By Neel Anil Panicker
‘Hey sweetheart there, do you realise how ugly you look when you get this angry? Cutting a very sorry picture, standing there like a spurned lover against an ncreasingly darkening windy blue sky. I mean look at you, your nostrils have all flared up, the eyes have turned blood red and bulbous, like two massive balloons that may burst out any moment, and look at those horns, they’s twisted so much I’m afraid they may break any moment.’
“Stop it Blessy! Don’t try to mollycoddle me. I’m not your sweetheart. Your sweetheart is that new white guy who takes you out every morning around the steppe; the one who sits astride you and Gods knows what he does, where all his hands go. Go, go to him if you like him so much.”
“Oh my, my poor handsome yak, how jealous of you to even think like that of dear old Johnny. He is such a loving old man. It’s pure work my darling. He needs me, needs my droppings, needs them to warm his hut, to cook food, to survive in this harsh Tibetan clime. Just a relationship. You can call it daughter and father. Nothing more, nothing less”.
©NEELANILPANICKER2018 #FICTION #SHORTSTORY #THREELINETALES #200WORDS