Sidharth Vardhan

The Seekers After the Sun

(A Flash FictionFirst written on April 25, 2016) “They are just wasting their time” “How” “They are looking for the sun.” “That is not a waste of time. They are bound to find it sooner or later.” “No. They won’t.” “And why is that? Sun can be seen anywhere. And it is a sight worth seeking.” “Yes. But they are looking for it in corners of planets and depths of books. In the darkness of caves or carved up rocks. Believe it or not, they are looking for the sun and have candles in their hands.”

Raag, the garden city

(A Short Fiction) For good or for bad, you will never forget your first visit to the garden city ‘Raag’ – yes, you must have heard about it, people talk about it all the time. It is a strange city, you can’t direct anyone to it, it can only be discovered accidentally, and discovered only when you are looking for it in pairs. It is only in pairs that you are allowed entry, for it is a city of pairs. The butterflies, sparrows, and squirrels are all only to be found in pairs. Even the flowers smiling to the sunlight have their faces close together in pairs as if whispering secrets to each other. Raag’s popularity with the poets has made it so attractive to people that everywhere one finds people wandering around in pairs specifically, though often also secretly, looking for it. Though, at times, found after a great wait and though it is often advised otherwise, the travelers who reach it often seem to be in a rush to explore it all at once. Maybe it is just the excitement at the sight of the city’s impossible beauty – even though the very objects that make the city

I have got something to say

(A Short Fiction)   You ask me the reason of my restlessness, you ask me why I  always seem so annoyed, so disappointed at things. I don’t think I can explain my problem to you. The thing is, you see, I have this very strong feeling that … how to put it? …. let us say that I really want to say something, it is as if there is some sort of thought or idea is stuck in my throat, not exactly at tip of my tongue, do you understand ?an expression which presumes consciousness of previous knowledge, all I’m conscious of is a need to say something – something very important, at least very important to me … though, yes, sometimes I wonder if I’ m just exaggerating its importance and that perhaps it is something rather trivial or of no value at all. Still, in the end, it doesn’t matter, the fact is it won’t let me rest until I say it. And I have had this feeling, you may call it an itching inside the throat, a painful desperation for years – this desperation has been the biggest motivation behind most of the decisions I have taken

A Loss

(A short storyFirst written onJune 8, 2016) Four-year-old Arun is playing with his toys – making the bull and the horse in hands wrestle, the horse is winning, Arun wants the horse to win, he likes the horse, he knows it will win ….. When he hears the voices of his parents arguing. He turns around to see them entering the room but they are not themselves. Though he has seen them angry before but never this much, he has always been sensitive to their anger but this is something else, something…. their anger, the cruelty in their faces, their bitter voices, the swift movements of hands (that they are making in their argument) .. all that has something ugly in it. So ugly it shouldn’t have existed. A child can’t understand the mixing of the opposites – good and evil, angels and monsters, beautiful and ugly; they all must remain separate …the ugliness of that bitter anger on the faces of his beautiful parents was an unbearable mix, they, the ones to whom he turned to in times he felt scared of monsters sitting under his bed, now themselves looked like monstrous … and besides this fear, he felt

An Unwanted Friend

(A short fiction by Sidharth Vardhan First written on November 8, 2015) There is this man who seems to have taken the notion in his mind that I’m his friend …  which I’m not. To be honest, I’m scared of him, don’t like him, wish to run away at the mere sight of him. Still, he manages to find me – and starts telling me about his sufferings, he doesn’t seem to be able to talk about anything else. I found myself incapable of consoling him, though I do really feel sorry for him whenever he is around – I’m thus left sad without helping him an ounce.  His listlessness is contiguous, sometimes it makes me go without food for days. I guess you will understand when I say I feel frustrated with all this. And he is always finding me only when I would be alone. Not always, of course, I still find my moments of blissful solitude which as you know I treasure above all else, though those moments are becoming increasingly rare. Still, I’m always scared of him finding me and so continuously seek company. I find his pity – whether it is self-pity or pity on me