neelwrites/gazingintoastarryreality/fiction/SPF/20/08/2017

Sunday Photo Fiction – August 20th 2017

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Hosted by J Hardy at https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/08/20/sunday-photo-fiction-august-20th-2017/ 

GAZING INTO A STARRY REALITY

209 08 August 20th 2017

By Neel Anil Panicker

My name is Galileo.

Galileo who? Galileo what? Did I hear you say?

Well, not surprising, though.

In this fast paced emoji driven, information pumping adrenaline high robotic age whoever has the time for digging out relics of some hoary past?

Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m the one to whom is attributed the famous phrase Eppur si muove.  It refers to my claim that it’s the Earth that revolves around the Sun and not the other way around.

Big deal, you might say.

But I tell you, in my day around 500 years ago what I said was considered a sacrilege.

The omnipotent, omniscient custodians of the Church (read God) took serious umbrage to my utterances.

I was incarcerated in a deep dungeon, and made to drink poison.

Hey, why am I telling you these things? It’s a story long interred and buried in the dustbin of history?

Right?

Well, folks, I’m doing this so you and the generations that would follow yours learn to stand up to all manner of wrongs and injustices perpetuated in this world in the name of God, that you understand there can exist a happy marriage between science and morality devoid of mass hatred fueled by religious bigotry.

(neelanilpanicker2017 #spf #fiction #200words

BACKGROUND: And yet it moves

“Eppur si muove” redirects here. For other uses, see Eppur si muove (disambiguation).

And yet it moves” or “Albeit it does move” (ItalianE pur si muove or Eppur si muove [epˈpur si ˈmwɔːve]) is a phrase attributed to the Italian mathematician, physicist and philosopher Galileo Galilei (1564–1642) in 1633 after being forced to recant his claims that the Earth moves around the immovable[1] Sun rather than the converse during the Galileo affair.[2]

In this context, the implication of the phrase is: despite his recantation, the Church’s proclamations to the contrary, or any other conviction or doctrine of men, the Earth does, in fact, move (around the Sun, and not vice versa). As such, the phrase is used today as a sort of pithy retort implying that “it doesn’t matter what you believe; these are the facts.”

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neelwrites//it’sabouttime/whatpegmansaw/13/08/2017

WHAT PEGMAN SAW

Pena, Portugal

IT’S ABOUT TIME

GENRE: HISTORICAL FICTION

By Neel Anil Panicker

A woman’s face etched in a beatific smile and holding in her arms a barely three-month-old baby girl greets Emily.

A tear drops from her eyes as she places in her pint sized bag the sepia tinged black and white photograph, the sole reminder of the only family she ever had.

Outside, she cranes her neck upwards and peers into the sky.

The bright orb of fire sends a pleasant tingling sensation surging through her veins, warming the cockles of her heart.

‘But why’s there no blast? Why the delay?’

Emily wrings her hands anxiously and peers yet again into the sky.

Slowly, as if goaded by the power of her unflinching eyes, the clouds give way and bright dazzling rays sparkle onto the earth.

And then as if in pronouncement, a huge ear splitting sound blasts through the atmosphere.

It is the sundial’s cannon ball strike signalling noon time.

It’s also the prompt for her to head for the main road.

There awaits Francis, the love of her life, the liberator of her soul.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #whatpegmansaw #fiction #pena,Portugal

neelwrites/it’stime/whatpegmansaw/historicalfiction/13/08/2017

WHAT PEGMAN SAW

Pena, Portugal

Hosted by the wonderful H Hardy Carroll at

Pena, Portugal

To enjoy stories inspired by the What Pegman Saw prompt or to submit your own 150-word story, visit the inLinkz button:

IT’S ABOUT TIME

GENRE: HISTORICAL FICTION

Image result for sundial, PENA, PORTUGAL

By Neel Anil Panicker

 

IT’S ABOUT TIME

GENRE: HISTORICAL FICTION

A woman’s face etched in a beatific smile and holding in her arms a barely three-month-old baby girl greets Emily.

A tear drops from her eyes as she places in her pint sized bag the sepia tinged black and white photograph, the sole reminder of the only family she ever had.

Outside, she cranes her neck upwards and peers into the sky.

The bright orb of fire sends a pleasant tingling sensation surging through her veins, warming the cockles of her heart.

‘But why’s there no blast? Why the delay?’

Emily wrings her hands anxiously and peers yet again into the sky.

Slowly, as if goaded by the power of her unflinching eyes, the clouds give way and bright dazzling rays sparkle onto the earth.

And then as if in pronouncement, a huge ear splitting sound blasts through the atmosphere.

It is the sundial’s cannon ball strike signalling noon time.

It’s also the prompt for her to head for the main road.

There awaits Francis, the love of her life, the liberator of her soul.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #whatpegmansaw #fiction #pena,Portugal

neelwrites/thediscovery/FFfAW/part9dangerouslove/fiction/09/08/2017

FFfAW Challenge Week of August 8, 2017

Hosted by the wonderful PJ at https://flashfictionforaspiringwriters.wordpress.com/2017/08/07/fffaw-challenge-week-of-august-8-2017/

THE DISCOVERY

This week’s photo prompt is provided by Dorothy. Thank you Dorothy!

By Neel Anil Panicker

“How long have you been with me, Salim?”

‘Around forty years, Afzal Bhai.’

“Forty one years, three months and two days.”

Salim nodded his head.

His boss had an elephantine memory.

The two were at Begum Jahanara Park, the sprawling fifty acre green belt in the heart of Old City.

An oasis, a much needed succor from the daily heat and grind of existence that life in a big city had become, any city for that matter, least of all the capital city of India.

An avowed morning person, the don loved coming to the Park, located a stone’s throw from Sumer Manzil.

The chirping of the birds, the early morning dew on soft grass, the all around stillness__there was a ring of freshness in the air that the don found very invigorating.

An hour’s stroll through the tree lined cemented pathways past bright eyed dangling dahlias and smiling angel white lilies worked like magic for his mind, body, and soul, though of the last his detractors wondered if he had any.

It was Salim who had requested his boss to postpone the durbar by an hour.

“Ok now,  what’s bugging you?”

‘Boss…it’s Liza, your daughter.’

“What about her?”

‘Boss, she…she’s in love…with…Al’.

#neelanilpanicker2017 #partnineofdangerouslove #thediscovery#fiction

DEAR READERS/WRITER FRIENDS INTERESTED IN READING THE EARLIER PARTS KINDLY CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW

For PART ONE

https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/27/neelwritesffphoningaroundfictionromance100words27072017/

For PART TWO:

https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/28/neelwrites3linetalesphoningaround-part2fiction28072017/

PART THREE: https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/30/neelwritessundayphotofiction03ofdangerouslove30072017/

PART

FOUR https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/01/neelwritespart/

PART FIVE https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/01/neelwritessixsentencestoriesepisodesixofdangerouslovefiction/

PART SIX

https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/03/neelwriteswatcherfictionthursdayphotoprompt03082017/

PART SEVEN https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/05/neelwritesgaffarmian-alifeoutsideprisonwallsthreelinetalesfiction188words/

PART EIGHT https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/08/neelwritescatsoutofthebagfffpppart8ofdangerouslovefiction08082017/

neelwrites/SPF/astreetinflames/fiction/199words/08/07/2017

Sunday Photo Fiction – August 6th 2017

Hosted by https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2017/08/06/sunday-photo-fiction-august-6th-2017/

A STREET IN FLAMES

12 J Hardy Carroll 06 August 2017

By Neel Anil Panicker

Inspector Singh looked across the street to the red bricked boxed row of apartments; small pint sized ‘hole in the wall’ residential flats.

It was a lower middle class suburb at the northern end of the urban sprawl that is Kolkata__a largely peaceful Muslim majority area barring the occasional street skirmishes come the month of Ramzan.

He turned his gaze to the street below. Parked were bikes and cars, mostly hatchbacks, the odd SUVs too; clothes hung out of balconies; mothers were admonishing their young ones, pleading, cajoling, a few even warning them  to head back home, signalling end of playtime__a regular evening not unlike one that plays out in any Indian suburb.

“How on earth could this place turn into a terrorist hub,”? pondered Inspector Singh as he relayed in his mind the message that had flashed in the Special Crime Branch internal website.

Marked ‘Private & For Your Eyes Only’, the colour coded message read,

Three dreaded terrorists, suspected to be of Pakistani origin and fully armed, are believed to be holed up in Arya Nagar. Warning: A deadly Mumbai style attack expected.”

A mere fifty metres ahead, the sound of machine guns blasted Inspector Singh’s ears.

©neelanilpanicker2017 #SPF #fiction #inspectorysharmaseries#astreetinflames#199words

neelwrites/gaffarmian-alifeoutsideprisonwalls/threelinetales/fiction/188words

Three Line Tales, Week 79

A weekly fiction challenge hosted by the wonderful Sonya at

Three Line Tales, Week 79

GAFFAR MIAN-A LIFE OUTSIDE PRISON WALLS

three line tales week 79: outside of the MCG; the g

photo by Arnaud Mesureur via Unsplash

By Neel Anil Panicker

The sky above is a darkish grey; any moment the earth below may drown in thunderous showers. In his vaunted post abutting the fifty foot high, barbed and electrified red stone walls of the northern periphery of Tihar Jail, Gaffar, the vagabond with no home, braces himself for the long night ahead.

It is a wet earth that greets him as he lays his frail bare boned self onto the uneven rocky outgrowth that is his pad, that has been his bed, his only roof under the sky for the past three decades, ever since the authorities that be built the largest penitentiary in all of Asia. A ten feet deep muddy culvert that runs all around the massive walls is the only barrier that separates him from the inmates who live inside the four walls.

Tonight, as an unrelenting cold westerly wind unleashes its fury, threatening to tear asunder his makeshift bed of mere leaves and twigs, Gaffar Mian gazes longingly at the watch tower above the walls, and at the machine gun wielding sentry atop it, wondering whether his life is any better than the lives of prisoners within those prison walls.

#neelanilpanicker2017 #partsevenofdangerouslove #dangerouslove#fiction#gaffarmian#334

DEAR READERS AND WRITER FRIENDS INTERESTED IN READING THE EARLIER PARTS KINDLY CLICK ON THE LINK BELOW

For PART ONE

https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/27/neelwritesffphoningaroundfictionromance100words27072017/

For PART TWO:

https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/28/neelwrites3linetalesphoningaround-part2fiction28072017/

PART THREE: https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/30/neelwritessundayphotofiction03ofdangerouslove30072017/

PART

FOUR https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/01/neelwritespart/

PART FIVE https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/01/neelwritessixsentencestoriesepisodesixofdangerouslovefiction/

PART SIX

https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/03/neelwriteswatcherfictionthursdayphotoprompt03082017/

 

 

neelwrites/sixsentencestories/episodesixofdangerouslove/fiction/

SS

The Six Sentence Cue of the Week is….pickle

…OF PICKLES AND DEADENED MEMORIES

20170730_170428

 

By Neel Anil Panicker

Memory is a harsh bitch that refuses to leave long after it’s expiry date.It comes unheralded when one least expects or desires for. For Liza, the gateway to her memories are manned by pickles.

Like a massive dam that one can no longer rein in, they finally burst out, drenching her to the gills.For a long time she swam in its waves, cruising through the crests and troughs of past happenings, remembering, forgetting, and re-remembering small, intimate, delectable tidbits, random musings and snapshots flushed out from the attics of a long deadened past.

And then they stopped, suddenly and as quickly as they had come, leaving her furiously famished__ for love, her mother’s love, for the touch of supple fingers on a small child’s head, for the taste of coastal food, for fish, deep fried and blood red, it’s innards little fillets garnished  with the paste of over a dozen hot spices, and then for pickle, bitter mango pickle, her mother’s special, and her childhood weakness.

Overwrought, Liza slipped on her negligee, tiptoed out of her room, and walked towards where the kitchen was, her movements guided by the moon’s rays that ricocheted off the high ceilinged roof tops and clashed against the glassed chandeliers, breaking into tiny shards of brilliance illuminating her pathway.

In no time she was in the large, hall sized kitchen, her hands on the sill, opening and closing a million glass tumblers.Sugar, salt, cardamom, cinnamon, pepper, apple pie…she finds them all but what’s missing are the pickles, her mother’s special pickles, the one that she made on her own and the one that Liza cried for and demanded again and again like the stubborn, spoilt child that she was__a frail ten year old slip of a girl, a girl with pony tails and her mother’s heart beat.

There she stood, bereft and lonesome, staring into nothingness, grieving, craving, lusting for pickles, simply unable to fathom that the past is but a storehouse of long dead if not buried memories.

#neelanilpanicker2017 #fiveofdangerouslove #dangerouslove#fiction#words334

For PART ONE

https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/27/neelwritesffphoningaroundfictionromance100words27072017/

For PART TWO:

https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/28/neelwrites3linetalesphoningaround-part2fiction28072017/

PART THREE: https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/07/30/neelwritessundayphotofiction03ofdangerouslove30072017/

PARTFOUR https://neelwritesblog.wordpress.com/2017/08/01/neelwritespart/