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Image: Red velvet spotlight from pinterest

How do they do it?

Put themselves out there, exposed, vulnerable, under the spotlight; fearlessly speaking words the world will hear.


Some define words as mere sounds uttered from a mouth.

But words have power.

The power to arouse courage in the hearts of men, to crush confidence, to invoke love, to provoke hate. Words have the power to open minds and initiate dialogues, to start wars, or end them.
Those little characters written on thin sheets could make a hurting heart laugh or a complacent heart weep.

According to the playbill, the play was by an anonymous writer.

I prefer to be anonymous.

Image from pixabay.com

Written in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt: The Quiet One


– Marta Bevacqua

“To be clear, what you’re saying is that…”

“I don’t feel anything for you anymore. Neither love, nor hate, nor anger. I feel nothing.

There is no one thing that we can fix. It’s all the little things.

All the times when you took all those decisions without even discussing them with me… when you dismissed my concerns with a you wont understand… when your want was a need and my need was a want… when your work was sacrifice and my work was duty… when you walked through a room without so much as registering my presence… when you didn’t even notice the light dying in my eyes…  You made me feel unwanted… invisible…

I don’t want to disappear in your shadow. I’d rather live alone in my own light.

So what I’m saying is that I am leaving you because I don’t feel anything for you anymore.”


Written in response to Fandango’s Story Starter #2 ( To be clear, what you’re saying is that…), Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Photo Challenge #374 and Sunday Writing Prompt (The little things).

The Nanny

Nanny was a snitch.

I may not have clear memories of the actual acts of betrayal, but I know my mum and I can confidently say that it was probably the second line item in the terms of employment. Line-item number one would have been ‘stalk my daughter at all times.’

Mother believed (and continues to believe) that it the solemn duty of everyone to report about everyone else to her. She had impeccable technique when it came to gleaning out information. Privacy was categorised as one of those concepts that did not apply between her and me cause the umbilical cord had rendered that null and void.

But I digress.

I (and over half my town) have been told that this incident occurred when I was around 5 years old (I may be slightly off with the timeline).

Leaving me under the watchful eyes of nanny, dad and mum left to enjoy a relaxing evening with friends. Happy little me stood on the balcony of our apartment waving goodbye with nanny right by my side. Nanny was probably relieved too, to have her mistress gone for a while. For the next few hours she would have complete reign over the castle.

Evidently, I had the same idea.  With the speed of the devil (again hearsay) I dashed inside and locked the balcony door.  Nanny was trapped in the balcony until my parents returned. I was now free to explore all restricted territories and tackle any and all treasures as I saw fit.

I do not recall what happened thereafter (PTSD?). Needless to say, my chicanery was rewarded with abundant fustigation. Nanny, I gather, decided to promote herself to ex-nanny. Poor mum was back on the market to find another saint.  

Now I know myself. It is not as if I had any keen longing for punishments. Why then I ask you was I forced to resort to such extreme measures? Why indeed?

Obviously, nanny was a snitch.

Image from pixabay.com

Written in response to Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt – The Nanny/ Genre – Humour; I hope this tickles your fancy cause this incident is actually autobiographical 😉

Using word prompts from FOWC (keen, tackle), Word of the Day (technique, treasure), Your Daily Word Prompt (chicanery, fustigate), The Daily Spur (promotion, category), Ragtag Daily Prompt (market find, glean), MMA Storytime’s Word of t he Day (timeline, territory).

Haute Cuisine

The afternoon was an engaging experience. It all began a few weeks back when I decided that my son must learn to cook else the poor Indian boy was going to starve in Germany without his desi food (Haha…jokes on me).

However, my reluctant gourmand (former) set a few conditions before his foray into the culinary world – it had to be simple, it had to be quick, it had to be healthy, he didn’t like washing dishes, he would not carry masalas from India (for some reason he seems to think that there should be no difference between packing for a two month trip or a two year trip) and most importantly, it should not make the kitchen or fridge smell of masalas as he was likely to share housing with non-Indians (very sensitive of him but very challenging for me).

I asked him his preference of foods. “Mum, when I look at food all I see is protein, vitamins and carbs. Let’s just have them in the right balance.”

“That’s not how I cook,” I splutter.

“Not trying to berate you mum, just saying that’s me.”

Naturally I decided to start with the basics – tandoori chicken. Then I started jotting down the recipe which included turmeric/lemon juice/vinegar and red chilli powder/chilli flakes and by the time I got to garam masala most of the ingredients started becoming optional. (Note: by today even the Indian has become optional. Palatable appears to be the only criteria… and the protein and vitamins.)

Eventually I hit upon a majestic dish that met my son’s expectations – one where you mix your chicken, frozen vegetables, quinoa/rice/pasta/millets and any spices available in your kitchen (I am yet to find an alternate for salt; suggestions welcome) with two grand variations of sauté or bake. For further recipes, simply vary the quantity of spices or substitute ingredients with suggested and creative alternatives.

“Mum, you’ve found me the perfect recipe. See, cooking should not be a chore.”

“Neither should eating,” I defeatedly reply.


Written in response to MLMM’s Sunday Creating Context prompt where we are required to write a response using the following as a starting point. Choose one of the highlighted words to shape our context.

The day/afternoon/evening was a/an hilarious/disappointing/engaging experience. It all began…..

Additionally, the following prompts: The Daily Spur (majestic), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (berate), Your Daily Word Prompt (quantity)

A whammy

The spoon dropped from my hand. “Is this a joke?” I ask.

“Joke would not be my word of choice… a whammy perhaps! Why, do you find it completely surprising?”

“Well, I kept trying to pacify myself that aloofness is an augury of boredom with the mundane. Was that illogical?”

“If you didn’t find the secret bank account and locked den ominous, then perhaps it was you who was not lucid through those years!”

I continued staring in incredulity at the photograph My wife was leading the resistance.

Image from Corey Agopian at Unsplash

Written to respond to Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge #90 of a picture of a resistance, Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie Sunday Writing Prompt, which is to write a story that contains or make reference to a joke of some kind, and a bunch of word prompts from The Daily Spur (photograph, illogical), Fandango’s One-Word Challenge (pacify, ominous), Your Daily Word Prompt (choice, augury), Ragtag Daily Prompt (lucid, spoon), and Word of the Day Challenge (surprising).