Pebbles in a Stream

By Nadia Grosser Nagarajan

People are interested in love stories since love is an emotion that encompasses the world, even the universe, and in many ways fires up other feelings. Love can challenge and overcome other sentiments, but it isn't always victorious. The stories deal with personalities, some strong and some weak, the way that humans are created and brought up. Many tales can be considered unusual, dealing with exceptional topics and characters.

The author has envisioned and experienced many of the situations described, and has told them the way that they happened, saving their true message without trying to introduce controversial characters or situations that would not benefit the narrative. And finally, it has to be mentioned that some of the stories were created, so to speak, while the author was either falling asleep or even in her dreams.

"Elena" is one of those stories, although it is a tragic story as well, and love is not victorious. Yet love fights to win but in the end is defeated, which can happen at times when love has a formidable adversary against which it cannot compete.

A different love is described in the story "Two Hats" in which there is a self-centered man who only has his own appearance in mind. And then there is the standard love of a couple of birds that behave just as a human couple would. Even the cat is a lover of her mat as long as the mat serves it well and discards it when the mat becomes useless.

And so, there are different kinds of love that can be found and noticed. The book also contains other topics and surprises, dealing with folktales, fantasy, humor, pain, and medical themes, to name just a few. The reader may enjoy these stories and remember them, hopefully even after some time has passed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098343040

Book preview

Pebbles in a Stream

Copyright © 2020 by Nadia Grosser Nagarajan

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from Tallasa Publishing, LLC except in the case of brief quotations in reviews for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast.

nadianagarajan.com

Print ISBN: 978-1-09834-303-3

eBook ISBN: 978-1-09834-304-0

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020924532

Tallasa Publishing, LLC

Arlington, VA

First Edition

Heartfelt gratitude to my beloved husband,

and dearest son Ravi for editing the book

The passionate beach

In each pebble a story

Sunny holidays

– Natasha Turner

Table of Contents

Carbon Paper

Stitching Away …

A Frog Named Thunder

The Alarm Clock

An Eternal Link

A Resting Place

Once a Snooze

A Different Heart

A New Pot, an Old Car

Jim is not here anymore …

A Visitor from the Past

An Ode to Buttons

Angie’s Legs

An Elephant named Yanko

The Beauty and the Paisano

Bluestocking

The Melody

The Merman and the Tightwad

Elena

Smell not the Flowers . . .

Three Little Devils

Two Hats

Carbon Paper

She was nicknamed Carbon Paper. It was not because of her looks although it could have been. Her skin had a charcoal tint which could have been considered a good tan. She was extremely thin, had an almost transparent torso with pencil thin legs sticking out from underneath, and arms which reminded one of sprouting branches of a very young tree that had just been planted. Her arms had trouble staying in place as if she was afraid of falling and losing her balance. The mean ones among the students found her a good source for jokes, the compassionate ones pitied her, yet she was the one who had the last laugh. How did she manage that? By pretending to be handicapped and struggling to survive in the harsh environment of the university.

Carbon had no friends, yet managed to surround herself with students, complaining that she was about to faint and needed help. She always found something to lean upon, claiming that she could not continue walking and needed somebody to assist her. Most students tried to avoid her but somehow she always found a few who happened to be nearby and felt obliged to help.

Carbon’s real name was Sharma, which she liked and wanted to use, but her nickname stuck to her and she could not get rid of it as long as she kept asking for copying favors. Sharma kept asking anybody she could to copy the lectures she was attending. She told the students who were there with her that her hands suffered from a tremor and that she could not write. Students could not help agreeing since she provided the paper as well as the carbon paper, so she always had all the lecture notes and could listen to the lecturer without having to take notes herself. She found out who the best students were and managed to get their notes, always carrying plenty of carbon paper in her bag, hence her nickname.

Carbon possessed a remarkable gift nobody knew about and that was an unusual memory. She could remember pages and pages of text and not make a single mistake. When the final exams approached, she had memorized all the pages the students had copied for her and got the best grades.

As time went by Sharma changed quite a bit. She realized that she could achieve more by being pleasant and changing her appearance. She stopped wearing the saris she had always worn in her native India. Instead, she wore long skirts or pants with pretty blouses and even had her hair cut short and learned to make up her face, so that instead of being an ugly duckling she managed to magically turn into a pleasant young woman.

