PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook
By Neel Anil Panicker
“The deeds of the father come visiting the son,” intoned Manesh Shinde as he surveyed his frontyard.
Alarmed by the sudden eruption of her hubby’s booming voice, Sharmila rushed in from the kitchen, her hands still lathered in soapy liquid–her daily morning tango with utensils having just begun.
“My gaawd! Is this our front lawn? How did these seaweeds land here?”
His face, a picture of bemused sarcasm, sixty year old Shinde volleyed, “My sweetheart, I iterate: it is the sins of the…”
“Oh! stop this metaphorical garbage. Just tell me how you intend to clear this mess?”
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