''Paradise in the heart of desert''- A Short Story

Rajasthan's desert was alive and breathing. The golden sands looked to go on forever, undulating in a single pattern resembling a sparkling sea. Here, life and nature were engaged in a never-ending dance of survival. Two tribes coexisted here, interwoven with the desert like a tenacious cactus that had taken root in this breathtaking but harsh environment.

Anaya, a Rajput, was highly respected because of its value. Her skin had turned a warm brown from the sun, and her eyes were as deep and mysterious as a night in the desert. Her life had been as erratic as everyone else's, much like the wind that sweeps over dunes. She always carried a quiver and was a skilled hunter.

Kabir was a member of the Bishnoi tribe, who were renowned for their reverence for all living things. Within his spirit was the softness and warmth of the early silence in the desert. He was born with a natural gift for healing having an innate understanding of the desert's flora and fauna. His hands weathered by sand yet gentle, could cure ailments in both humans and animals.

They ran into each other during a sandstorm. Kabir and his friends found shelter from the wind behind some rocks, and so did the new arrivals.

 The wind blew away a curtain of sand, and two people locked eyes through the howling storm.

It had been one of those moments when there had been a spark between them—a peaceful moment.

Desert-weathered eyes held a wordless understanding. Anaya's warrior spirit found comfort from Kabir as he guided her into the shadows of her hometown. For strength and self-reliance, he turned to her.
Days soon followed weeks as these two tribes travelled together and dealt with the situation. They talked about dreams, laughed aloud, and swapped stories over the fire at night. Kabir was inspired by Anaya's zest for life, which sparked an adventurous spirit in him. Kabir also provided tranquil comfort to Anaya's restless spirit through his wisdom and compassion.

The two of them grew closer as they ventured more into the desert. They also discovered that they had other things in common, like the allure of a starry night, the glitz of the hunt, and the knowledge of how to be respectful and silent when travelling over land. And amid all that desolation, there was their world and the places where they found sanctuary and where their love blossomed more subtly than the desert flower.

Golden and sparkling like an unforgiving sun, the desert stretched on forever. Anya and Kabir's narrative unfolded in the lap of nature throughout this stretch of hardness and desolation. A young couple whose love was as deep and pure as the oasis those mirages promised but never materialized.

As days and weeks went by, the plan to show off the untamed beauty of the desert became real. The first excitement gave way to a grasp of what had happened. They had even less food than water. Their camel cart, their last chance in this barren place, broke down on the rough ground.

One morning, luck sent them into a sandstorm. Kabir ended up alone when the storm passed. Anya disappeared, swept away by the desert's spinning fury. His heart felt cold with hopelessness. He looked around, his voice echoing in the quiet, a useless cry to an uncaring sky. He couldn't see her anywhere.

Days turned into weeks.

Kabir's only food was the fruit from cacti and the occasional food found in the desert. He looked around, his voice lost in the silence, an ineffectual wail to an unsympathetic heaven. There was no evidence of her.

Weeks stretched into days. Fruit from cacti and the occasional food found in the desert were Kabir's only sources of food. Although the hard environment had taken a toll on his body, his spirit was more wounded from within, where he had sealed Anya's memories like a precious artefact that would never fade.

One evening, Kabir happened across an extremely strange sight as the sun started to set and created lengthy shadows across the dunes. A cluster of green sprouts rebelled against the sterility of the desert in the centre of a little dip. He moved closer, intrigued. 

A cluster of green sprouts resisted the inertia of the desert, growing in the centre of a little dip. He moved closer, intrigued. In the middle of the verdant haven, there stood a person nestled under an improvised palm frond dome.

As he approached, his heartbeat accelerated. Anya. She was thin, with a deep bronze tan, yet she was still alive. When her eyes finally met his, they revealed a combination of great power and incredulity.

"Kabir," she said, her voice almost audible.

He took a nap close to her and cried. Then for a minute, the immensity of the desert appeared to shrink and zoom in all their world into one little, frail oasis.

