.
P Shrikant, Delhi was clearly the original sender of the letter.
The name triggered memories of a tightly shut past. Why would he contact her after six years?
Six years ago she got married and left Delhi and severed all connections.
With Shrikant and all her college friends.
The graduation years were marked by a host of activities and Shrikant was always with her. They studied together, travelled together, and competed for the top spot. She felt there was something beyond friendship between them but was not sure if Shrikant reciprocated. Neither of them spoke and going with her family’s flow she married the chosen Boy as soon as her final year exams were over.
A clean cut was the best to settle into her role as a wife.
She was happy and content now.
A hundred possibilities crossed her mind. What if he wanted to reconnect… Was she ready to go on that road?
Her husband was curious about her sudden agitation. Who is he? Why don’t you open it?
Finally, she did.
With trembling hands, she unfolded the single sheet.
The envelope held her BSc Degree that Shrikant had collected from the University and sent to her last known address.
I am joining Vinitha in her Fiction Monday series.
We have all heard of the story of Ber offered by Shabari to Lord Ram. The sweet sour Ber (Indian Plum) is a favourite fruit for many of us.. I remember a vendor selling small red Ber near our school and quite often we did buy a handful for a Rupee – always sold in a paper cone!
What did its tree look like or where did it grow was never thought of!
Over time, I have lost a taste for Ber but its tree has fascinated me.
The hills of Pune are home to many Ber trees. Some of them are the wild variety and not tasty at all but still a good reminder of my childhood.
Ber belongs to the Ziziphus genus and to the Rhamnaceae family. It is a small tree with drooping branches. Some species are shrub-like and armed. The leaves typically are three nerved and have a shiny whitish undersurface. This makes it quite easy to identify a Ber tree.
Here is the Ber I meet very often in my walks!
What is your memory of this humble fruit? Do you like the sweet variety of Ber or the sour ones?
I am joining Parul in her ThursdayTreeLove blog hop. Do head over to see some wonderful trees from around the world. Better still, join in!
Yash stepped out of his house eagerly looking forward to closing the deal. This was to be his come-back project after a break. As Yash rose the corporate ladder facing success after success, he unknowingly picked up a routine to which he attributed his success.
The lucky Pen. The lucky Tie. The Auspicious day. The lucky Number.
There was a longer list of no-nos. Saturdays were out of question. Blue shirts were out. And the list increased every day.
The entire team was forced to follow his quirks especially as the company continued to benefit from every transaction he closed.
As the years went by, Yash’s superstitious behaviour became almost fanatic and took on shades of OCD. His individual whims were now imposed on the team; something which the top brass was forced to take notice of irrespective of the successes he brought.
They decided that he either took medical help or would be shown the door.
So here he was, after six months of therapy and medication, ready to prove his mettle. A make or break stage in his career.
As Yash drove out of the building, he floored the brake and broke out into a sweat.
A black cat was crossing the road ahead of him.
Yash compulsively reversed the car.
I am joining Vinitha in her Fiction Monday series using the above photo prompt.
“Autumn is a second spring where every leaf is a flower” – Albert Camus
Looking at Autumn or Fall colours is a right on top of my Tree Travel wish lists.. I have always just got a glimpse of the glorious foliage never really catching the plants in their full Fall Glory.
As the above quote says, each leaf dons a spectacular unique colour that truly makes it look like a flower.
Here are a few images from my travels.. I am looking forward to the day when I can see the Fall Colours with my own eyes.. sigh…. Till then, I look forward to the TTL posts from around the world in the next couple of month..
I am joining Parul in her ThursdayTreeLove blog hop. Do head over to see some fantastic trees from around the world. Better still, join in!
Forty years ago, I came into the Haveli as part of the dowry that Badi Bahurani brought. Yet I spent all my time with Rai Bahadur Sahib. He loved the smooth feel of my skin, my colour and declared we were a good fit! He was indeed a visionary and I saw his company grow from a single factory to the current conglomerate. It was thrilling to see him plot the takeover many a competitor. Sahib was a workaholic and I wasn’t complaining! It meant we could spend more time together and Badi Bahurani was sure I was taking good care of him.
Sangram Bahadur learnt the ropes at Sahib’s feet and I watched him mature into an astute businessman. It was natural for him to take over the reins once Sahib retired and I continued to serve him. Sangram treated me with the same respect as did his father in fact even more so when both my arms were broken. We spent long hours and Choti Bahurani too joined us sometimes. I only wish I could hold his hand when he was stressed out when Demonetisation hit us. But I am sure, sitting together did give him support, peace and new ideas as our company bounced back very soon.
Sangram’s children were not interested in running and taking the family business forward. I had grave doubts about the future.
My worst fears were realised when Sangram Bahadur was forced into retirement due to a massive heart attack. Choti Bahurani did not put up any resistance to the next generation’s decision to sell off the company.
Suddenly I was orphaned. And sentenced to one corner of the storeroom.
The new owners had no place for a 40-year-old wooden chair. With broken arms.
I am joining Vinitha in her Fiction Monday series using the above picture prompt .