Showing posts with label SHORT STORIES. Show all posts
Showing posts with label SHORT STORIES. Show all posts

Wednesday, 12 April 2017

THE ADVERTISEMENT ENACTMENT COMPETITION






       THE ADVERTISEMENT ENACTMENT COMPETITION


                                                                                   -A SHORT STORY




Roshan is keenly watching all the advertisements today because he has to participate in an advertisement enactment competition tomorrow.
He has been outstanding in Quiz, Essay writing, and Poem-Recitation. His brain never lets him down.
However, enacting an advertisement for selling a product is a different ballgame for him. Here, his appearance would matter. Synchronization, content, and performance would be the key. 
Unlike every day, he isn't fighting with his sister for the TV remote. Neither does he urge her for switching to his favourite cartoon channel. And, even stranger is that he looks at the TV screen only when the ad break comes and scribbles in his notebook. He reads the notes when the program resumes.
He is nervous.
Tomorrow is Saturday. He has to put on the white uniform with white canvas shoes. His uniform should not be shabby. He runs out of the room and returns with his rundown canvas shoes and the bottle of liquid polish. 
One thick coat and his carefulness change the look of the shoes.
The morning dawns. He is shaky as if it is the biggest test of his life.
His fellows always say, ' You can beat everyone in academics but we will settle the account in dramatics and sports.' He knows that they are better in these fields but he wants to give them a stiff competition.
The school auditorium is full of cheer and anticipation. The nonparticipants, sitting on the carpeted floor, are eagerly waiting for the participants to enact the advertisements which they watch on TV with some innovation. They expect a great show from their talented peers.
The stage is about four feet high. Eight participants, two from each house are sitting in the right corner. The sweat of nervousness has wetted their red faces. 
The hall is beaming with life. Its lonely and hungry walls cherish the whispers, giggles and childish nimbleness.
The announcer reaches to the Mic. Her greeting words mingle with the elated utterances of the chaotically busy audience. She repeats louder. Silence and stillness follow. She reads out the rules,' Every participant will pick up two chits. He or she can choose one product and will have to enact an advertisement.' 
The four judges are ready with their pencils and heedful eyes. 
Roshan is first to go up. He draws out the chits from the bowl with trembling hands. He unfolds them one by one and mumbles, 'Shoes and Ketchup.' He thinks for a while and hands over the 'Shoes' chit to the announcer. Her lips read the word to the mic for the audience to hear.
Roshan parades forward from the back most of the stage saying, 'Bata is the best quality, ' he jumps, 'My sportswear, schoolwear, and party wear.' He runs back and repeats. 
'There is a hole in your Bata sole,' someone in the audience shouts and guffaws. More taunts and laughter follow. Rohan freezes in the middle of the wooden platform. His toe feels the cold polished surface as he walks away.


Tuesday, 2 August 2016

THE WAIT... A micro story



                                                                         
                                                                                
                                  THE WAIT





Every morning, he was here, opposite the pillar No. 2345 on the India- Pakistan border as early as the sun appeared on the horizon. The eight-kilometre walk from his village Barmer was taxing for his old legs. 




The tremulous gaze of his stone-still eyes fought with the dazzling sunlight and dying hope of seeing his son alive again. Strong wind barged its way across the border shoving his beard to flick against his suffering chest and sticking straws to it as if to tease him.


Two months have passed since his only son, Jaidev had forayed into the territory of Pakistan. The village apothecary had told that the panacea which could save his ailing mother was found exclusively at nearby Pakistan village. The father tried to stop him but failed. 


Since his wife died forty days ago, he came here every day and waited for his son.

‘You’re taking too long for a journey of twenty kilometres, Jaidev. Come back, son. Come back before I leave,’ he would mumble throughout the day. 
Prolonged uncertainty over his son’s life haunted him. The sun started with him, soared up slowly, shone over his head and then drowned far in the West, snatching away some breaths from his feeble hope every time.

ONE TOUGH DAY THAT BROKE THE DREAM OF A BILLION PEOPLE

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