It is, you see, difficult to stay connected with old friends. That is why I once created this website where you could find and meet your old friends. I was in a good mood that day and since it hardly took me an hour to create it, so I gave it to this young boy – try as I may, I can’t recall his name Mark something, he was pissed off after his GF broke with him. I can’t recall his last name zuck … berger … bug… Anyway I wouldn’t have mentioned it if this same website was not used by some of my enemies to exaggerate my little powers and thus ridicule them. If there is one thing I can’t tolerate – it is deviation, even slightest deviation from truth. One of them said that I once lifted an anaconda with a single hand to save a child in its grip and threw the beast away. It is such a stupid lie – How can people believe that? I could barely lift the animal with both my hands. Anyway it spoiled my mood and I happened to be presiding this interplanetary conference that day. When representatives of Pluto
(A Short Fiction) “I think the story starts when, as a kid, I was a neighbor of this family of slaughterers for a short while and, though they did their work within walls of their house, still sitting inside our home, we could hear the cries of goats, full of pain, as they were being slaughtered. These cries would go on for several minutes. It was unbearable for my family to hear those cries day after day. Personally, I found their reactions more annoying. I have never liked these kind-hearted people. Animals have always been slaughtered, and most of them never show concern except when it happens right in front of them, which is when their hypersensitive imagination starts working and they suddenly grow compassionate. Their compassion creates an inconvenience when things happen in their backyard, an inconvenience which they will have removed. They can’t care less for animals. They won’t mind if it happens at some distance, away from their physical presence. And this is true generally, even when we are talking about the suffering of humans too. There is a reason Europeans do not want immigrants from middle-East. There is also a reason why it needed an hours-long
Download my book ‘Bulbul or An Unsung Song’ free here. It is a literary coming-to-age novella about a girl based on the story of Byblis from Ovid’s metamorphosis. An interview regarding the book with Akansha Jain. Goodreads reviews for An Unsung Song
(A Short Fiction) Part I 1. Twelve years later, V___ wakes up tormented by the nightmare. An unsatisfied, undesired feeling that will not go away – all these years and, for no reason that he can think; he has tried hard to remember if he had talked about, thought or alluded to her yesterday; anything which might have caused the dream but, no, nothing whatever comes to mind, then why should she be intruding into his dream again and giving him restless mornings? 2. He still remembers how he had been rude to her initially; perhaps what he felt was the result of guilt from same. Yes, that will make sense. The left-over of the feelings are the waste that is most harmful to the environment of the psyche. But what could he have done? Just last year he had changed school as he had come to stay at his grandparents’ home after his mother’s death following a long period of illness (his father had died a few years back). He was a highly reserved skinny new admission to the school with a tragic background and so he got attention for all the wrong reasons. There must be a look of sorrow
(A short story by Sidharth Vardhan June 26, 2016) For generations, we have lived in this jail, in this hole – so long that we might as well have imagined that this is the only world, had it not been for the stars, visible in the oval blanket over our head, which show us the glimpse of the unknown worlds. And stars are the hope, every child in this hole is taught to look up towards them and somehow they fill us with this hopeless hope that keeps the life going. But why are they there? Forever there, filling us with temptations to make fruitless efforts to grab them. Are they just another addition to the suffering of this hole? Why were we given hope?
(A short story by Sidharth Vardhan June 24, 2016) “Papa, Pa-Pa, Pa, Pa” he has rolled the variations of the word;‘Daddy’ or ‘Dad’ too, but he wishes that Vani will call him papa. It has just the right kind of sound to it. It has always felt like a big responsibility – inwardly he still has a lot of mischievousnesses, immaturity in him. ‘Will he make a good father?’
(A short story by Sidharth Vardhan June 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.
(A short story by Sidharth Vardhan October 5, 2015) “We have to be there as soon as possible.” That was objective. The idea was clear. It was never officially stated but it couldn’t be clearer – a natural deduction given the urgency everyone had shown would tell you that they knew it too. After all, it was natural to reach the destination as soon as possible. They all had to dive as fast. He did. He was really fast, ahead of them all. The others, it seemed, had lost their focus in chattering. He had just finished giving them fifth phone call – and they were still so far away. Moreover, it seemed from their tones that they think of him to be really pushy. He had reached there first, all alone and started waiting for them. The urgency shown in the beginning of journey was still fresh in him, slowly turning into frustration with time. Why would they stop so regularly and start chatting when they were always behind? Was there the unstated rule that one must entertain oneself while on the way? But that didn’t seem to be the truth – you can’t be doing something fast
(A short fiction by Sidharth VardhanA tribute to KafkaSeptember 24, 2015) We monkeys have sat by this ever-burning fire for generations because we are afraid to go outside the perimeter of its light into the dark. Although we have tried to look beyond into the darkness every day hoping to find something; yet all of us are afraid to go outside in dark. And this fear is not baseless, for whoever has entered the darkness has never returned. Thus this fire has a very central role to play in our lives. It has been there for as long as memory goes back into the past. One is often tempted to ask who created it in the first place – you can depend upon monkeys to let their curiosity rule them. While over the years, the organized efforts have been made to increase it by feeding wood and thus increasing perimeter of its light – one must add ‘quite successfully’; the question of its origins remain debateable. Some argue that it was always there – but the imagination finds it hard to deal with infinities. These days it is even contested that it was a result of an explosion. However, a
(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