As the years pass by and you grow
Shoes on your feet also do so
The size stops getting bigger after a while
The weight in it keep swelling though

The weight that piles is not mine
Some are moments, bitter and fine,
Some are those, who made me cry n smile
Still you gotta keep walking, rain or shine

The shoes on my feet is not clean
Off the road oft, I have been
To meet the wild pansy and brook in exile
Soaked it in the puddle and rubbed on some green

Time keeps showing who’s the real boss
Soon your old man’s shoes are now yours
Not an easy job, but keep loving the miles
My Shoe – I love you, together we’ll soar!

The Other Birthday!


I checked my watch as I scrambled out of my cabin. I am late, the kids are back at home, hungry. Given the option I would have loved to stay back at home. But to raise two kids, the second income is a necessity. And obviously, I don’t want to go back into the vortex of self-pity driven depression, by sitting idle at home.

Rushing towards the exit, I noticed the rain outside. Cursing my luck, I rummaged my tote bag for the umbrella, as I stepped out in the rain. I knew it’s not there. The morning never gave any hint of rain. I ran across the road to the other side, hoping to catch an auto quickly. But as usual they all vanished the moment the raindrops hit the ground. I stood at the entrance of the café, the rain splattered eyeglasses making it even more difficult to spot any vacant incoming auto.

Looking at the dark clouds overhead, I cursed them, I hate rain – I hate dark clouds. Or do I? They used to be my closest ally – when did I start hating them? In a flash, I went back eight years and saw a female in a hospital bed. It was me, trying to get back to life after the futile suicide attempt. And I remembered him, the rain-maker! He came into my life, just to show me the life I had.

All I saw in him was a desperate guy, head over heels in love with a middle-aged married woman; surely it was hunger. But I also felt the desperation, was slipping out of marriage. So I did what was best for both. And just like he came, he was gone; in a flash! It was me who drove him out.

I trail of though was abruptly broken as I felt the raindrops stopped falling on me. Someone has opened an umbrella for me. Startled, I looked back to find his eagle eyes looking back; still the same, piercing look that sees through your soul.

“You? Here? When did you come to town?”

“I came here to wish you ‘Happy Birthday’!”

“My birthday is 3 months later.”

“No, the second birthday you had. I come every year, sitting here, in this café to wish you on this day.”

Before I could reply, he signaled a vacant auto, and led me to it. I scampered in and told the driver the destination. While I settled down in the seat, alone, the enormity of what just happened hit me. It was today, eight years back, I was in the hospital bed, fighting for a new life. Did he really come to the city on this day for all these years?

I poke my head out to find him. He was walking down the footpath, hands in pocket, umbrella tucked in his backpack, soaking in the rain, looking at my receding auto, a hint of smile hanging at the corner of his lips. That’s when I knew for sure, he, my rain-maker really loved me.


Wrote for an online competition after ages – since it didn’t get any response – thought of publishing it here and see what my regular readers say about it !


2nd Place on “Thinkerbeat Spinners Awards”

It might be small but definitely not insignificant for me. Winning the 2nd Place in the “Thinkerbeat Spinners Awards” definitely gave me joy! That’s my first International Award of any sort. And knowing that its been judged by three people who I never knew, means they were unbiased.

As per Daniel from Thinkerbeat – “Both your song and the first place song were excellent and the judges had a hard time deciding. I think the first place lyrics won because they fit more with a pop melody than yours do, but both would make great songs! Thanks. I will send the money soon.”

My entry for the competition is here:

Boatman’s Tune

Misty eyes of my girl peek from the cloud,
She never griped yet hunger cried aloud,
And I row out the waves, away from the crowd;
But I won’t sing the boatman’s tune –
Coz its home my home where lies my fortune!

Wiry arms and blistered hands,
Ample catches shifts to barren sands,
God must be at distant lands;
But I won’t sing the boatman’s tune-
Coz its home my home where lies my fortune!

