The Green Page

 I clutched on to the wooden coffee table. It left wet blotches from my sweaty palms. I took a deep breath. So, this was the poignant moment. The moment that would decide my fate. I gathered my courage and looked him in the eye. He sat across the table, grinning at me. His yellow teeth disgusted me. ‘So, are you ready?’ he asked, laying back on his shiny leather chair. The yellow light bulb cast an eerie shadow on the wall. It looked larger and meaner than him. My throat closed. So, I nodded. He took a pair of dice in his hands. As he rolled them between his palms, I bit the inside of my right cheek. I tasted blood and it calmed me. I closed my eyes and heard the rattling of the dice against the golden ring on his index finger. He took his time, teasing and toying with my desperation. ‘Take it,’ he gave the dice to me. My hands shivered. I took a deep breath and dropped the dice on the coffee table. I saw them rolling on the wooden surface. The few seconds seemed an eternity.

  Dear Chennai,                 Happy 381st birthday. You still look young and energetic as ever. It's saddening that we can't celebrate this day in our usual style. This time, there are no week-long art shows, concerts, dance performances or the famous food drive.                  There are so many places that I missed during the summer.  It’s the season that I love the most. It may sound weird for many people who complain about the scorching sun and heat waves, but for me, summer is the time the city comes alive.                 Let’s start from the IPL. The entire city comes together adorning the charismatic yellow. The atmosphere at the Chepauk stadium is always pumped up with fans in yellow jerseys, face paint, flags, placards and what not. Everyone unites for the Mexican wave without hesitation and it’s a sight to behold. It's so sad to see our beloved team in Dubai, waiting to play in front of empty stands without our roars and whistles.                  Many

          Yogi rubbed his hands in delight as he placed the parcel on his lap. The wrapper was nothing fancy, just the regular brown paper with a red bow tied in the middle. He untied the ribbon and tore the wrapper in a fit of excitement. This was his first experience with the book exchange program. People from around the country send one of their favourite books to someone and in return, they’ll receive one anonymously. Last night, he dreamt that he had received a copy of Gillian Flynn’s new book from the writer herself. He grinned as he looked at the hard-bound book. Out of habit, he opened the middle page and sniffed it. It lacked the musty smell as it looked brand new. “Anonymous” was the book’s title and holding true to its name, it neither had the writer’s nor the publisher’s name. He opened the first page to see if there was a special handwritten note from his sender. But there was none. He sighed in disappointment thinking why he had enrolled in the stupid book exchange pr

A warm breeze swept across Ru’s face. For the tenth time, a lock of his wavy hair got into his eye. He jerked his head impatiently and tried to blow it away. As it didn’t work, he ran his fingers through his hair, even though they were moist and muddy. Without bothering the least, he resumed digging into the soil, removing stones and weeds with gusto. Occasionally, he stopped to wipe the perspiration over his lips, with his shirt’s sleeve. By the time he finished digging the hole, his shirt was soiled and stinking. Although it was the end of June, there wasn’t the slightest trace of monsoon showers. With global warming and natural calamities on the rise, the cycle had now become unpredictable. In spite of all that, Ru was determined to grow petunias. Even though he was passionate about gardening, he wasn’t good at it. He relied on his instincts rather than science. Unfortunately, his instincts misguided him. Ru took out the packet of petunia seeds to sow. Something caught hi

     Delicious food and creative metaphors, never fail to cheer me up. This common love might be the reason why I turn poetic when I see food. Our society looks like a giant fruit salad to me. It has diverse people with diverse behaviours. A fruit's taste, essence and value is known only when you cut through it. Just like that, a person can be called selfless or selfish, only when you get to know them. Amongst the selfless people, there are the ones who are born with a kind heart and the rest who have a change of heart at a later stage of life. I belong to the latter.           Until my late adolescent years, I’ve always thought of kindness as a two-way street. I expressed my warmth only to the people who reciprocated it. I was not selfish but I was not selfless either. I have never gone out of my way to help a needy person or expected someone to do it for me. Just like a brook that changes its direction after hitting a rock, my perception of kindness took a different cours

27 th March, 8.00 PM Home is where the heart is. It’s the only place where I can be myself. After a stressful day at work, I hopped onto my bed and stared at the ceiling for some time. Living alone has its perks. There’s no one to nag me when I come back home exhausted. I filled my bathtub with warm water and lit scented candles beside it. After grabbing my bath brush, I jumped into the bathtub. The aroma, bubbles and the warm water soothed my mind. I hummed an old tune and started singing the song. Once the song ended, I thanked my imaginary audience. ‘Wow! I didn’t know you were a singer’, a voice boomed behind me. My heart froze. - 28 th March, 7.00 AM My alarm rang and I woke up with a throbbing headache. I ran my fingers through my hair. There was a huge bump at the back of my head. Then, I noticed bruise marks on my face and wrists. My left eye was swollen. I wanted to shout on top of my lungs but all I managed was a hiccup. Tears welled up in my eyes. I tr