The Mrs had been out for a few days, she returned to find the two notices. The Mr said, he’d been to the medical storeowner who is mentioned in the notice and the Rs. 60,053 bill was close to being cleared, some misunderstanding that has been sorted. The same storeowner refused to clear the other bill. The Mrs was furious. She was also the "easily agitated by the minutest injustice" kind.

There she stomped into the pharmacy, a copy of the meticulously saved bill in hand, "chacha, why won’t you clear this other bill?" Chacha looked up slightly from his furrowed brows hidden behind thick glasses. And almost immediately, he calmly went back to wiping a medicine bottle with a rag. He just shook his head that clearly indicated that he won’t do it. It was time to shut shop. He egged the Mrs out and brought the shutter down.

She pleaded, she demanded. She called out to the human in him, she invoked God’s name. She followed him to his house and went in too.

He had had enough. He turned back and said, "You don’t want me to go through the process of clearing that one. Your despicable act will be caught," his disgust was apparent. The Mrs knew not what he was on about. "The items on that bill, they tell your story."

A glance at the paper, brought bumps on her skin and shivers down her spine -

• <some form of paracetemol>
• Home pregnancy test
• Birth control pills

The Mr couldn’t make babies. It had been medically proven. The Mr was right behind her.

The first thought to cross her mind, "Damn this country and its organized systems to track every single thing down."

He held her hand softly, turned around with her and walked out of the storeowner’s house. He looked a little heartbroken. Is this passive aggression, she thought. But he had no aggression, he was only passive. "But, it doesn’t mean I don’t love you," she said out loud. "Hmmm…", he barely responded.

They were sitting on tenterhooks, at the edge of their bed, an unusual distance apart. She didn’t know what to say. She loved him, she did. She knew he was getting his thoughts together. She wanted to know if all will be well, that she will be forgiven. She couldn’t bear to look in his direction.

She heard a slight snore.

Still on her bed, she woke up with a start.

"… it…was…a…dream…" She turned around to check. The Mr was sound asleep, snoring lightly.

"Of course, it was a dream!!!"

• Their medical expenses had never been high enough to raise that big a medical tax.
• What the heck is a medical tax?
• How can a medical bill not have the names of the medicines on it!

And most importantly,

• They were not in THAT organized country when this had happened.

She gave a nervous smile to herself, as her heart paced.  She looked at the Mr and kissed him on the forehead. He turned to give her a sleepy hug. A tear of relief rolled. Ghosts from the past are scary indeed.

—
[Last paragraph edited in to replace a line from the earlier version.]

* * *

This 55-word story is in response to a prompt on ‘bed’ from here.

* * *

This 55-word story is in response to a prompt on ‘paper’ from here.

है इक तर्फा प्यार हमारा, ये जो अब सच है?

कैसे कहूँ इस दिल को,
तू इस तन को चला हर पल,
पर मन को न करने दे हलचल?

कैसे कहूँ, उड़ जा तू चाहे जहाँ,

पर उस एक को सोचना है तुझे मना?

कैसे कहूँ, नज़र हो किसीपे तेरी, न करेंगे हम ऐतराज़,
पर जिसपे है नज़र उस तक न जाए तेरी आवाज़?

कैसे कहूँ?

सिर्फ तेरी गोद में सर रख सो जाना है

बस सिर्फ तेरी गोद में सर रख, सो जाना है

बालों में हाथ न फेरना, कोई बात नहीं,
कोई सवाल न करना, न कोई बात छेड़ना,
मुझे अकेला है रहना, पर
सिर्फ तेरी गोद में सर रख सो जाना है

मुझे शर्मिंदा न करना, सिसकियों को न सुनना
गिरते आसुओं को न महसूस करना, उन्हें माफ़ करना
सिर्फ तेरी गोद में सर रख सो जाना है

सिर्फ तेरी गोद में सर रख सो जाना है
तेरी गोद में सर रख थोडा सा सिर्फ रो जाना है

“I’m so sorry. So-so sorry. Cinders, I mean, Cindy dear, I want to know too.” She  tinkered with the third point of her 5-pointed star, from the left. “Ouch” The star’s poke didn’t bother her. She started counting three from the right.

“Godmother, what are you doing?”

“Shhhhush. glitch in the matrix” she mumbled. Her outlandish costume bothered her. She didn’t want to stick out in her jeans and favorite pink t-shirt, in these ancient times.

“Huh?” This foreign language was very disorienting for Cinderella.

“Glitch, girl? Matrix…haven’t you seen the …? Never mind.” The Fairy was still struggling with the star.“This third point should have fixed the issue. I tried both counting from the left and the right. It just won’t work.”

“But, Godmother, if I may. Won’t it be the same…either way?”