I scour the surf from noon to moon,
Her misty eyes are my bane and boon.
I won’t sing the boatman’s tune –
Coz its home my home where lies my fortune!


Storyteller : Friday Fictioneers 31 July 2015

PHOTO PROMPT © G.L. MacMillan.

PHOTO PROMPT © G.L. MacMillan.

“So tell me sir, as an author, where do you get such dramatic characters?”
“Real life is always more dramatic than any drama.”
“You mean these colorful characters are real? But they all eventually die.”
“They can tell me a story only after it’s complete.”
“You mean, you somehow managed to meet and talk to dead people? Where? How?”
“You know, it’s scary even for the souls to live in the open. They feel secure in my bottles, giving the transparent glass bottles color of their characters. And they feel good to be able to talk to someone. This is where I sit and talk to them, one bottle at a time.”


Written for Friday Fictioneers by Rochelle – rest of the fictions are the froggy link below:

Six Scoop Cone : Friday Fictioneers 24 July 2015

PHOTO PROMPT © Dee Lovering PHOTO PROMPT © Dee Lovering

“Joe the Snow”-s ice cream cart bell woke me up.
Just 11 AM.
I slept late last-night at 7.
I could do with a six scoop cone.
But that involves getting out of bed, the jacket, a hike of 20 yards across the park and lots of snow!
How I wish Joe could come to my window to take my order.
The only stuff within reach is the bed-side table, with a clock, match-box, candle, and a glass of water.

Ten minutes and six tries later, people in the park were dowsing the fire on the window curtain. There they are, Bob – the balloon man, two park rangers, a beggar, and “Joe”.

I can beat Garfield hands down any day.

There were 2 plots fighting in my head – one inspired by Rochelle’s weather story the other Garfield. I guess even untiring Rochelle is no match for Garfield. He won and so this is this week’s FF.

For cue of Friday Fictioneers hop on to Rochelle’s den. The rest of the fictions are at the blue froggy link below. 

Banquet of Burgundy : Friday Fictioneers July 17, 2015

PHOTO PROMPT- © Sandra Crook

PHOTO PROMPT- © Sandra Crook

The cooks in Duke of Burgundy’s kitchen were cleaning up after a successful banquet.

“The discussions in the banquet today were quite heated”
“Yes! King Phillip was furious.”
“I guess Edward’s sheltering that scheming Robert was the last straw.”
“But our duke did good selection of menu; and they cleaned up our entire stock”
“You mean the whole 70 gallon?”
“Every ounce of it!”
“Am sure that much mustard is surely going to burn them for years”
“It’s England who should worry – we will be fighting them with fire in our belly.”
“And they will remember the Dijon Mustard for centuries to come.”


Odo IV, Duke of Burgundy held a Banquet at Dijon hosting then King of France, Philip VI in 1336. Phillip on the same year had a bitter disconnect with the king of England, Edward III. The worsening relationship through of a series of events in 1336, saw the beginning of the 100 years’ war from 1337. Its recorded that the said banquet consumed 70 Gallons of Dijon mustard – the highest ever consumed in a single sitting. This is an attempt to connect the dots in a lighter note!

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Reverent Rochelle. Rest of the fictions at the froggy link below-

Switch : Friday Fictioneers 10 July 2015

PHOTO PROMPT © Stephen Baum

PHOTO PROMPT © Stephen Baum

Lucy took a deep breath and closed her eyes, slipping into a trance.

Soon it was that familiar feeling, sound of a hundred footsteps, muffled screams in the dark tunnel. Clutching her father’s hand with all her might, she turns her head, eyes frantically searching for a face.

“Dad, she is lost, we must go back!”

“Come-on child, you wanna live, or die like your weakling mother?”

Father’s sweaty hand was slowly slipping out of her clutch as they emerged from the tunnel.

Watching the gradually falling BP, from the corner of his eyes Dr. Pummel noticed the ‘switch’.

“What’s your name?”

“Lucas, of course”

In his concluding report doctor wrote ‘severe DID’.


