Sid-O-Scope

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… Cheers, 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 goin...

Note: This story is inspired from ancient Chinese jing (勁 or power) in any war, you have a combination of positive power, negative power but there is a thing jing or power which is shown in the story here. Hope you like it. King Bahubali was a noble and just king ruling the land of Bhoomi Pradesh (the land of earth) he was known to be the most cunning and the most intelligent ruler of the land. His policies of building water reservoirs over the river provided water to peasants all over the year, even without rainfall. ‘Never trust nature,’ he would tell his advisors. His panel of seven royal advisors were also very highly intelligent in their respective field. The kingdom of Bhoomi Pradesh was running in prosperity with only one problem, its neighboring kingdom was Khooni Pradesh, the region of murderous King Khoontosh. King Khoontosh as his name said, was very aggressive and murderous king. His soldiers bullied the peasants in the land and robbed his own subjects. One day, as Ki...

He glanced at the ink pen sitting on the writing table, with immense pride he picked it up. Vyomkesh was happy today, he quickly glanced at the table calendar, the red mark on the date 1st Jan 2010 made him smirk. Finally the day was here. Finally the nine years of torment were over, his dear daughter turned 18 and the last of the palimony cheque.

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.’

Caution: The following story is not meant for weak and timid mind. Readers discretion advised. If you get disturbed on reading the story, please stop reading immediately. The day was nearly ending and I sat in the staff room closing my books for the day. Prof. Despande and Prof. Shantaram sat opposite to me discussing the latest evening news hitting the town. ‘Four victims in past two months, Mrs. Despande,’ said Prof. Shantaram. ‘I know, all girls. The serial killer is out there killing girls, we need to be careful,’ said Prof. Mrs. Despande, ‘I have asked my husband to pick our daughter from class and then me. No one leaves house alone.’ Prof. Shantaram exclaimed, ‘Tsk Tsk Tsk, the papers are saying that police has told every girl to stay indoors on a full moon night. The person seems to be killing the victims on a full moon night only.’ ‘Should be one of your subjects, Prof. Pandhari,’ said Prof. Shantaram looking at me. Obviously it was a physiologica...

Disclaimer: Readers please be wary, the story written below has textual description of violence. Not at all suitable for weak minds, pregnant woman and heart patient. If you choose to read it, please be sure you do it on your own risk. As I walked outside the clinic a cold and stark fear gripped me. A chill went down my spine. The positive reports in my hand showed a disaster. I did not want a baby, not now, not like this. All my life I had the incomplete desire. I had to fulfill it before the baby. How could this happen? Of course he was trying for a long time and I knew it would be sooner or later. But now, that this is happening, am I ready for this? The key in the ignition is now telling me something, yes, this has to be done. Shall I drive to my mothers? I am not sure, maybe I have to. I don't have anyone accept her in this world now. I think I should go there. What will my husband think, when I don't return in the evening? What will be my answer to him?...

A horrible combination of alcohol, Bollywood and Hollywood. He gulped the complete pint of whiskey in one gulp, ‘Come again? You… are the producer?’ he said. ‘Yeah man, I give you money,’ said the producer, ‘I want you to direct my film. Its actually remake of your Hollywood flick we have made a little modification’ ‘Ok, run me over the script once more,’ the director turned towards the writer. ‘So actually we have this wonderful script, never seen before on Indian theatres. It has all the shades of drama, action, Sci Fi, romance…’ ‘You said drama and action?’ the director asked taking one more pint of Whisky. ‘Yes sir, that is how we make the movies in India,’ the writer proudly boasted. ‘Interesting concept, run me through the script,’ the director said. ‘You know we have signed Superb Khan in this film,’ said the producer, ‘He has given us the dates for next two months.’ The director splat the mouthful of beer on the face, ‘Two months? that’s it?’ ‘Yes, gettin...