“Oh yeah…Smart girl. What are you doing here in the past?” It was difficult to tell whether the Fairy was appreciating Cinderella or mocking her. Her smirk-cum-smile didn’t give much away.

“Huh?”

“Not that smart after all, eh?” Mocking, it was.

“But Godmother, how did the shoe fit StepSister Number 2?”

“Don’t these girls have a name!?” The Fairy was exasperated with both, Cinderella and her wand. It was the wooden stick that she was examining now.

“I don’t know. We were never introduced.”

“Ohhhh…”

“What Godmother? Did you fix it?”

“The 0s and 1s are exchanged.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t you ever get anything girl?”

“When we were little, I heard the teacher tell StepSister Number 1 that 0 comes before 1. Does that help?”

The Fairy gave out a loud LOL. She continued to laugh as she tried to explain, “Oh well, Cinderella, let’s just say we are all made up of millions of 1s and 0s. And they were somehow interchanged in the shoe.” She noticed the tear welling from Cinderella’s right eye. She imagined the prince on the white  horse, riding away.

“The good news is, it is now conformed that you are the exact opposite of your stepsister.”

“You mean our feet are somehow exactly opposite each others’”

“Huh?”

“How did that happen, Godmother?” her stern voice defied the tears now threatening to flow freely.

“Okay, here we go. Cindy dear, you might want to sit down for this one.”

Cinderella obeyed and sat on the pumpkin.

“We are a little short-staffed on Fairy Godmothers these days. Recession, budget cuts…”

“I’m so sorry, it must be hard.”

“Yeah, I was just coming to that. I-work-two-shifts-9pm-to-9am-for-you-and-9am-to-9pm-for-your-sister. And-I-was-tired-and-I jumbled-things-up.” All in one breath, those words came. “And the make of the shoe inverted itself.”

“Inverted itself?”

“O-kay, o-kay, I’m sorry!”

“Can we fix it?”

“I don’t know the wand’s third point just won’t work.” The disappointment was obvious. “ I’ll try to nod off with my head in the opposite side, when I am on your shift.”

“Does that mean you are on HER shift, right now? Shouldn’t you be around her, then?” The jealousy was undeniable.

“Yeah, the mornings are for mean girls. Usually, they don’t cry much, they are busy being mean. Yesterday, your stepsister chipped a finger nail, started crying. And I had to be there. She bored me with her whining, I must have nodded off. That’s when this might have happened.”

“Ohh..”

“Which also means you will have to cry, for me to help you, at night.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Wry she was.

“Alright then, I should be off…”  The Fairy felt sorry for her goof-up but was relieved in equal measure to be gone from here.

* * *

Night fell.

Cinderella cried. The Fairy came.

Cinderella whined. The Fairy nodded off to sleep.

Cinderella quickly made her do it in the correct direction.

And panic not children, the story pretty much ended the way you’ve heard it all your lives. Happily. Ever. After.

————————————————————————————————

This story is in response to prompts, here and prompt #4 here.

She danced like she was in a trance. To hip-hop. Bollywood hip-hop. 

He shook her. He was obviously embarrassed.

He shouldn’t have. He should’ve let her be. They had just patched up after a bad fight.

The trance broke like it was a rude shock. Just like when someone forces you to wake up with a jolt, when you are sleeping deep.

She woke up with her mouth dry. And scared. Scared that they had fought again.

They were dancing together, how could they’ve fought?

She got up. She needed to wash down the dryness in her mouth. When did they come back from the dance lounge? Did they go there at all? But, they had. It was Bollywood night, she remembered. He hates it.

Even so, he went with her. He wanted to be nice. It was an effort for him, she knew. Both, ‘bad’ music and being nice.

What had she gotten herself into? A person who takes pride in not being nice. But he liked being nice to her. It came easily to him too. She felt special.

That thought was like the gush of water running down her throat. So satisfying. She started swaying again. To the imaginary music in her heart. It felt good to be back with him.

“Why do you dance like that? It looked funny  last night too!”He shook her up again.

She walked towards the door to his trailing words, “I mean…I was just saying…”

The trance had broken.

“But, we’re such good friends! We know each other inside out. How can you not want to take this ahead? Why…” She blurted out desperately. But stopped mid-way trying to regain control.

He wanted to comfort her, to give her the biggest hug ever. He knew she wanted it. He knew he wanted it. But he didn’t dare. Instead, he reluctantly shifted his gaze outside the window, and to the unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“Because we’re such good friends, sweetie. We’ll bicker, we’ll nag, we’ll get on each others’ nerves. I don’t want to lose a friend to a girlfriend.”

“Right. So, if we get together, all the fun-time spent together will evaporate, just…just go away…just because of the relationship’s name? And don’t you "sweetie" me, alright?”

