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Archive for the tag “local train stories”

Binary Of Pain

It’s Day 2 of the A-Z Blogging Challenge! What is this A-Z Blogging Challenge all about? An Aries new moon always inspires disruptive action of sorts. And A – Z Blogging Challenge was staring me in the face. As it is, it’s been a long time since I’ve really written fiction. I was missing my true love *wink,wink*. I attempted & completed A-Z Blogging Challenge in 2013 and partly, the following year (check out the A-Z posts by clicking on the A-Z in the category cloud). The past 2 years, I’ve been traveling up and down by the Mumbai local, 5 days a week. So, it’s inevitable that most of these stories – flash fiction – will be inspired by that daily commute. Drop in here, then, for your daily fix of sweet&spicy stories (from different genres) based on the next 24 letters of the English Alphabet.

Read the previous story here.

Read the Binary Of Pain below:




Vedana expertly patted the Avon concealer on the blueish red spot under her eye. Next, she applied it on the dark blue coin shape on her upper arm. Thank God for Nirmala, her trainmate, who kept up a regular supply of this natural-hued cream.

Sometimes, she felt like taking the knife from the kitchen and plunging it into her husband’s heart. Often, she fantasized about smashing his head in with the stone mortar. She fingered the black-beaded necklace she wore around her neck. A thread stronger than the Polycab wires in the ads on TV.

Almost impossible to snap.

Her marriage had begun with a hard slap and cut lip. The burden of young age and tradition had kept her tongue-tied at the pain. It moved from lip to eyes to arm to burns and whippings. In the other room, her in-laws listened but pretended not to. They’d rather have a home than be thrown out for speaking up for her.

She wanted to hate them for it but weren’t her own parents sailing the same sea with her brother?

She sought refuge in her job though her boss was less devilish than her husband by only a degree or two. A quick glance at the clock made her hurry. She picked up her bag and the S-hook.

In the tightly-packed-with-ladies compartment, Vedana sat in her usual seat next to the window, still fuming inside. Her bag hung down from the steel hook which she had suspended from the luggage carrier above. It swung sideways with every jerk of the train, hitting a standing girl on her cheek. Vedana day-dreamed about escape, oblivious to the wounded glances the young girl threw at her.

Add to your knowledge of foreign phrases & also read some beautiful poetry along with it, on my friend Prakash Hegade’s blog: 


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