Skip to main content

SS-1, Chapter-3


 The middle aged woman was deep in conversation with the Colonel’s son, a smart young lieutenant himself.
The lady walked around the pillar to get a better look at this stranger, but her effort was to be in vain, for some of her friends barged in between and struck up conversation.
A couple of drinks, a dance or two, and few random conversations later, the lady had quite settled into the flow of the festivities. Despite the strain of the past fortnight, she surprised herself with the amount of enthusiasm she could muster. And so, the gaiety continued… and it would have, had she not noticed the hems of the silver gown, yet again.
This time, the lieutenant had disappeared, but the woman was in conversation with another man, his back to the dance floor. Her face was pale, but the dark brown of her hair and eyes, coupled with the sharp nose, and high cheek bones made it an attractive package. Then there was that hour glass frame, the generous bosom. The long slender fingers brushed his coat’s lapels, before resting on his shoulder. As the pitch began to rise, she swayed gracefully, matching her moves to that of her partner, the lawyer.
‘It’s only a dance’, she thought to herself.
But she was soon heard, telling anyone who struck up conversation with her, that Ms. X powdered face had been conquered by the ‘crow’s feet’, the pearls were a fake and despite it being the first time that the lady had seen her, she assured some of the more naïve guests, that the woman in question had put on a good ten pounds in weight!
A dance rolled into ‘few dances’. The lady now had a throbbing skull, and it wouldn’t be long before she’d have to pop the aspirin.
It was as the particular number reached a crescendo, that she thought she saw Ms. X slip something into the lawyer’s pocket.  Their eyes, with only each other to gaze at, conveyed a million unspoken words.
The throbbing in the lady’s head was now a frank, incessant pounding.
Soon after the lawyer, was by his lady’s side. And seeing as she was quite unwell, they quietly retreated home.
Hell hath no fury, they say, as a woman scorned!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Lost Sheep Of Modern Medicine

    In the mad rush of today’s outpatient department , even as I noted the duration of his cough and enquired about the tremulousness of his hand, I could , feel the ticking hands of the clock breathing down my neck. The corridor outside my tiny room was overflowing with the sick and the needy, ebbing with tales of pain and sorrow. They sat there pleading to be heard, hoping to be understood, and above all, praying to be cured. I felt overawed by this sheer deluge that was now at my doorstep, people, families from far and wide were here, having battled long queues and prolonged waiting lists running into months just to obtain this appointment. Would the next few minutes they spend with me put a name on their suffering, or would they still be wandering in the dark corridors of ambivalence, oscillating between hope and despair.  The next few minutes, that is all I have to understand this person’s elaborate story spanning a third of his life, a story of his pain in...
2 comments
Read more

5 minutes of introspection

So it's the fag end of the year and I ask myself where was I last year at the same time?! And how is this any different from what it was 365 days back? Have I done all that I set out to do? To see, hear and feel... Have I had happy conquests and numbing losses? What've I learnt? And more importantly, what've I unlearnt?!  Have I lived atleast a few days to the fullest, enough to refresh my spirit? Have I looked on upon the wondrous valleys? Have I gazed at the starry sky with a heavenward prayer at my lip?  As the clock ticks towards closure on another chapter, I vow, to break free of vows! To wonder, to wander. To imagine and to discover! To breathe in the happiness of the human spirit, to relive the warmth of hug on a moonlit night!  To live ... To life!
Post a Comment
Read more

ONE NIGHT AT THE DOCKS

This story was written back in 2010 as an entry for the Deccan Heral Short Story Competition. Back then I was a second year medical student, and was fascinated by diseases of the mind. Now having taken up Psychiatry as a specialization, I re read it, and I must say it's quite an accurate description( save for fictional liberty).  .................................................................................................................................................................. ‘Raman, how much exactly is eight times thirteen?’, I queried.  It was the fag end of the day, my feet were aching and I didn’t exactly pride myself with regards to my mathematical abilities. All I wanted was to tally the change, finish the cursory submission work and head home. ‘One hundred and four’, rapt came the reply. This boy had a sharp mind. Pity he didn’t put it to much use but to place bets at the bar that he’ll shortly be heading over to; to intoxicate himself to the p...
1 comment
Read more