A Blog- nay a Religion founded by Siddhesh Govind Kabe because no one told him to shut up.
Siddhesh Govind Kabe is a storyteller and globetrotter. When his plan to become a mad scientist did not work out, he chose the next best thing- writing stories. He writes thrillers and fantasy stories in different mediums. Born in the cultural city of Pune, Maharashtra he currently is on a literary pilgrimage to London with his wife Deepika. He is an Engineer by accident but compensates for that by writing satire and stories. His daily job includes a lunch-box, a computer, and other unimportant things.
When not writing, he is often seen cycling in the hunt for good coffee or having a pointless argument with random people on varied subjects. He can be reached on twitter @_siddhesh or Facebook http://fb.com/siddhesh.k
Funny thing, I just realized I never wrote a funny short story, which was quite surprising as Story is what I like writing and humor is what I do best (atleast I think so), but for some reason I do not write a short story with a fun thing and I wanted to know why, I realized writing humorous stories is a challenge that even I cannot take. Well, below is not some of my best work, I tried to stay focused but apparently couldn’t. No characters in this story are real, any resemblances to real characters is coincidental, I just put some Blogger friends names so I might get inspired but well… you tell me how it is. Sreya was driving all the way to her friends house. As always Shruti was in trouble. ‘He has left again, Sreya,’ said Shruti between sob, ‘it was so obvious since beginning, he as just messing around. Its over girl, its over. I have nothing else to do now.’
Seven bullets, seven dead. Trisha counted, did she miss anyone? She scratched her head to think back, she usually got carried away when firing a gun. Let me see, she did count eight when she entered, didn't she? This was Sleepy and here is Jackie, I think this was loopy and this blown up face was Happy... oh poor happy, he had a smile. She starting counting the dead bodies and matching them against the made-up names she had assigned. Yes, there were eight and the Big Bad Wolf is missing, init!!! she concluded.
She stood up, brushed her long hair with both her hand. The hair-end looked a bit brittle, need to book an appointment for a Brazilian blow dry, she made a mental note. She loaded a new clip in her gun and cocked the hammer, well let's see, where is this big bad wolfie?
She climbed up the stairs of the dance bar. Three girls were curled up in the corner huddling together. They wore skimpy clothes with a bright coloured blouse and matching churidar. Their dresses were lade…
For many people, he was the God of cinema, a director, a storyteller and an academy award winner. But for many years his stories didn't click with the audience. The world was changing, he observed to himself in private, and this new generation of millennials was not interested in his stories anymore. He heaved a sigh of relief as his hands rested on the wooden table. He craned his neck to look around, what is this place? He wondered again. Did he expect to travel all the way to India at the age of seventy? He had heard of this place, who didn't? Everybody knew what the 'Double Shots' bar was. A homogeneous bar for the who-who of the industry, useful for networking and getting things done. Where else would you get the hand-rolled Cuban cigars in the crowded lanes of Delhi? He wondered as he leaned in on the high-chair and let out a puff contributing his bit to the smog filling the streets.
His agent, an old friend, had called him late night and informed him about this …