With all the tours and work pressure, I was in pain, not being able to write my FF or read any other’s. So made sure I wrote this week. DID  or Dissociative Identity Disorder is one of the most controversial psychiatric disorders. Two very famous cases can be found here. Currently working on a character for my next fiction based on a Hindu mythological personality that can be a classical example of DID.

Written for Friday Fictioneers – where our gracious fellow fictioneer gives us a reason to feel good by expressing ourselves. Rest of the fictions at the link below:

New Kitchen Garden : Friday Fictioneers 12 June 2015


Half asleep, I picked up the ringing phone; the international number told me it was brother.

“Good evening brother”
“Guess it’s good morning for you; so how do you like the new place.”
“Problem is food –vegetables are alien here; the one I know are difficult to get!”
“Have a kitchen garden – plant them”
“What about spices?”
“Plant them too”
“And then grind-n-mix?”
“Or genetically modify – make then give powdered and mixed spices”
“It’s difficult to get meat too!”
“You can always invent a Meat-Plant”
“With chicken fruit and mincemeat pods?”
“Yeah! And remember to have a pond”
“To water the plants?”
“No silly – for the Fish-Plants”
“Guess you are too sleepy bro – go to sleep”


For a guy who loves to cook – there a too many memories linked to kitchens; some very fond, some even outright romantic! Looking at the prompt, I was sure to write a romantic story – or pick one of my old poems. It took a couple of hours to shake it off and go to a totally different genre!

Written for Friday Fictioneers managed by our gracious host Rochelle!

Rest of the fictions are at the froggy link –

Uncle Fantastic Flanagan : Friday Fictioneers 5June 2015


There were very few things impossible for Uncle Flanagan.

Seeing the anchor chain on the beach Jimmy drew Uncle Flanagan’s attention–

“This must be your match, care to pull?”

“Not interested. Pulled one in 1944 – emptied a whole lake!”

“Ahem – a whole lake?”

“Two submarines sunk my ship, followed them swimming to this lake inside a pacific island, with just a harpoon and 2 grenades.

A tap on lake-surface – the echo told me lake was deeper than the channel they used; had a rock as stopper; used the chained harpoon to yank off the stopper. The lake emptied.

2 Grenades in 2 empty torpedo silos did the rest.”

Uncle took the gum from bewildered Jimmy and walked off.

That was our Uncle Fantastic Flanagan.


A bit overboard this week with the number of words – but I really had to for this one!

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle! Rest of the fictions are at the froggy link.

Wait : Firday Fictioneers May 29, 2015

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

PHOTO PROMPT © Douglas M. MacIlroy

“Honey I am ready”
“Well I am not”
“We are gonna be late for the family dinner”
“Well I am not instant noodle that I will be ready in 2 minutes. We females have a lot to do just to ensure that your dignity is maintained”
“My dignity maintained? And hows is that?”
“Just be being seen with a pretty lady like me”

So Mr. Cuttlefish waited by the main gate for Mrs. Cuttlefish to be ready and come out. He waited and waited and…

Guess the wait was a bit longer than what he expected.


A bit under workload – so about 5 hours behind when I planned to put the entry up. However this is the story which got stuck in my head as soon as I saw the prompt!

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by ever graceful Rochelle !

Rest of the fictions at the froggy link –

Dew Drop : Friday Fictioneers 22 may 2015

PHOTO PROMPT – © Santoshwriter

PHOTO PROMPT – © Santoshwriter

As she sipped her coffee, he carefully combed and braided her silken strands.
“No-one ever pampered me like this, physically or emotionally; not even my husband of ten years.”
“You call this pampering? For me it’s just love, and this is the only way I know to love.”
“I envy the person who gets to marry you.”
“Who stops you from being that person?”

It’s been eight years since. Just like a morning dew drop he appeared in her life, moistened the sun burned path, taught her how to live and love and vanished like the dew drop vanishes with the rising day light.


Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by ever smiling Rochelle. This week mush overcame my mind !