They told tales of their struggles using language that was so full of unadulterated emotion that only he embraced her, knelt beside her, and started crying. Then, for a split second, the immensity of the desert appeared to shrink and zoom in on this little, precarious oasis.

Words full of raw passion that the desert could only intensify, they told stories of their experiences. Anya survived on the meagre food the desert would provide and the tenacity of the human spirit.


Days later, their bodies gradually acclimated to the hostile surroundings and they recovered. They picked up skills in reading the desert, identifying food plants, and finding water in seemingly impossible places.

The heat of struggle tempered their love, making it deeper and more meaningful. They took solace from the suffering in each other's company, and day by day, at dawn and dusk, they grew closer.

"We have found our paradise, haven't we?" Kabir said to Anya as they sat next to a little, glittering pool one day. The place where love may blossom even in the most hostile circumstances."
With a smile, Anya showed off her newly acquired wisdom. She extended her hand to grasp his, saying, "Yes, Kabir." "Here, in the middle of the desert, we've discovered paradise."💓

Their narrative is a monument to the indomitable human spirit. And they lived on—two spirits, intertwined.

Their refuge was the desert, which had formerly been their enemy. They were conquering instead of just existing because they had found love and life where none should have existed.💑



''Thank you for reading!

please comment if this story has touched you''

The Friend Who Overstayed- A short story

The Friend Who Overstayed, A Plate of Peace

(A SHORT STORY)

Anjali was a constant presence, a social vine that had somehow twisted itself around my life. We used to be friends, back in the carefree days of college. Classmates thrown together by circumstance. But somewhere along the way, our friendship had morphed into something suffocating. Now, years later, our connection felt more like a burden. Anjali wasn't malicious, but she was a bottomless pit of need, fueled by a jealousy that simmered just beneath the surface. A constant drain of positive thinking.

My successes, big or small, were met with a barrage of questions. Aced a presentation? "Oh, wow, you must've stayed up all night studying. Did you get any sleep at all?" A new promotion? "That's great! They must have really needed someone to fill that spot." Her "congratulations" always felt laced with a bitter aftertaste.

Her visits were like clockwork. In fact, her visits were timed with military precision. Right around lunch or dinner, she'd materialize at my door, a practised smile on her face. The second I opened it, the interrogation would begin. "What are you having for dinner?" she'd ask, eyes scanning my kitchen like a hawk. If I dared to mention a dish I hadn't made myself, she'd launch into a ten-minute story about a similar recipe her "aunt" (read: a random cooking website) had.

One evening, I was having a simple dinner of samosas. Big mistake. Anjali, who wouldn't touch fried food "for her health," spent the entire visit calculating the cost of two samosas, down to the last rupee. "So, each samosa must have cost you..." she'd trail off, expecting me to reimburse her imaginary expense.

Visits to her house were financial landmines. A single samosa devoured transformed into a two-samosa "debt" I owed. The worst part? Anjali had no shame. She'd call me any time of day, interrupting my work or leisure with mundane updates about her life.

Her requests were bolder still. "That new saree looks lovely," she'd coo, "Can I borrow it for that party next week?" Borrowing, of course, was a euphemism. She'd casually "borrow" sarees, conveniently "forgetting" to return them for weeks. I rarely saw my clothes again. The worst part? She wasn't shy about it. "That new blue one you got would look lovely at my cousin's wedding," she'd announce, leaving no room for refusal.

One day, I decided enough was enough. "Anjali, "I value our friendship, but lately, it feels one-sided. The constant irritating behaviour, the unannounced visits…" Anjali blinked, feigning innocence. "irritating behaviour? I'm just being friendly!"

"Is it friendly to expect a free meal every time you visit?" I countered. "Or to borrow clothes with no intention of returning them?"

A flicker of anger crossed her face, but it was quickly masked. "Oh, come on," she scoffed, "Don't be so uptight."

I held her gaze. "Look, if we're going to be friends, it has to be genuine. Not this… this leeching behaviour."