When graduation was behind her and she had her Masters, she applied for a scholarship since she wanted a Ph.D. Her father, who had sponsored her studies, did not know about it and only found out when she told him her plan during a dinner to which he invited her to celebrate her Master’s degree. That was not the only surprise mentioned at that table. Her father pulled out from his shirt pocket three photos and spread them on the table in front of Sharma. They were photos of three good-looking young men. Her father, with a very serious voice, asked her to choose any of the three photos; for him it did not matter which one. They were all highly educated and wealthy individuals who would make good husbands. Sharma pushed away all three photos and, in a very loud voice, told her father she would never marry, that was her final decision and he should leave her alone. The restaurant was half empty but those who were there turned their heads towards Sharma in surprise. The father collected the photos, including the one that fell on the floor, put them back in his shirt pocket and walked out of the restaurant without giving Sharma another look.

She sat there without moving while the dishes they had ordered were getting cold. After paying the bill she exited without looking at anybody, leaving the other guests sitting quietly, without making a sound. That was the last time Sharma saw her father in a public place and at least a year went by before she dared to visit her home near New Delhi.

Years later when she thought of that incident, she was still sure she had solved the problem once and for all. Her father never again brought up the issue but never again treated her as a daughter in the way he had done before. There were no hugs, no gentle words, no expressions of concern. He greeted her when she came home for a visit but did not ask anything personal. She became depressed about it but did not show any regrets and nobody knew how she felt deep inside. After all, was it not love for each other that made them feel the loss of what they cherished most? Nobody except themselves knew it and even then they could not cope with it.

Sharma could not tolerate being miserable. She gained weight, quite the opposite of what could be expected in such a situation. She ate too much of everything, particularly sweets like chocolate, and could not stop even when she decided to do so. Her life turned gloomy, without any purpose except her desire to study again and prove to her father that she knew what she was doing. She still flew home every summer to see her mother, her sisters and their children, and kept a respectful distance from her father who did not pay any attention to her.

This lasted for three years until she received her Ph.D. While she was studying for her oral exams, she came across an article about religion and became extremely interested in religion in general, particularly the ethical and philosophical aspects. She read several books till she came to the conclusion that she did not need to study foreign religions while she had her own, spread out and ready for her to analyze. And so she did, achieving a deep understanding, just as she always managed to accomplish in every subject she explored.

It occurred to her that she could find a way to her father’s heart, since he was quite religious, by sending a prayer to Lord Shiva, the most powerful of Hindu gods. And so she did. Every night she evoked Shiva asking him to help her regain her father’s love. She was not sure what would happen but was steadfast and prayed every night. Sharma did it for two years and, after finishing her post-doctoral fellowship, traveled to New Delhi to visit her family. Everything was the same. Her father was polite but not affectionate the way he used to be. Yet that changed within a couple of days when he talked to Sharma more about her future abroad and expressed concern about not seeing her often. Things improved from there on and Sharma was sure that her request to Shiva was the reason. She thanked the deity by purchasing a beautiful statute of Lord Shiva and keeping it on her nightstand. One day the statute disappeared and later she saw it by chance on her father’s desk. It was a message he sent her since he knew she would see it, meaning that all was forgotten and he accepted her the way she was and loved her. Since that day Sharma was happy and grateful to Lord Shiva. She showed her gratitude by helping some people that were in need of assistance and benefited from her generosity.

When Sharma left her home to return to the United States to teach, her father, mother, sisters and their families all gathered to send her off with blessings. Her father kissed her on her forehead and told her he would wait for her return. Sharma was crying but there was joy in her heart and gratitude for having her father back. The taxi went around the block and Sharma saw a procession of women who chanted hymns and carried statues of Lord Shiva.

The cab turned on to the highway and Sharma lost sight of them. She settled down in the cab and did not look back knowing she would always return home.

Stitching Away …

There was no business that day and Jan Novak had been quite despondent. It was very hard for him to accept the fact that the big, mass producing workshops were gaining on him and other tailors who had been providing the best professional service for their customers. In the big malls, badly made suits and jackets, as well as pants, sold well despite the fact they were quite expensive. Of course, they were not as costly as the suits he tailored but then his creations were unique, fit each customer like a glove, and were of exquisite quality.

Gone were the days when he proudly handed over each suit to the customers, saw their faces light up with pleasure, and heard the praise they bestowed on him. His customers were mostly well to do people who appreciated the cut, the even stitches, and the strength of the thread that were the spine of each suit. The fabrics he carried were all of the highest quality. He would have never settled for less. No customers left dissatisfied. Those who were too fat looked leaner when they left, those who were too thin went out looking more muscular and stronger than when they came in, and even short men seemed to gain in stature once they wore his perfectly tailored suits. He had been so very proud of his art — he believed that art it was — and now he had only a handful of loyal customers. All of them were old and, as time went by, their number dwindled.

That evening when he closed the shop and left the humming main street on the way to his apartment where he lived alone, he decided that he had to seriously consider closing the store. The end was near. He had let two of his best workers go and had to do all the measuring, cutting and sewing himself, with only one person left to help him. His eyesight was becoming too dim to do a perfect job and he knew he could not compete with the new shops and all the marketing gimmicks they used. He had calculated that he could live a simple life for about ten years, by which time, he was sure, he wouldn’t be around anymore. He was eighty years old, a widower without children and hardly any surviving friends to account for.

His disappointment did not apply only to his business. The world was not the one he had known in the past, life had become tedious and tiring at best, and it was not just a matter of old age. He did not even enjoy listening to the radio anymore and the newspapers gave him the jitters. Terror, crime, hunger, misery, hatred, murder, that was all he read and heard and saw on television. Even comedies were enlaced with vile ideas and he did not watch them anymore. For a good laugh he turned to old movies, yet they seemed to be too naive and childish to give him even temporary comfort.

The world is falling apart, the world is falling apart, he told himself that night when he turned the light off and sank into a restless sleep . . .

Suddenly his lights were on and sitting at the foot of the bed was a stranger, an old man in a perfectly tailored suit, elegant black shoes and a beautifully trimmed beard. Jan Novak smelled the scent of a familiar, expensive masculine eau de toilette he gave as a gift to all his customers as a token of appreciation.

You are right, said the man, in a deep baritone. The world is falling apart and you are the only one who can fix it . . .

What do you mean, and who are you! gasped the surprised Mr. Novak, How did you get into my apartment?

All that is of no significance, said the man, what is important and urgent is that you get dressed, take your biggest, longest needle and the very strongest thread you have to do the job I have for you!

Jan Novak found himself doing exactly what the stranger had told him. Dressed in his suit and holding the big needle in his hand and a ball with the strongest thread, he was ready to do whatever he was supposed to do. As he stood there in a daze, a strong wind started blowing, the light went out, the stranger vanished in the darkness and he found himself whirling around and around as if in a space capsule. Terrified, he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he found himself floating high above the earth. When his initial surprise and fear diminished, he realized that he could fly despite the fact that he was wingless and that he was quite comfortable just floating around at leisure. He practiced flying up and down for a while and then drew closer to earth. To his amazement he realized that, indeed, the globe was coming apart at its seams. There were pieces of threads hanging from all sides and there were gaps in the continents, mainly in the Middle East, Africa, and to a lesser extent, in other parts of the world. He heard a silent voice urging him to do the repairs. At once he put a thread through the needle’s eye and started fixing up those parts that seemed ready to burst. He worked slowly and conscientiously on each segment, and his experience and dexterity helped him to finish with even stitches whatever part he was working on. And thus he continued, threading his needle over and over again, hoping he would not run out of supplies, and that he could fix the great tears within the earth before it blew up …

•••

The next day the landlord found Jan Novak dead in his apartment. He was lying in his bed, fully dressed, and there was a huge needle with a very short thread dangling from the edge of the quilted cover …

A Frog Named Thunder

A colorful blanket was spread on a green patch of weeds on the big island of Hawaii. The brim of a red hat was covering the head of a woman and two children were sitting next to her. The smaller was a girl, the bigger a boy. The girl had a bored expression on her face, the boy looked angry.

I do not want a silly frog story with a frog being kissed and turning into a prince, he said, only girls like those weird tales.

They are nice, said the girl. Princes are handsome and wear fancy clothes, she pointed out, You do not get it.

What is there to understand, said the boy, if you like slimy kisses, I will get a frog for you, giggled the boy, "you can kiss him, hug him, sleep with him? He will not turn