Saturday, June 5, 2010

Old 55s.

He passed the Gateway of India, distracted, repenting all those years of pain he’d inflicted on his wife. Repenting his drunken violence towards his kids.

He entered the Taj Mahal hotel, set for a meeting, and vowed to reform himself.

He glanced at the calender. As of 26th November ’08, he thought, he would be a changed man.

He coughed uncontrollably, and looked at the note his daughter left him the previous month.

“Daddy, plese stop smoking if you lov me. Promis?”

His eyes welled up as he reread it, after his wife left him, daughter in tow.

Seeking solace, he fished out a cigarette from his pocket and took a long drag.
They couldn’t stop staring. She had always been the cynosure of all eyes. She had everything, they said.

At the party, everyone complimented her on her diamonds, her lovely sari. Gifts from her husband, she said.

Later that night, she looked at her watch. And wondered if her husband’s boyfriend had left their house yet.

-November 8, 2009.

2 people shouted back:

guyofthe90s said...

stumbled on and liked your stories. All were depressive though...definitely 3-2-1 in the order.
You have some more 55s ?

Anonymous said...



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