Rest of the fictions are at the froggy link:

Alien Stub : Friday Fictioneers 15 May 2015

PROMPT -© Marie Gail Stratford

PROMPT -© Marie Gail Stratford

The news anchor explained, “Eyewitnesses reported seeing the object getting impregnated in the ground. And it has substantially heated up the ground around it.”

“The neighborhood is advised extreme caution; the heat may burn houses,” declared fire department.

“It’s an alien missile silo; blast it before it blasts us” – was Sheriff’s version.

The mayor was hopeful, – “I’ve consulted the high priest, it’s a grain depot gifted by God.”

The entire town was out in the field in fear and awe looking across the city fences at the alien structure.


I stubbed the end of my cigarette in the ground and stood up watching the morning unfurl. Just before leaving I noticed commotion in the nearby anthill.


Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle !

Rest of the fictions are at the froggy link:

Ancient Chemistry : Friday Fictioneers 8May 2015

PHOTO PROMPT – © Madison Woods

PHOTO PROMPT – © Madison Woods

Iron – copper – gold – brass, all in order. Weights of individual elements triple checked. The mixture in the vessel carefully prepared under full moon light. Ramon prays silently and turns the faucet.

After three centuries, his ancestor’s secret is about to come to life.

The next few seconds felt like hours. And then the first drop came out. Drops after drops slowly started filling up the tub kept below; the shining, glowing liquid slowly gelling into a golden solid.

Hidden from his view, the liquid punctured the tub and dripped on the earth below, eating it, creating an ever-increasing void.

The ancient alchemists must be smiling from heaven.


Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. This week the battle of genre for the story i won by fantasy, defeating humor and sci-fi !

Rest of the fictions are here:

Gold’s Guard : Friday Fictioneers 01 may, 2015

PHOTO PROMPT – © Dee Lovering PHOTO PROMPT – © Dee Lovering

Queen Maria surveyed the nearly finished Customs House, and looked at architect Pere Garcia.

“That’s quite beautiful Garcia; you have planned for almost everything except the gold we collect. That much gold is surely going to attract the raiders”

“We have planned for it my majesty.” fellow architect Sagner informed. “I have a Greek Trader bring in a special live cargo from India.” He presented a scroll with the Cargo details.

Queen Maria scanned the document and smiled.

Soon workers and visitors of Barcelona Customs House got used to the occasional screech and whiffs from the wings of four pairs of Gryphons protecting all the gold.


The pic in the prompts said its from Barcelona. And what caught my eye was the memorial to Columbus and the Griffins / Gryphons on the top of the building at the left hand corner. I googled, and then took a tour of the area by Google Street View and found that the building is the old customs house build in 1895 by Sagner. And voila !

This is for Friday Fictioneers hosted by tireless host Rochelle and the rest of the fictions are at the froggy ink below:

Druks : Friday Fictioneers 24 April 2015

PHOTO PROMPT – © Douglas M. MacIlroy

PHOTO PROMPT – © Douglas M. MacIlroy

“Sire, Moriyan invaders have already breached southern border, we need the Druks fast”, pleaded the worried general.

King Gyalpo has his eyes fixed at the series of buildings standing in the snow covered valley. In his usual calm voice he asks, “How much longer Magister?”

“Not much O-Savior! We are waiting for the dawn” confirms his magister.

The red-golden rays of the spring new-moon day move swiftly across the snow and touch the buildings one by one. The domes crack, breaking down the egg shells the new generation of Druks spring to life.

Now the Moriyan invaders have to face the wrath of the Druk Yul’s thunder dragons.


Bhutan – our neighbor is one of only a few countries which have been independent throughout their history, never conquered, occupied, or governed by an outside power. They are also known as Druk Yul  – “Land of Druk”, and in native language Dzongkha – Druk is “Thunder Dragon” their protectors.

– Rest of the FF’s hosted by Rochelle are at the froggy link below:

Liftoff – Friday Fictioneers 17 April 2015

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

“Dennis!! Have you been stealing sugar? – And baking soda? What are you up to? Don’t you dare enter my kitchen!”