The silence stretched. Finally, Anjali huffed and stood up. "Fine," she said, her voice tight. "If that's how you feel."The door clicked shut behind her. A wave of relief washed over me, bittersweet but undeniable. Maybe our friendship was over, but a part of me felt lighter like I'd finally shed a cumbersome weight.

Anjali might have called a few times after that, but I didn't pick up. My life was quieter now, less dictated by the irritating behaviour of a one-sided bond. I found myself cooking for myself, enjoying the peace. Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of a new kind of friendship, one built on mutual respect and genuine care.

I learned a valuable lesson: It's okay to set boundaries, even with someone who used to be close. I missed the easy camaraderie of our initial friendship, but the constant undercurrent of jealousy had been a festering wound. Sometimes, letting go is the healthiest option for everyone involved.  It wasn't easy. It felt like a weight had lifted.

Thanks for taking the time to read this content. Your feedback is greatly appreciated. Please consider leaving a comment.

The All-Seeing co-resident

The All-Seeing co-resident-A short story

It was all about sunshine and the lovely aroma of filter coffee once we shifted to Chennai. The auto-rickshaw dropped me in front of my apartment; I was aware that it was not going to be easy for me, merely because of the fact that I am a north Indian.


Before I could say, Jack Robinson, my next-door neighbour Amma Lakshmi materialised faster than a fly on a sweet shop window. Her smile was as big as a banana leaf unaware of all her other reactions, and there was something in her that made me shiver: curiosity, and she was ALWAYS watching me, my serenity was destroyed by her.

“Welcome dear! New arrival in our little paradise!” she greeted me before I could even say a word to her. She was inside my apartment watching the contents of still-closed boxes with the intensity of a temple priest examining for a sacrifice.


From the first day I came home unpacked, Amma Lakshmi became a fixture. Surprised, unannounced visits were her speciality on arrival of friends, relatives or colleagues. She'd comment on everything. She would comment on the groceries I bought, the music that I played, the food I ate, to the clothes I wore.
There had been regular lectures from Amma Lakshmi on how to wear clothes, I wore a casual kurta in the evening, and it was her main task every day to instruct me ‘A married woman shouldn’t look so shabby!’
She had been instructing me to wear a saree and kum -kum on my forehead, to wear bangles, and to put a rangoli in front of my house, this would be good for a happily married life, as if she was my, mother-in-law.

Even worse were her relatives. As if receiving mangoes falling from a tree, they’d visit Amma Lakshmi's house. Her relatives were appendages of herself. And so, any relative – a cousin, a niece, a distant aunt – who came to visit Amma had to pass by my home. ‘This is the new tenant, Meenakshi,’ she would proclaim, to an open censuring turned necks of curious stares and judgemental whispers.

The real creepiness? Amma Lakshmi noticed everything.


Leaving for the market?


walking outside?

Every day, she'd be making rangoli in front of her apartment's main door while putting rangoli her constant focus was on my main door and my activities. For example


“Going shopping again, are we?''


coming home late from a movie,?”


Her lamp would be turned on as I tried to open the door with my key. . .
At what time does my husband come to have lunch, why are you eating so late, if I ate lunch late then I would have an issue with acidity was her daily concern.

Worse of all was the fact that she had sharper eyes than a hawk. . . If any person visited our house whether he or she is related to us or not, then how did you guys turn into friends. It was more or less like being on guard all the time.

Her behaviour was increasingly irritating me and, I felt as if she was getting on my nerves I decided to talk to her. I said, voice firm, ''I appreciate your. . . concern, but I need some privacy. ''

In this, she found herself incredibly constrained, and for a moment she was surprised. This was triggered by the fact that sometime later she had a wicked grin across her lips. 'You know Meenakshi, privacy is not all that important, we are a family here looking out for each other’.

And that’s when it struck me, she was not suffering from loneliness; she loved power. The pleasure that she got out of this information was immense; it gave her control over my life and other people’s lives.

I became aware, that a direct confrontation would not work. The solution came in the form of boundaries. I stopped her coming to my house politely. It was not all plain sailing, but eventually, The visits lessened. Even now, Amma Lakshmi continues to peek at the neighbouring houses but from a distance.


