Short Story: About a Girl

She sat on the steps, one hand supporting her chin. She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there. What she did know was that Dashrath, her brother, wasn’t coming. Yet she sat there waiting for him. D was her life, her big brother, father, friend. Their parents were dead. The two of them stayed with their uncle and aunt. Their uncle provided for them in every material way, a fact Dash always pointed out to her when she started complaining about the indifferent behaviour meted out to them otherwise. Like today. Today was her birthday. Had it not been for Dash, nobody would have known.

So where was he now, she wondered, but not very much. If he didn’t turn up in the next few minutes, she’d know what had happened. He must be dead. They all left you, one way or the other. Her mother had died when she was seven. Her Dad became a lost soul after that and died a year later. Since then she had been preparing herself for the worst – the death of her brother, her only living family member. No death would ever catch her unawares again. She’d be prepared for the worst. And so she came to dread each day. Said good-bye to her brother with a heavy heart when he dropped her to her school on his bike. Told herself not to expect to see that warm smile again. She was too young to wonder if this wasn't a strange way to live. It was the safe way was all she knew.

The trilling of a bicycle gave her hope. She craned her neck and saw Dash hurtling at full speed towards where she was sitting. She gulped when he came to a standstill near the steps. He took one look at her screwed-up face and grinned, “Not again! Don’t tell me you thought I had gone and got myself bumped off, you little doomsdayer!” She looked at him and suddenly smiled. She couldn’t help it. Her brother knew her well. They went on their way to their apartment.

They are busy talking. Have they noticed the bus coming their way in full speed? God knows. One hopes they have.

Short Story: First Crush

Hamlin Irani, world-famous violinist, was often asked what got him interested in the violin. A beautiful music teacher, he would say smilingly. It had been quite an eventful day, when he had first met her...

Hamlin woke up groggily as his mother jerked him awake. He stumbled through his breakfast in a drowsy state. It was raining heavily outside. He walked towards his school, looking up at the grey but beautiful sky and thought how little the people on the road appreciated nature’s beauty. He was one of the few who observed this, HE was a true artist, he thought smugly. But he had been looking up, when he should have been looking down, at the rain-beaten road. He slipped and fell in a muddy puddle. Shucks, god had painted the true artist’s shirt with nature’s colors.

Hamlin walked into the school building. There was a small crowd near the notice board. The football team list! He ran there and shoved his way to the board through the crowd. A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H…no Hamlin this year too, no surprises there. Chris Almeida had been selected. Oh how he would gloat. Hamlin walked off disgustedly.

He saw his friend Maya walk in through the school gate. He hid behind a tree quickly. It would be fun to startle her. He peeped out after a few seconds. Now she was near the bench. In ten seconds she’d be here. He grinned to himself and waited. 8, 9, 10…there was a sound near the tree. He leapt out with arms sprawled in the air and screamed “YAAAAAA”. The thin old Mr T fell back with a scared cry. “Oww,” he yelled in agony as his old back hit the ground. Hamlin, genuinely contrite, bent forward to pull him to his feet. The old man shoved him aside roughly (the old boy sure was tough for his age, Hamlin thought) and got up. He hit Hamlin on his behind with his walking stick with energy, once, twice, which the boy tried to duck unsuccessfully. “Uhumm”, he pressed his lips together tightly to suppress a groan, for fear of being seen by the whole school. “What the devil is the matter with you, you juvenile idiot? When will you boys grow up?” screamed Mr T. Hamlin tremblingly told him he thought it was someone else. Mr T walked off in a huff, muttering he wished his walking stick had a pointed steel edge. Not a very good start to a day, Hamlin thought morosely.

Meanwhile, Maya had disappeared. He wondered idly if he’d get a chance again to irritate her that day. The day stretched on. The only good thing about the day yet was that it hadn’t got worse. That is, if you didn’t count having to see Shiva on the second bench dig his nose and wipe his fingers on his trousers. And then it happened. It was the Music period. They were waiting for a new teacher. They didn’t know yet who that would be. He hoped it would be someone nice - he liked music. As the class waited in lazy anticipation, a vision swept in. Dressed in a cool turquoise flowing robe, over some slinky trouser. Golden hair piled up, with a few lose strands. “Hi, I am Nyla Jackson, your new Music teacher. I’m from England and today I’m going to teach you the basics of the violin, my favourite musical instrument.” In that moment, Hamlin would have agreed to learn to play anything. Anything, as long as this glowing creature would be teaching it. And that’s how it had started. All because of Ms Jackson, his first crush.