Flash Bites

By Abha Iyengar

Flash Bites by Abha Iyengar is a collection of flash and micro fiction, telling stories in a few words,letting the reader in into a world and allowing her to fill in the gaps to arrive at her own iinterpretations. The stories are sometimes down- to -earth and sometimes surreal. They open a different door to let the light in on what may seem to be the mundane and ordinary. They give an insight into what lies beneath the surface of things, people and places.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abha Iyengar
• Release date: May 15, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458114204

Abha Iyengar

Internationally published freelance writer, poet,and scriptwriter based in New Delhi, India, very much a global netizen.

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Flash Bites

by Abha Iyengar

Copyright 2011 Abha Iyengar

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.This e-book may not be sold or given away to other people.If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

1. A Father's Blessing

2. Abundance

3. A Long awaited God

4. A Mixed Weave

5. Albatross

6. Black Horse

7. Broken

8. Carrion Meat

9. Cat Tale

10. Changing Times

11. Cinderella

12. Clipped Wings

13. Coded

14. Competition

15. Confetti

16. Dying Where I Want

17. Elemental

18. Everyone Knows That

19. Final Analysis

20. Ground Work

21. Hard Work

22. Here Comes My Lord Krishna

23.Identity

24. Little Blue Flower

25. Lost Chance

26. Love Done to Death

27. Mannequin

28. The Yolk

29. The Painted Canvas

30. Masterpiece

31. My Song

32. Nothing Really

33. Of Foreign Flavour

34. Point of No Return

35. Red Dress of Gold

36. Seeing

37. Shades

38. She Falls

39. Silent Spaces

40. Smash Cake

41. Spider Song

42. Spool of Life

43. Starfish

44. Still Life

45. Stockings

46. Stranglehold

47. The Chocolate Cake and Rainbow

48. The Complete Story

49. The Connection

50. The Grave

51. The Guru

52. The Kiss

53. Charcoal City

54. The Pull of Love

55. The Price

56. The Truth

57. Tiny Atom

58. Tunnel Vision

59. Yellow Moon

60. Zebra Grin

About the Author

A Father’s Blessing

I was returning home to India after ten years in the U.S.My ailing father had called me, his voice a bare whisper over the line, Visit me if you will. I am dying. Pride prevented him from saying anything more.

I knew that only the sight of me would appease his soul. He was seventy-five years old, and age and hard work had taken their toll. Since the time I lost my mother some years ago; he had been living alone. My married sister stayed in a different city, but visited him often. However, it was me that he wanted to see, the renegade son who had left him many years ago to study medicine in the U.S.

The visit had to be short, since I had been granted leave from the hospital for a few days. I had been given just enough time to pay my respects to my father and return.

He was happy to see me, though a trifle surprised at how gaunt I looked. He remarked on it, giving me a concerned look. You have lost a lot of weight, Rohan, he said.

It’s the American Way, I said. Every one is very health conscious. He nodded, accepting my words for whatever they were worth. It was enough for him that I was there, and for this he would forgive me anything.

We spent as much time together as possible. I told him about my life in America, of a people and culture so far removed from India. I told him that no one clung to anyone there; neither to family or husband, friends or relatives. But they did cling to material wealth; it was like a huge driving force. Yet, the people were upfront and friendly, honest and to the point.

He told me of his days here, of how nothing had changed. The same problems persisted. A teeming population, unforgiving poverty and the continuous scarcity of food, water and electricity were unsolvable issues. Some people had too much and wanted more out of life, while millions had nothing and wanted nothing less than death. Yet people smiled and asked about the health of strangers; were warm and hospitable, happy with the small things.

He did not once mention his loneliness. I did not tell him about my live-in girlfriend who recently left me.

The thread of things unsaid wound itself within the fabric of our words.

When I left, it was hard not to show that this would be a final parting. I touched his feet in respect as he lay supine, his eyes filled with longing for me. He gave me the traditional Indian blessing, Keep living, son! He placed both his hands lightly on my bowed head and closed his eyes to the world.

I flew back to the hospital in the U.S. The doctors were happy to see that I had made it back all right.They had been aghast at the idea of my taking the journey. They checked me out. You have only two months to live, Dr. Rohan, they said. The cancer is spreading fast.

I did not care. I had my father’s blessing. No one could take that away from me.

*****

Abundance

In a small village in central India lived a man. His name was Prem Kumar. He lived a simple life. He sang songs written by Kabir .He would get up early in the morning and meditate, and practice his singing and get lost in his bhakti. The songs transported him into another world, where love was the only master.

He went from village to village, often walking, and singing his songs. He had a few musicians with him, who also trudged along with him, regardless of sun and rain. Whenever he sat down to sing, people gathered. Some functions were also organized where he would sing. People began to known of him. He gained a certain respect in their eyes. He was spreading the message of love, he said, through the words of Kabir, the great poet- saint.

The Brahmins of his village also appreciated his singing, so much that they invited him to sing for them at their community hall. They wanted him to have dinner with them as well. He declined the dinner in the beginning but agreed to join them at their insistence. The food was tasty and varied. He ate what he was served and went home. However, he vowed that he would never accept such a dinner again.

His wife was waiting anxiously for him, wanting to hear all about the function. When he saw her, he smiled at her. But he did not look happy.

I am so tired. Can you give me something to eat?

She began to speak. But… and stopped herself. The children had gone to sleep and she had had her dinner since her husband was supposed to eat at the function. The kitchen fire had been extinguished. She was tired, and eager too to hear what had transpired at the function, the appreciation of his singing, the decorations in the hall, the people who had come to hear him and the delicacies he had eaten.

Yes, she said instead, wash and come into the kitchen.

She lit the fire again. She had some flour left into which she mixed some milk and sugar and made him some sweet rotis, there was no other food which she could serve. She spread out the mat for him to sit and poured some cool water from the clay pot in the corner. Then she sat and waited. When he walked in and sat down to eat, she noticed the lines of sorrow around his lips. She watched in silence while he ate his fill.

Thank you, he said simply.

She was amazed at his words. This is what she did every