“Sorry..sorry…You know how I love the time we spend together, whether or not we are with the others. I don’t want it to become the time for you to complain about how my mom hates your nail paint.”

“Okay, I’ll continue complaining about ozone depletion.” She smiled but her eyes were tightly closed.

He let out a loud laugh, almost nervous he glanced at her. Hoping her smile meant they’ll go past this. She seemed to have wiped away the tear. Was that numbness he saw in them instead? No, that can’t be…

“Exactly, this is what I love about you. How your humor takes over everything. This is what we are. Smiling, making each other laugh. Even though you are…we are…feeling this way.

I don’t want romance to spoil this. You know what happened with Janvi. We were really good friends too, but over time we made each other…”

“Do not compare me to Janvi!” Her back suddenly seemed straighter and she more elegant.

“See what I mean, we’re having our first fight in three years. And we’re not even in a relationship. You know that ‘a-little-more-than’ in ‘a-little-more-than-friendship’ is this…the bitterness, the…”

“When did you become such a cynic? Where’s all the optimism?”

“That’s what…these ‘special’ relationships make us – ‘Specially’ cynical, ‘Reserved for one person’ expectations, uniquely ‘weak’ for that one person.”

“Are you saying you’re willing to have a girlfriend who’s not a good friend?”

“I don’t know…Maybe, I’m not meant to be in extra-special relationships”

He couldn’t stop gazing at the twilight touching her cheek. He wanted to be there. Suddenly, he turned to click two switches on. Hopefully she’ll look less vulnerable in the tube light.

“We’ll also have more time to make each other laugh…” Her half-hearted tone made her realize that she was already giving up. Life is not a cricket match…miracles don’t happen off the last ball.

“Okay that’s that then. I feel like coffee. Want some?” She walked away without waiting for the answer, almost as if someone was racing her to the kitchen.

Two moist eyes followed her. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her by herself. If he was hurting this much just because he was denying her something she wanted, she must be in unbearable pain. And he was causing it.

Fumbling with the pans as noiselessly as possible, she wanted to let go. But the tears deserted her…them too… As if suddenly conscious of her unshed tears, she closed her eyes, convincing herself that she has done her best to control herself. And unknowingly she tilted her head towards the ceiling, as if pleading and waiting to scream out loud, Why me…?

An arm wrapped around her. She sensed the struggle between the guy who wanted to be firm with her and the guy who wanted to comfort her. And yet, it felt like heaven.

“Because…because only one can be. I’m praying for the opposite. I want just what we have as desperately as you want more. And only one can be.”

The bored, half-dead brain had Mahesh’s lifeless body attached to it. Well, almost lifeless. The rhythmic, green lines struggled to say that his heart continued to give death a good fight. His kidneys functioned, thanks to the tubes attached to them. Needles poked into the softer side of his wrists, operated his digestive system. His charcoaled lungs seemed to manage just about fine.

"Is it time yet? Why isn’t Sumitra here? Has she brought the letters? I know Suresh won’t let me down!

Would I be able to do for them what they’ve been doing for me? Look at someone they love as if they’re dead but wishing they aren’t."

A nurse came in and adjusted the needles, and the glucose drip. "Good thing I can’t feel a thing, 8!#₡h…

Oh there’s Suresh. I wonder how that evaluation went. Was it supposed to be yesterday? Or was that last week.

$#!T. What have I done to him? Even if he got that promotion, he can’t smile. And worse, he can’t swear at his boss over a cigarette with me either.

Damn you, slippery roads."

—

He was a good man. He loved me. He had his flaws and he needed me to keep him posted about them. He was the first one I’d want to talk about anything. Break-ups, cricket, artsy films… awards at work…everything. We’d do anything for each other.

"Mr. Suresh, does he have any allergies?"

#*₡k!!! Why am I thinking of him in the past tense?!

"Mr. Suresh…Does-Mr. Mahesh-have-any-allergies?"

"Sorry, doctor. No allergies..I mean not that I know of."

"Aren’t you his brother?"

"No. Aren’t they on his chart?"

"No, was just confirming."

Oh, how Mahesh would have loved to have a ‘talk’ with this doctor. What fun it would be to watch…Mahesh, where have you gone, yaar? I know you are there. Whatever these white coats might have to say about your ‘condition’, you have your own take on this whole thing. You are listening to everything, even my thoughts. Innit, b@$#@%d?

There was a knock on the ICU door. It was time for Suresh to give Mahesh’s wife a chance to sit by his side. Anyway, he couldn’t bear to see Mahesh connected to the tubes anymore. Mahesh mocked his strength with that invisible grin. The machine with the graph showed the heart was still alive and kicking. And they said the brain was dead.

Hah! Mahesh’s brain…dead. Yeah, right!

"Hi Sumitra."

"Hi" She handed Suresh an envelope.

"What’s this?"