But now it is of a different scale, it is a more restrained observation.


Amma Lakshmi. Perhaps, and perhaps for the first time in my life, knew what it meant to respect other people’s privacy.

A Few words:

If you have a neighbour like this in your life, please leave a comment. Thanks for reading! 😊

"Pride Before the Fall"

A short story

In the middle of the business city of Chennai, there was a housemaid lady named Anjali. She worked as a domestic help in a well-constructed house of the Iyer family whose character was well-established, they were considered rich and orthodox Iyer family. Anjali was not only famous for her job but she became an icon because of her behaviour, which carried arrogance, greed, overconfidence, cunning, selfishness, rigidity, and narcissism.

Anjali had a proud look with a sense of superiority over the others. She felt that she was very essential to the Iyers, and told them how they would struggle to find a competent person like her. From time to time she was very arrogant and she never missed an opportunity to insult the other maids in the neighbourhood treating herself as superior.

Such people would not know how to run it without me,” Anjali would mutter to herself frequently. She always asked for more money, more benefits, and privileges; exploiting the Iyers’ fear of losing a skilled worker.

She was so greedy to an extent that it was very tough to deal with her. Always demanding things and favour and other things justifying to herself that she deserves it, in return for the hard work she puts in. She believed she deserved more than what she was being paid.

Looking at the performance of Anjali it was clearly visible that she was overconfident about the way she completed tasks. She always got overwhelmed with work and, thereby, tried handling much more than she could manage; she would then assure the Iyers that she had the best results on the way but, in the end, she failed.  But when things went wrong, she was quick to blame others, never accepting responsibility for her mistakes.

She was always ready with a comeback; “Why should I be the one to suffer? It is their fault for putting too much pressure on me” she would say, deflecting any criticism that came her way.

Anjali was also very selfish She is seen to be rude and is mostly engrossed with her own affairs. She had no regard for the welfare of individuals,  and convenience but was motivated by whatever would favour her. Focusing solely on what benefitted her.  She was not easy to reason with for she was very stubborn; Her stubbornness made her difficult to deal with; once she set her mind on something, no amount of reasoning could sway her. She would not change her mind even if heaven was to fall.

Anjali was a cunning woman and was a master manipulator. She had many negative traits in her character. Her sheer narcissism was useful in the way that she could be fawning the Iyers to keep them believing that she was in fact indispensable in their home. All of them were scared and she took advantage of that ensuring her place in their home was secure.

One day the Iyers planned a Navaratri grand celebration. This is how Anjali looked at it as her chance to put importance on herself. She took charge of the preparations, but her overconfidence led to several mistakes. They decorated everything wrong; the food was served late, and the guests were unhappy.

Mrs. Iyer, usually patient, finally lost her temper. "Anjali, how could you let this happen?"

Anjali, true to her nature, deflected. ‘It was not my fault madam, the other staff did not do as I told them. ’

But this time, her cunning excuses didn’t work. The Iyers had had enough. They realized that Anjali’s arrogance, greed, and overconfidence were more of a liability than an asset. 

 They decided to let her leave, it could probably be true that she was going through a painful process of being fired or laid off from her job and there was nothing else that could be done.

Anjali was furious. “You will be sorry for this, nobody will look after this house as I do,” She screams before slamming the door.

Days changed into weeks and the Iyers hired a new maid Lakshmi who was humble, hardworking as well and kind at heart. The household ran smoothly, and the Iyers came to realize that Anjali was a negative influence on the household.

Concerning Anjali she lost her job and she could not get any other employment. Her devious temper became known and who in their right mind would hire a difficult person? Her haughtiness and selfishness have brought her to this sorry state and she had no one to blame herself for it.

The story of Anjali was a lesson that was taught to the Iyers and everybody who ever knew Anjali; no matter how professional one can be, it is his or her behaviour that matters.

 Please leave a comment. Thanks for reading! 😊