By Neel Anil Panicker

“Hey Prashant, who has your cricket team lifted on their shoulders?

Well, that’s God Ganesha.

“God? This guy with an elephant’s head and a lone tusk??? I thought Sachin was the ‘God of Cricket?”

Steve, look at his name: Ganesha. Gana means beings, both living and non living. Ganesha controls I, you, every single person, thing, or element in the entire cosmos. This makes him the Lord of all beings. This also makes him powerful, far powerful than Sachin. In fact he’s more powerful than all other five million Gods and Goddesses, and hence we worship him before all else.

“I am so intrigued. He looks so cute, too. Does this dude have parents?”

Well, he’s son of Shiva and Parvati; no he was created by Shiva alone; or by Parvati; or even by both in consultation with Brahma.

“Now, now, wait a minute…It’s a bit confusing. Who are these characters. How could a guy be be born of err created by so many people?”

Well, this is India. Here, anything and everything is possible.


FFfAW Challenge-February 13, 2018






23 J Hardy Carroll 11 February 2018

By Neel Anil Panicker

Inspector Sharma eyed the corridor from behind the staircase walls.

The narrow ill lit pathway ended up in a single door that he was told led to a double room.

Opposite it were three other rooms__single, two on the left and one on the right.

‘Sir, they checked in last night_three men, and a woman,’ was all the informer had to offer.

There could be trouble, Sharma surmised. His fingers tightened on the triggers of the Glock semi automatic pistol.

He turned around and jabbed a finger at the bell boy.

It was the signal that the latter awaited.

He tiptoed past Sharma and stepped into the corridor, his right hand holding on to a tray with a tea pot and two cups.

From behind Sharma watched with baited breath.

It was the then that the unforeseen happened; the lights went off, the entire hotel plunged into darkness.

What happened after this is shrouded in mystery.

Which of the doors opened first, who fired the first shot, who escaped and how? Everything was a matter of conjecture.

A day later Inspector Sharma was suspended and charged for the cold blooded murder of three innocent civilians including a baby_six months old.

©neelanilpanicker2018 #sundayphotofiction #shortstory #200words

Sunday Photo Fiction – February 11th 2018



By Neel Anil Panicker

‘Remember me? You were my crush three decades ago. Oh no, how will you ever? I mean how the hell will you_Champion Number One, Alfred the Great__ever remember anyone from his long interred past, especially a mere slip of a thirteen year old girl who also was his twin sister’s BFF, a puny pony- tailed acne scarred foor foot high skinny apparition that answered to the rather rustic sounding ear splitting name of Bhuvaneshwari Vatsalyam?’

“A what? And who? Excuse me, but do I know you? I mean have I met you before”

‘Ah! there you go. And that’s exactly my point. That you never knew me and that I never knew you and that we never knew each other and that we never ever lived in a small hill town called Darjeeling and that we never ever went to Saint Mary’s High School, and that we never ever got scolded and ass-caned by Reverend Father F.J.W. Z. Lombart, the seven foot tall Belgian principal, incidentally also the best goalkeeper in all of West Bengal, and that I am so super blessed that our paths, that isyours and mine, never ever crossed and never ever would. So goodbye, Mr STRANGER.”






22 Dawn Miller February 4th 2018

By Neel Anil Panicker

“Have you heard of serial killers,”?

‘Is this some kind of a joke?’

Inspector Sharma repeated his question.

The two were at a forest clearing deep inside the Yerrahahalli forests, some twenty miles from civilization.

Assistant Chief Conservatorof Forests Rajat Pandit squinted his eyes as the harsh June sun bore down at his face and looked across at his childhood mate. A mynah chirped above their heads. Somewhere around, a gang of monkeys gibbered.

“Look Sharma, besides being my best friend, you’re also a damn good cop. But I te/ll you, you’re grossly mistaken here. This is no serial killer’s work.”

“What the body count so far”.

‘A what’?

“I asked how many people have disappeared in the past four months.”

‘Thirteen including the two that went missing since yesterday.

Inspector Sharma looked at the half filled wheel barrow and the timber logs around it. Something on the ground below held his attention. He bent down and inspected the patch of freshly trampled earth. It was then that he found it__the footprints, clear ones, its toes dug deep into the still damp earth.

Getting up, he said calmly, “It’s a serial killer. A man eating serial killer at that, Ish.”


22 Dawn Miller February 4th 2018

© Dawn Miller




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”.


Three Line Tales, Week 105

Three Line Tales, Week 105



20 Eric Wicklund January 28th 2018

© Eric Wicklund

By Neel Anil Panicker

The vows, the marriage vows, the one the two had uttered, every single word affirmed loud and clear, its intonation and enunciation, tone, pitch and volume, the modulation, inflection and elucidation of every single syllabic sound perfect to a T, all merrily cheered by every one of the select gathering of cherished friends and relatives as well as the entire paraphernalia of uncles, aunts, cousins et al __the penumbra of well wishers and gatherers who had come to bless the newly weds at the local church__the momentous event flashed past Jennifer’s mind as a sepia tinged memory that unfolded in ultra slow motion ala a long drawn TV soap opera.

How divinely graceful did she look as the pastor clasped their hands__ hers and Benny’s__ solemnly pronouncing them man and wife.

Alas! The euphoria lasted exactly six years. Six blissful years when hubby dear worshiped the ground she walked on, treating her like a queen, loving and caring for her to the hilt, passionately fulfilling every single need, want, and desire that she had ever nurtured in her bosom.

Then came the day when she became persona non grata; turned into just another discarded woman, left to drown herself in sorrow.


Sunday Photo Fiction – January 28th 2018

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three line tales week 104: an abandoned house in the Arctic circle

By Neel Anil Panicker

During the nights the house or whatever remained of it looked even more evil, resting at it were on the very edge of the desolate village, oddly slanted towards the left as a triangular roof jutted out from the centre and met the pitch dark skies above.

A single sliver of the moon’s rays illuminated the horizontal brackish asymmetrical lines that were etched on its marshmallow walls and as Reena peered out from the safety of her car she could make out near faded out markings on those walls, small little indecipherable calligraphic creations that clearly were the works of children, young kids as young as five or six years old.

Etched in her memory, even after the passage of two score years, were the pitter patter of nimble feet and the laughters and smiles and playing and frolicking of one such kid__she herself__ and the wondrous days of a happy childhood spent in her maternal home before the massive far gutted down not just her ancestral house but also her entire family, the only one she had ever had, the only one would ever be able to call her own.


Three Line Tales, Week 102


Three Line Tales, Week 104