Game of Blogs – Midway Through The Heart!

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TEAM QISSA

[ READ THE PREVIOUS PART OF THE STORY HERE ]

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ROCKING TO AND FRO IN TIME

He came. She clicked. He looked at her with questioning eyes. She smiled and held out her hand to him. “Hi! I am Jennifer Joseph.”

“I know.”

“How?”

He pointed towards the ID pinned to her tee.

“Can I have a word with you?”

“Sure.”

They both moved towards the bench laid out below the big banyan tree. The wind rustled the leaves. The cool breeze soothed their skin. A leaf or two parked themselves on her entangled tresses. She slowly plucked them off.The conversation flowed and before the hour was past they were the best of friends. Phone numbers were exchanged.

The microphone crackled. The amateur photography exhibition was now open to the public. Jennifer got up to go. Shekhar promised to join her in an hour’s time at the exhibition venue. He had some writing to do.

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The walls were a riot of colours. The lens had captured the length and breadth of India. Shekhar was mesmerized. Each picture was a story by itself. He dug into the sling bag and pulled out a dog-eared diary. Before long, he was lost in a world of his own.

“Hi! What are you doing?” The sudden ring of a female voice close to his ears startled him. He looked up to see Jennifer hand on hips, looking at him with intent eyes.

“Oh, nothing, just penning some thoughts,” he said. Before he knew it the diary was in her hands. She read and smiled. Shekhar thought, “Now there is something in her.” A plot was already taking shape in his mind.

“Why don’t you show me your clicks” he asked, gently taking away the diary from her.

“Come on. It’s there,” she said pointing her fingers to the center of the hall.

They moved till they reached the spot. Something caught his eyes. He stopped and looked up. A pair of eyes was looking down on them. He felt his heart connect instantly to the woman in the picture. He drew on his breath. The pain in those eyes told him a story, a story of neglect and loneliness. The rugged face bore the brunt of poverty, pain and hunger. The emaciated figure made his heart wrench in pain. He touched the picture with gentle hands as if to wipe the tears rolling down the cheeks. His eyes were moist.

Standing beside him Jennifer watched a variety of emotions play on his face.

“Click, Click, Click.”

Before he realized it Jennifer’s camera had captured his state of mind.

“What do you say about this one?” she asked pointing to the picture. His fingers were still caressing the rugged face.

“Awesome!” was all he could say.

“It’s mine,” she said.

He looked at her appreciatively. She felt a flutter in her bosom. He asked her whether he could have a copy of the same. She promised him one. They moved on all along seeing, observing and commenting on the various clicks adorning the walls. The experience was truly breath taking.

Coming out they bid goodbye to each other. Jennifer moved out of the gates and headed back to her PG in the first available bus. Shekhar lingered on. He knew he had to take a second look at that picture. He felt he knew her, understood her pain,her loneliness. He felt his heart go out to her. That night a story was born, a story that won Shekhar the first spot in the University Short Story Contest. Jennifer too went on to win. The story connected them in more than one way.

“Tring…., Tring….., Tring…” The dream was broken. Jennifer opened her eyes lazily and switched off the alarm. Slowly getting off the bed she headed for the balcony that looked down at the street below. It was bustling with activity. Hawkers were putting up their ware, children in uniform were making a beeline for the already crowded bus stop, a queue was taking shape before the public tap on the wayside. A passerby or two jumped out of the way of a rickety bicycle.The street of Fort Kochi was alive and buzzing with activity.

A red city bus bound for Alwaye slowly coursed its way through the busy street. Heavily laden with the early morning office goers it looked as though it would tilt any moment. The sight of more than a dozen people on the foot-board sent shivers down her spine.

“Oh Jesus! Have mercy on them,” she pleaded. Picking up the jug of water placed on the window sill, she moved to open the front door. The maid would be around any moment now.

She picked up the daily lying at the doorstep, tucked it under her arms and moved in slowly closing the door behind. The kitchen was a mess. Quickly doing up the dishes, she put the kettle to boil. The mobile rang. She picked it up. It was Cyrus. Her heart missed a beat.

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[ READ THE NEXT PART OF THE STORY HERE ]

Me and my team are participating in the Game Of Blogs at BlogAdda.com.
#CelebrateBlogging with us.

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About Geeta Nair

Born in Independent India to two really wonderful people who cherished and nourished me with great care, I consider myself lucky to have had the best that life could offer me. Lucky to have had the best education , the best sibling, the best husband, the best daughter,the best of everything that I could ever want, Love to live life on my terms .

13 responses »

  1. What a great project writing as a group like that! Sounds like fun! Wonderful writing. You drew me right in with your descriptions, characters and action. It made me want to keep reading. Well done.

    Like

  2. Pingback: Game of Blogs – Midway Through The Heart! | There and Their

  3. Once again a good testimony to your wonderful writing capability with imaginative skills. I really like it

    Like

  4. Pingback: Game of blogs: Midway through the heart | Sunkissed

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