"Mahesh had written notes for some of us."

"What the …?"

"Yeah. You know how he liked to talk about life and death. He told me about these just before the accident. He said if I ever become a vegetable, on the 30th day, start handing these letters out."

"…….." The last month has left its mark on Sumitra. Her smile is replaced by numbness. She stays composed. We pray together. For Mahesh to come back.

"The last line in mine says – Support Suresh in whatever he does. WHATEVER." She fell into Suresh’s arms. She didn’t cry, she hadn’t yet. She wants to. Everyone wants her to. He hugged her. He needed a shoulder too.

"Go in. He’s had enough of me. He is waiting for you." He gave her a peck on the forehead and let go of her tight grasp on his hand. He watched her walk into the ICU with broad shoulders and a straight spine, as he tore the envelope open. He looked down at five words.

"PULL THE PLUG. RIGHT NOW."

Wha…? He stood still. He looked around. The people around seemed normal. No one was in shock. How could they be? This wasn’t true.

Why? Why would Mahesh write a will? How did he know he’d be here? Why doesn’t he want to live? Why isn’t he praying with us? Why isn’t he willing his way to life, like we are willing ours… even after seeing him like this?

And unknowingly his head tilted towards the ceiling, as if pleading and waiting to scream out loud, Why me…?

—

A half-dead brain spoke, “Because…because only one can be. I’m praying for the opposite. I want to die as desperately as you want me to live. And only one can be.”

The supporters of the Green team are some of my most loyal followers. They bow down to me religiously, as many times a day as a human could. They don’t idolize me but they have a name for me.

The supporters of the Blue team celebrate life. They have 330 hundred thousand names for me and a story for each one of them. They celebrate each one’s birthday and every important victory mentioned in each of the stories.

They all love me.

They all look up to me when they have trouble dealing with what I’ve dealt them.

I love them all.

Each member of the Green team thanks me from deep within, when they do well. The Blue team is thankful too, maybe they aren’t that expressive. It’s the thought that counts, after all. And I can use a little appreciation for my work of art.

The bowlers in the Green team are some of the most wonderful ones I’ve made. I gave the Blue team the batsmen. I shouldn’t have let Brown divide into Blue and Green, at least for the game’s sake. Oops. I forgot to put the fielding chip in any of them. Avoiding the partition wouldn’t have helped anyway then.

I look down at them when they take the field and make play out of war.

A fine game this. And they created it with the little I gave them. And with the even littler they use.

I thank them for that. What would the rest of the population breathe if it weren’t for these 22 gentlemen. Sure, it hurts when they start praying one of players as if he were I. It’s funny because it’s not as if they don’t know he cannot perform miracles, just like me.

The game is known to unite the otherwise divided diverse nation that Blue is. The game seems to be the only good thing happening in Green. The game brings whatever divide you could think of together.

Green and Blue have seen some dark times because of the game too. The players have been publicly humiliated when they lost. That thin line between play and war can become invisible when play becomes religion too.

I gave man stone, I gave him fire, I gave him the brains to find entertainment for themselves. I underestimated his power to mix his emotions and weaknesses with these materials. He now makes me nervous.

Today is a big day. Its Green vs Blue.

The men in green have worked hard. So have the ones in blue.

Each one of the twenty-two has been looking forward to this day. Hours spent on patient practice. Months sacrificed away from friends and family. Away from the people they do this for, for the people they do this for.

It’s not an easy life for them. But whom did I write an easy life for anyway? *evil grin*

These men though, they get yelled at for earning money. By the capitalists too. They are scowled at if they are not consistent at their talent, day after day. I shudder when they deviate a teeny-weeny bit from the best level of ethics. Remember the stones and the fire? How will they be used against their innocent families?

You know, almost all of them give up on parties when the entire cricket-watching population is making a party out of the game. The ‘entire cricket-watching population which makes a party out of the game’ is scathing when it judges the players who didn’t give up on the fun AND got caught.

Oooh…good catch! Ok people, adios. The game is on.

…

…

…

The Blue team needs two runs of the last ball to win.

Unknowingly Green men tilt their heads up, as if pleading and waiting to scream out loud.

And unknowingly Blue men tilt their heads up, as if pleading and waiting to scream out loud.

Uh…hello? Why me…?

The universe liked her. It would conspire every once in a while to give her a little happiness, a small smile. She’d make a big deal out of that and be motivated. For the day.

See, she didn’t need too much now, did she? And yet inspiration eluded her on the days that the universe had other things on its mind.

Also, it wasn’t too easy for the universe to go about looking for things to make her day, every day, however little it was.

How could it? It found little inspiration for itself. "Keeping itself going, curbing its urge to end it all" – was all it had on mind, all the time. Good thing, it does the ‘right thing to do’ day-after-day.