“No Mom – I am in the attic playing rockets with Gina!”

“You gave me headache – where are my ice packs? Bought a whole bunch of it – and all go missing right when you need”

In the attic Dennis buckles up in his cockpit and signals Gina.

Looking at the lighter in her hands Gina looks up to Dennis, “Dennis – am not feeling good, are sure about it?”

“Get ready Gina – 5 -4 -3 – 2 -1 – 0 … ignition and lift-off!! Will look at you from space!”


*  Just in case you have been wondering – “Homemade rocket with rocket fuel and engine”

Fuel of home-made rocket.
1. Ammonium nitrate (available inside ice-packs)
2. Baking soda
3. Water
4. Sugar

Written for “Friday Fictioneers” by “Rochelle” the great story-teller !

Rest of the stories are here –

The Czech Maestro : Friday Fictioneers 27 March 2015

PHOTO PROMPT ©David Stewart

PHOTO PROMPT ©David Stewart.

June 21, 1876 – Jabkenice

No eyes with questions here. Hated it when they moved their lips in Prague, but I couldn’t hear their words. Even Bettina didn’t seem to care at home.

They never believed I can do it anymore. As “Don Giovanni” played in my head – I wrote it note by note, and they matched it with the Mozart’s original. I had the last smile, as I left them stunned.
11 June, 1881 – Prague

They didn’t allow me to enter for the premier of my opera, Libuše. At the end they were forced by the audience to allow me on stage. The applause was deafening to my silent ears.


Story of Bedřich Smetana – the Czech Maestro who went deaf !

Written for Firday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle !

Rest of the fictions are in the froggy link:

Old Wishing Fountain – Friday Fictioneers 20 march 2015

PHOTO PROMPT – © Copyright – Rachel Bjerke

PHOTO PROMPT – © Copyright – Rachel Bjerke

“You lost all your money investing in what?” the barman quipped
“What kind of coin is that? Guess you should try throwing one of ‘em, in the old wishing fountain in the woods”
“Old? How old?” he sits up straight.
“Since the Beaker People
“Tell me where – I wanna go right away”
“Don’t try it Lad, unless you want to join the ghost of the barrows!”

Few months later Dartmoor museum had a new benefactor, donating several prehistoric coins and buying the south city castle.

There were no ghost in the barrows – but the fountain bed was full of coins from wishful people of more than four millennia.


Written for Firday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle !

Rest of the fictions are in the froggy link:

The Bridge : : Friday Fictioneers 13 march 2015

Friday Fictioneer 15 march 2015

Friday Fictioneer 15 march 2015

Ten years were long enough to change the look of the city. Some of the buildings still survived. Of course this coffee shop overlooking the entrance of the office building across the street was not there.

Sipping his espresso, he kept looking at the entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse; he knew she still works there. His mind oscillating between conscious and subconscious, past and present – voices, pictures and smell.

Smell? That perfume seems familiar –

“I knew I will catch you here someday – not fond of burning bridges – right?” Startled, he turns to catch her standing behind, with that familiar stare.


The second story this week – which I wrote first, for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle !


The Divide : Friday Fictioneers 13 march 2015

Friday Fictioneers- 13 march 2013

Friday Fictioneers- 13 march 2013

Truce was fragile – but everyone tired of the long war, accepted it. The bridge separated the sunny green of Aslan’s land from the frozen meadows of White Witch. Maugrim and his pack sniffed around in the white lands. But they were aware of the centaurs standing guard behind the trees on the other side. They never dared to step on that bridge.

Moles and Beavers had a different agenda though. They tunneled and burrowed, far below for those wolves to smell, and kept planting those greens, one day they will bloom to reclaim Narnia to its rightful occupants.


Though this is the second story I wrote on this prompt – I choose to post it first ! This is for Friday Fictioneers– hosted by Rochelle !

For rest of this week’s stories follow the froggy link below: