Zinging Success Comforting Failure

By Sameer Farooqi

Authors in this book -

Hardev Matharoo

Toni Kochensparger

Suzette Blom

Anne Catharine Blake 

Sameer Farooqi 

Traci Musick Shaffer

Kirsten Gant 

Daniel Dvorak

• Language: English
• Publisher: Free Spirit
• Release date: Sep 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9788119351343

Book preview

Zinging_Success_Comforting_book_cover_book_1_front.jpg

All Rights Reserved

Published by

Free Spirit

Poets Choice & Free Spirit LLC

First Edition September 2023

Special Thanks To Hardev Matharoo, Toni Kochensparger, Suzette Blom

Winner of Contest: Sameer Farooqi

Cover Design by Koni Deraz, Germany

Back Cover Content by Akshay Sonthalia, India

Edited by Kaneez Zehra Razavi, India

Book Design by Adil Ilyas, Pakistan

Authors in this book are from -

ISBN: 978-81-19351-34-3

Price: $25

BCID: 423-16997244

The views and opinions expressed in this collection of stories are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of Free Spirit. Any content provided by our authors are of their opinion and are not intended to malign any religion, ethnic group, club. organization, company, individual or anyone or anything. Details and curiosities about the places in this book have been found on Wikipedia and on the Web. They do not reflect opinions or quote from the publisher.

Not suitable for children.

Contents

Hardev Matharoo

1. Fior itto’s

Toni Kochensparger

2. Love Me Tender

Suzette Blom

3. The Battlefield

Anne Catharine Blake

4. The Culinary Chronicles Of Caroline

Sameer Farooqi

5. Nine May Dreams

Traci Musick Shaffer

6. Behind Cold Eyes

Kirsten Gant

7. The Loud House

Daniel Dvorak

8. The Monthlies

Participants

Hardev Matharoo

London - United Kingdom

Hardev Matharoo is based in London. His work attempts to present life as it is actually experienced.

1. Fior itto’s

This is our spot. On Thursdays, we all jump in a cab from the city and come here.

A cab? Philip asked. You don’t take the tube?

Austin gawked. Right, yeah, imagine that – six city guys in suits sweating themselves on the tube. That’d be something.

This conversation took place in the main dining room of Fioritto’s. Imagine your typical Mayfair restaurant. The walls were mirrored and stretched up high, mimicking an old ballroom. Every dining chair was a regal black and gold trimmed. The tablecloths were smooth and silky, each housing a single candle. Waiters and waitresses trammelled along as if on tracks, never knocking into one another, delicately balancing plates and champagne flutes. The air was thick with conversation and the clinking of glasses. Around a table just off the centre, bathed in that dim, golden, restaurant air were five friends, one year on after university. They’d all come on Austin’s invitation. The menus had just been handed out.

Bruschetta looks good, Melvin, a stocky, wide-faced man with sunken eyes, remarked, absently.

Oh no you don’t want that, Austin said. I’ve had it lots of times. Too oily. You want the calamari.

Yeah, yeah, Austin only eats something if it’s been alive! Andrew laughed, looking over at each person for a split second to garner their approval.

Humans are designed to eat meat, he replied stiffening his back.

Designed, eh? We’re designed it seems. You’re not going in for religion now, are you? Andrew was always on the edge of a laugh, his face forever a rosy pink.

It’s a turn of phrase. Besides, you can’t infer that someone is religious from their belief in God. Religion is a structure which belief can cling to . . .

Melvin sighed. Philip felt tense.

The rhythm of Austin’s voice, his tanned, slightly scarred skin, brought back a memory. He could see the white walls of the uni kitchen, the linoleum floor, the greasy countertops. Austin was lecturing Brian about something, his eyes not quite focusing on him but on the space between them. He remembered the name ‘Wittgenstein,’ thrown about and other long, abstract words, once meaningful but now senseless. Philip had asked Brian what had started Austin off, but he only shrugged.

God knows. All I did was ask him to clean the crumbs off the toaster.

And That was everyday life not long ago, Philip thought.

All of them, who had once sat in that kitchen on plastic chairs now sat on smooth velvet.

What are you ordering Brian? he asked, wishing for some reason to shake off this bittersweet memory.

Oh, I haven’t looked at the food, he said, almost startled. God, don’t they do lager here?

You don’t come to a restaurant like this for lager, Austin commented.

Fine, ale then. These beers are all . . . don’t they do pints? Who wants three-thirty mill? I guess I’ll have wine.

That’s Brian’s starter sorted, Andrew said. Just because it’s made from fruit doesn’t make it food.

A waitress came over for their orders.

I’ll have red wine. The cheapest you have, Brian said. Actually, make it a bottle.

Let’s get two bottles, Andrew said, already preparing for his smile. One for him and one for the four of us.

And for food? the waitress asked. Each gave their order, Austin pointing as he did so.

And for your main? she asked, starting at Melvin.

Oh, let me see . . .

Look, we’ll have the starters first, finish those up, then have the mains, Austin said with a flourish of his hand. The waitress nodded and left.

We have a rule in the office, he said to everyone. Never order the house. Order two above. That way you know you’re getting good wine.

The waitress came back and showed Austin the bottle. He looked it over, as though discerning something on the label. She uncorked it, which he scrutinised, and poured the first sip. He lay his fingers flat on the table and swirled the wine, sniffing and sipping, rinsing it around his mouth. Andrew nearly burst out laughing before Austin approved.

What? he asked.

Are you a sommelier now?

I’ve always liked wine.

Yeah, I’m sure you loved those boxes of wine we use to get with the little tap at the bottom.

Brian, do you remember that pizza place up in North London we used to go? Philip asked, already smiling from the memory of it. "I’m not surprised you don’t. We had been drinking and the only place open was this old pizzeria. The chef came out telling us about how all the sauce was homemade – how he pulled the dough by hand. . . . You, your head on the table interrupted, saying:

‘I don’t care about that. Do you have pints?’"

All of them laughed except Melvin. Austin tried to stay serious, although cracks would keep appearing on his lips.

No, the better one was when he sold the bike, Andrew said, the air struggling to escape him. By this point the starters were arriving. Austin was making some comment to the waitress about how they were serving the calamari in an unconventional fashion.

You remember this, Brian? Andrew goaded.

Yes, yes, go on, he said, shaking his head with a laugh and a glug of wine.

So, he gets in contact with this guy who wants to buy his old bike. Brian here thinks he’s a chief negotiator, trying to keep the price as high as he can, ‘umming and ahhing’ about the whole thing and finally says: ‘Alright, one-hundred pounds, but I’ll only accept a cheque, no cash.’

The laughs drowned out Austin’s speech about how he’d learned to negotiate in the office, or rather, he had a natural aptitude for it which the office brought out of him. Melvin didn’t react and ate, looking solemn although a chunk of tomato had fallen out of his mouth.

Not buying it Melvin?" Andrew prodded.

Is that all we have, funny stories?

We’re just having fun Mel.

Fun is good. Fun’s all well and good. University was a fun time but it’s over now and what is there to do?

The laughter died down. The smiles still lingered.

It’s time to start making something of yourself, Austin said proudly.

Make something of yourself? You mean slave away and give up all your time for something that might not even happen. God, it makes no sense. Why am I so scared to give up my time when I do nothing with it already?

Brian was looking around for