Skip to main content

Happy New Year

Fiction

My fingers mistake these days the letters on the keyboard.  I’m growing old and I’m lovin it.  I make mistakes and I forgive myself since the keyboard cannot forgive. 

“But why the hell did you kiss the girl?” The keyboard asked.

“Because she is going to suffer,” I said.  “Suffer a lot.  Too sensitive, too rebellious, too confused.”

“You kissed her in public!”

“On the forehead.”

“In public?”

“In front of a few other students.  Is that public?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Where two or three people are gathered, is it public?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Ok, for argument’s sake.  What’s your problem now?”

“Isn’t your problem mine?  Your fingers slip and Windows has to keep autocorrecting your errors.  I hate it when Windows interferes.”

I laughed.  “Why do you love me so much?” I asked.

“Because I know all your secrets.”

“Really?”

“Hmm. Your touch carries all your secrets.”

I stopped typing.  I went to the dining room and poured a whisky on rocks.  I took a sip and kept the rest near my laptop.

And put my fingers on the keyboard.

“Upset with something?” asked the keyboard.

“Shit,” I said.

“No, just the opposite.”

I took another sip.

“Celebrating New Year?” asked Keyboard.

“Yup.”

“Got a greeting?”

I gasped.  Cnt keep dstnce as lng as u leave futprnts. Wll fllw u in new yr. Happy New Year.  I recalled the message.

“Yup,” I said again.

“Another girl who will have to be kissed on the forehead?”

“I don’t want. I’m tired.”

“You are not.  The public make you feel so.”

“I can’t bear it anymore.”

“What?”

“Innocent love.”

“Suffering?”

“The year is dying. Can we take leave?”

Keyboard laughed.  Like a madman.  I emptied my whisky on rocks.

“Happy New Year,” said Keyboard.

“Cheers!” I said. 

“Hey, stop!”  Keyboard said as I was about to shut down the laptop.

“Kya?” I asked.  Hindi comes to me when I’m irritated.

“Did you notice that lovin was not autocorrected in your opening para?”

“Para? Damn it!  Happy New Year to you.”




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

Yesterday

With students of Carmel Margaret, are you grieving / Over Goldengrove unleaving…? It was one of my first days in the eleventh class of Carmel Public School in Kerala, the last school of my teaching career. One girl, whose name was not Margaret, was in the class looking extremely melancholy. I had noticed her for a few days. I didn’t know how to put the matter over to her. I had already told the students that a smiling face was a rule in the English class. Since Margaret didn’t comply, I chose to drag Hopkins in. I replaced the name of Margaret with the girl’s actual name, however, when I quoted the lines. Margaret is a little girl in the Hopkins poem. Looking at autumn’s falling leaves, Margaret is saddened by the fact of life’s inevitable degeneration. The leaves have to turn yellow and eventually fall. And decay. The poet tells her that she has no choice but accept certain inevitabilities of life. Sorrow is our legacy, Margaret , I said to Margaret’s alter ego in my class. Let

Everything is Politics

Politics begins to contaminate everything like an epidemic when ideology dies. Death of ideology is the most glaring fault line on the rock of present Indian democracy. Before the present regime took charge of the country, political parties were driven by certain underlying ideologies though corruption was on the rise from Indira Gandhi’s time onwards. Mahatma Gandhi’s ideology was rooted in nonviolence. Nothing could shake the Mahatma’s faith in that ideal. Nehru was a staunch secularist who longed to make India a nation of rational people who will reap the abundant benefits proffered by science and technology. Even the violent left parties had the ideal of socialism to guide them. The most heartless political theory of globalisation was driven by the ideology of wealth-creation for all. When there is no ideology whatever, politics of the foulest kind begins to corrode the very soul of the nation. And that is precisely what is happening to present India. Everything is politics

Zorba’s Wisdom

Zorba is the protagonist of Nikos Kazantzakis’s novel Zorba the Greek . I fell in love with Zorba the very first time I read the novel. That must have been in my late 20s. I read the novel again after many years. And again a few years ago. I loved listening to Zorba play his santuri . I danced with him on the Cretan beaches. I loved the devil inside Zorba. I called that devil Tomichan. Zorba tells us the story of a monk who lived on Mount Athos. Father Lavrentio. This monk believed that a devil named Hodja resided in him making him do all wrong things. Hodja wants to eat meet on Good Friday, Hodja wants to sleep with a woman, Hodja wants to kill the Abbot… The monk put the blame for all his evil thoughts and deeds on Hodja. “I’ve a kind of devil inside me, too, boss, and I call him Zorba!” Zorba says. I met my devil in Zorba. And I learnt to call it Tomichan. I was as passionate as Zorba was. I enjoyed life exuberantly. As much as I was allowed to, at least. The plain truth is

The Little Girl

The Little Girl is a short story by Katherine Mansfield given in the class 9 English course of NCERT. Maggie gave an assignment to her students based on the story and one of her students, Athena Baby Sabu, presented a brilliant job. She converted the story into a delightful comic strip. Mansfield tells the story of Kezia who is the eponymous little girl. Kezia is scared of her father who wields a lot of control on the entire family. She is punished severely for an unwitting mistake which makes her even more scared of her father. Her grandmother is fond of her and is her emotional succour. The grandmother is away from home one day with Kezia's mother who is hospitalised. Kezia gets her usual nightmare and is terrified. There is no one at home to console her except her father from whom she does not expect any consolation. But the father rises to the occasion and lets the little girl sleep beside him that night. She rests her head on her father's chest and can feel his heart