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.’
He walked the old dusty road again after so many years. He remembered the place very well, so many memories etched into his mind.
The old forgotten dusty lane, which was never urbanized by any political agenda. The same old little house which stood the test of time for so many years. He remembered his last walk on this road. He was trying to prevent the flood flowing from his nose and running his sore bumps with his free hand.
He knew this return was uncalled for, unexpected but it was the one he had to make. He did not know how she would react, would she still be happy on seeing him or will she even recognize him? The crumbled paper clutched in his hand was his identity for so many years. It was a his ticket to existence, his own.
The bell was in his reach now, he was a few seconds away in uncovering the truth. If he wanted to turn back, this was the last threshold. Funny thing was, even after so many days, his hand shivered at this stage.
Would he face her? Face her like he dreamed …
This is my first attempt for writing a love story, which I am really bad at. Mani Padma (from Ginger Chai) challenged me to write a love story a few days ago, it is not a real great read, but a little feeble attempt to take a taste in this genre. Please give your honest opinion…
Sid. *fingers crossed*
Breathe in. Breathe out. Damm, this is so easy when you are not tensed. Why is this clerk talking so much time. ‘Will you hurry up?’ I asked the clerk. My finger nails were tapping the counter in excitement. My name is Shailaja, 30, single and employed, in short a perfect girl for the aunties, mammies to constantly remind me that my days are waning out, that I have to find someone before it is impossible for them to. It is not that I don’t want to get married, but I should get some proper match, isn’t it? All they show me is either short, tall, long nose, meaning some imperfection in some way or the other.
I am not at all hopeless romantic and I am definitely not going to kiss a …