A collection of short stories and flash fictions. It is essentially an one pot stew of random tales spun on an impulse with no particular genera what-so-ever.
Venture forth, beloved reader, and once you are done, let me know:
...
Authors note: I had originally written this short story for publication in a magazine, but could not resist posting it here too. As most of you know, wattpad does not support text warping, and I refuse to allow all my efforts in editing this go to waste, so I've included screenshots of the pdf.... Please do check it out. You can scroll further down to find the story in plain text too.
The song above has nothing to do with the plot, but it is a masterpiece and has a pretty similar vibe.... And I don't think I'll be able to find a more fitting one for now.
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(16th August, 2021)
Story:
The black gates creaked open as the scattered crowd started to drift in. A path paved with memories. Some have trod here so often that they no longer notice the map so thoughtfully placed or the grassy greens spreading around or the conifers and timbers outlining the sky. The cars and the buses and bikes and scooters ignored, almost as if they had merged with the pavement.
But if you stop – no, don’t stop walking unless you want the person behind you to stumble – just stop thinking whatever you were thinking about, get those hands off the phone and ear buds out, cease the chattering and the brooding and just look around even as you rush to your destination.
There, towards the right, can you see that girl with a suitcase asking for directions? Is she new? At this time of the year? . . . Or a little to the left, yes, just there, the pavilion filled with agonizing students; or the carefree cliques by the canteen, snacking on sweet treats for breakfast. The couple ahead with their heads crowded together, hand in hand; how long has it been since they last saw each other in the flesh? And now, we’ve reached the amphitheater; no, don’t go in just yet.
Come let’s hide under the shadows of the trees and spy on this wonder. Peek through the branches and feel the throes of the masses below. There, towards the stage is a group of 10, laughing over their open notebooks. Pictures will be taken and reels will be made, but not before the imminent has passed.
Further along, the meritorious ones sit in silence, sometimes discussing formulas in hushed voices. Then there are those in the middle of the spectrum, who jest and review in equal measure.
The loud ones, the quiet ones, the smart ones, the dumb ones, the obnoxious ones and the angels of the group, the centerpiece and the shadow, the spectator and the mastermind, the forgotten and the one everyone misses . . . how long has it been since these grounds were this boisterous.
Now look behind, at the barren Xerox shop, or not so barren now that someone is hurrying along to make a purchase. Quick, look away, they are looking at us now!
Scan the premises now, searching for familiar faces . . . only to remember that there are none. So now look for familiar silhouettes, or a flash of an ID card with a strap of the same color. Now look at the ones you’ve found, their voices now distinguished from the babble around, and wonder,” should I go greet them?”
But time is running out and the faces hidden behind masks and shields seem alien, so walk away, straight ahead, where the canteen stands isolated, like a mighty monolith surrounded by colorful figurines.
Maneuver the reunited chattering and walk straight ahead. Let the illusion seep in, you’re prepared, you’ve read all the notes and textbooks; that will have to do, and it’s enough. please let it be enough. It has to be enough. Come; let’s pray for the paper to be easy . . .
Why do the semester end exams have to be held? How cozy it would be to lie in bed instead, listening to online classes or daydreaming through them? With cushions and covers, blankets and bolsters… that does sound so much more tempting than three hours on a hard desk: and not just a hard one, but also one which is bound to be too small. Sigh! Let’s grudgingly walk ahead while our hearts wander back.
Questions mean nothing now, and isolation can be addictive. There is no need to see who’s around, there will be plenty of time to meet and greet later, won’t there?
It’s time to pass through the manned gates. Scan the chart and find your room, rub in the sanitizer, offer your hand to the now omnipresent infrared thermometer. Wait . . . not yet . . . yes, he has nodded, let's walk in, straight ahead, straight up the stairs, straight to the allotted room, straight to the allotted seat. Don’t look up; don’t look around, just think about the 4th paper: the one that should have happened 4 months ago.
Masked faces, gloved hands; they are so old and yet, so jarringly new.
How the world has changed . . . Where is the college life promised by media throughout a long childhood?
But maybe this is better. A world alone; so now let’s read the paper and rejoice. Answer the questions and then leave, before anyone else does. There is no need to meet or greet, what’s the point? We won’t be meeting for months: and there is no need to remind anyone of one’s existence, not with the shadows calling.
So let’s hurry back, to the comfort of our beds. . . . Back to thoughts; back to songs; back to games; back to films; back to books; and back to the question:
