neelwrites/fiction/shortstory/words/

 

Image result for STARVATION DEATHS, INDIA

BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS

By Neel Anil Panicker

Makhan Lal offers one last look at the arid expanse before him.

All his weary eyes can spot are acres upon acres of barren fields.

Sweat-lathered tears stream down his heavily lined visage and die slow deaths on his bare-chested, all boned torso.

This year’s been particularly harsh: no rainfall, no crop, no food, and two deaths_ his brother and his

his grandson, all of two weeks.

His weather beaten sixty-five year old self can take no longer.

The decision’s made: migration; to the city, to any place that will get his family of seven two meals a day.

©neelanilpanicker2017 # fiction # shortstory #99 words

February 23: Flash Fiction Challenge

Written for

February 23: Flash Fiction Challenge

February 23, 2017 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a migration story. It can imagine the dusty or arctic trails of the frontiers past or look to the travel across the galaxy. What issue about modern migration bans might influence an artistic expression in a flash? Migrate where the prompt leads you.

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neelwrites/happynewyear/istpostof2017/01/01/2017

WHY I HATE ‘A HAPPY NEW YEAR’

By Neel Anil Panicker

I hate New Year greetings. I mean I REALLY HATE new year greetings. It has been a slow build up over the years but when I see people still going around wishing all and sundry A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR it gets my goat.

But then that’s because I can see through the elaborate façade, the eye popping charade, the sheer falsity and thereby, futility of the whole damn exercise.

And I can spot these new age peddlers of New Year greetings from beyond a mile. There they come, their arms flapping and eyes popping and teeth flashing, having zeroed in on a poor hapless soul (read victim) from afar. Like a beautifully choreographed Shiamak Davar dance sequence, they make their slow, sinuous and dare I say, sensuous move across to you, waving an arm here and a leg there, their every single nerve and muscle and sinew stretched to a taught as they waltz upto to you and sing and ring in  A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR deep down into your stupefied ears.

OMG! If there was a law against such gross ramming down of impermissible decibel levels down one’s orifices, I am pretty sure half of humanity would be behind bars.

Take me for instance. The new year has happened and it’s a good 36 hours since the fortuitous event  made its foray into the world but all through the day and night all manner of people, a few known and a zillion unknown, are still handing out New Year greetings to me in a single monotonous scream and quite a few even live streaming their New Year pleasantries. And mind you, all of this comes in a tearing hurry that makes me suspect if the world is suddenly running out of stock of such stock phrases or in the alternative, they are soon going to get as extinct as the dodo.

So, all my dear friends and relatives, near and far, as well as people who I may know or not, I heard you once and I heard you twice but trust me it takes my goat if you sing it thrice__guess what!  A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

©neelanilpanicker2017

neelwrites/fiction/examinatiions/CAT/08/12/2016

When someone let the CAT out of the bag
By Neel Anil Panicker
Examinations are a load or a breeze. That’s depending on which side of the academic scale you tilt.
For a serious student of life such as yours truly, it means a welcome release after months of burning the proverbial midnight oil, lying awake through days and nights coding, uncoding, and then decoding a near endless array of bewildering permutations and combinations, hoping to get bat through as many of the trickier than tricky bouncers (read questions!) that the head honchos that govern the test aim to throw at you at speeds that would put to shame the fastest of bowlers of world cricket.
And so it was the other day when I found myself inching into a rather expansive second floor examination hall located quite ironically in a mid-sized mall in a godforsaken back of beyond location some 50 kilometres away from sweet home.
The jostling continued but this time the shoulders gave way for cubicles as I found myself staring at a computer screen that steadfastly refused to wink back at me.
Humour was not its forte, I guessed.
I craned my neck left and right and saw only eyes, all eager and expectant. The future of the country, smilingly ready to put their collective heads on the chopping block.
And then the screen sprang to life, whispering start.
The race had begun and the Usain Bolts of the world began to run.
Thereafter, it was non-stop bombardment as question after question popped out of the funny looking screen made even smaller by the enclosed lines within which played out the jumbled, contorted and even twisted world of sweat inducing near unsolvable questions.
Finally, after a tortuous (and might I add torturous) three hour ordeal that I would wish the best of my enemies), the ordeal ended as I bid goodbye to the last of the questions.
The reverse troop down started and I joined the teeming mass of IIM aspirants on the outside, their facial expressions and bodily contractions and contortions conveying the entire gamut of human emotions ranging from the downright crestfallen to the supremely elated.
I looked around just in time to find my friend Harish, ambling towards me, his face squeezed in like a three-day-old mashed potato.
“Guess what, the paper has been leaked”
The words hit me like a ten tonne brick.
I blinked and stared into his face__ a sorry mash of fallen hopes. The mock test all India topper was understandably crestfallen.
A whirlpool of myriad images began to badger my mind.
Sheer darkness enveloped all over me.
The collateral damage to my CAT preparations over the past eight months had been immense.
A quick mental calculation brought out the losses:
Total man hours spent studying: 1800 (averaged over the past one year)
Girl friends left: Fifteen (Eight at the preparatory stages, two at base camp, seven at second stage, and three at the summit__well, almost)
Parties missed: twelve (including five outstation trips, with one to that land of utopia, Goa)
A flurry of noises brought me back to terra firma.
“Aree, bach gaye yaar”, shouted out a bunch of students.
They seem to have just managed to survive . Tomorrow is just another day.
I let out a smile.
Hopefully, next time around, they will be better prepared.
And, hopefully, there will be no more leaks.
As for me, I am going for a leak, right now.

(A first person account of an IIM aspirant)
(c)neelanilpanicker2016#fiction

neelwritesblog/it’sindiamydear/21/10/2016

IT’S INDIA, MY DEAR-#01

By Neel Anil Panicker
Know how much is an Olympic medal and a gifted  BMW car worth?
An astounding 78 crores!
Yes, that’s how much the Tripura government has sanctioned for a stretch of road around where Dipa Karmakar resides.
Hope we win loads of medals in the next Olympics and pray quite a few of  the winners belong to UP and Bihar!!!