My Short Stories

"Where are you, Suku. Aval and tea are kept for you on the table." Grandma shouted across the room, calling for Suku. Suku, studying in class 4 was busy doing his homework. He had just come back from school, and it was uncharacteristic of him to miss his tea. Last week, he was made the class monitor. It would be a great embarrassment if he was caught with incomplete homework. Moreover, he had promised to meet his friends on the ground adjacent to the public library. The boys, after a game of football, would go and sit under the fan in the library. Mr. Prasannan, the Librarian, allowed the boys to come in and browse the books after the game, even with their muddy clothes. "Jinto, did you complete the English essay on Mohenjo Daro?" It was clear that Lithesh was yet to begin the assignment. "No, Lithesh, Sethu chechi said she will help me. I am waiting for her" "What about you, Mr. Monitor? I suppose you would have completed and submitted it as well...

"Get off me, you cheat. If you hit me once more, I swear I will kill you." Karthik screamed in agony. He was lying flat on the ground, his hands being held by his attacker-Ganesh. Spitting out the dirt that entered his mouth during the fight, Karthik swung his right arm and gave a deft blow to Ganesh, right on this cheek. Ganesh fell down due to the impact, and Karthik jumped up. " I am going to tell Mom about this. If you can't play properly, you should have the attitude to admit it." Karthik, 13, and Ganesh, 11 were brothers. Both were equally passionate about the game of Cricket. But it was this game that was always the bone of contention between them. Neither of them could stomach a loss. And since they almost always played for opposite teams, most games ended in a fistfight, which needed the resolve of all the other friends to stop.  "You guys seriously need to grow up. We cannot let this happen every day. Just yesterday Karthik ran towards Ganesh with...

"Roshan, kanji is ready. Have it before it goes cold." shouted mother from the kitchen. Roshan had already drifted off to sleep by then. It was the second night in a row that he was going without dinner. Right now he was playing for the  Barcelona Youth team, and in the stands, cheering for him was his idol -Messi. Of course it was a dream. But these dreams were the force that helped young Roshan face the harsh realities of life. Roshan was a 15-year-old boy. Gifted in the beautiful game of football, he was called the "Messi of Spartanz". Spartanz, with a Z, was the local sports club that he played as one of the forwards. Roshan's goal against Vikings in the final match, where he sent a ball flying past 3 defenders and the goalie had earned him this sobriquet. The next morning, as his mother woke him up, he told her, "Mom, I saw that Messi was cheering for me." Mother just smiled at the little boy, and fake punched his nose, saying "Messi won'...

"Bye man! Take care, will surely miss you. Cannot believe that our partnership has ended", Said Vishal to Tarun. Tarun, Vishal, Abhilash, and Gurinder had studied together from KG to the tenth standard. Also, Tarun and Vishal were the opening batsmen for their school. Now Tarun was leaving to Kerala to stay with his grandparents. He had joined a school there. It would be a long time before they could meet again. Farewells are difficult, more so when you have a decade or more of memories. "There cannot be a worse friend than you" said the bespectacled Abhilash. Slightly short, with a curly mop of hair, he was the topper of the batch and the resource person for all things related to studies. Vishal and Tarun relied on him to cover the notes while they were busy notching up runs in the inter-school cricket tournaments. Gurinder was a third-generation artist. His family had their art gallery in the city, with a studio that doubled up as the friends' hang out plac...

Whack! With a beautiful swing of his cricket bat, Abhilash sent the ball high into the air. It was just the second week of the summer holidays, something that 11-year-old Abhilash looked forward to the entire year. Endless cricket with his friends during the day, and ripe, juicy mangoes-cut into small square pieces that his mother used to serve after dinner. "Nice shot, Abhi". That was Tarun, currently at the non-striker's end and also doubling up as the umpire in this version of street cricket. With a hint of arrogance in his gait, Abhilash walked along the pitch, examining the surface for cracks, and hitting it gently with his bat. He was imitating Sachin Tendulkar, his idol. Kevin ran in to bowl the next one to Abhilash. It was pitched slightly short of length and Abhilash stepped out to hit it out of the park. The ball landed inside a house on the first floor inside their apartment complex, barely missing the window pane. "Oh boy! Now what, Abhilash. You...

"Where are you off to, Kumara", asked Krishnan from the tea shop, pouring tea from one tumbler to another, with a flick of his wrist. "Taking the buffaloes to the river. The vet will be visiting the village animal clinic today, need to reach early. By the way, when you return from the town, will you buy me a packet of ghee rice?" said Kumaran. Kumaran was a daily wager, a simple man with simple needs. He stayed alone in his hut, after the death of his mother 3 years ago. He admired people who wanted to achieve something in life, like his childhood friend Sudhakaran, who had left for a job in the gulf soon after passing his 12th. He was content with his simple life. Kumaran had also been to school for 12 years, but he could pass only till 4th grade. Realising that he was not fit for an academic life, he dropped out and tended the cattle in the land-lord's farm. Over a period of 10 years, he had saved some money to buy a couple of buffaloes. He tended to them...