By Neel Anil Panicker

Vishwan’s eyes bored through the contents of the fifty page file___each page headed with neatly indented paragraphs, some embellished further with sub headings, timelines et al but all with notations such as place, type of food ordered, credit card bills etc…etc…

Finally, when he had had enough of reading, assimilating and internalising every single word and letter and punctuation mark, he got up and hurled the file onto the fireplace; a blind rage burning through his eyes as the embers ravenously devoured the file and its contents.

‘She’s got to pay, she’s got to pay for playing with his life, the lives of their two little children__Rehaan and Aisha, the loves of his life’.

Thereafter, he, a senior marketing manager of a top notch multi-national pharmaceutical company, began to pace the granite floors of his company owned apartment, and then, after about half an hour or so, finally sat down on the sofa__his heart beats still jumping up and down faster than a yo-yo, but his mind an ocean of calmness.

Seconds later, he was on the phone and as a male voice came alive on the other end, he explained, “I admire your work and need you to carry out a task for me.”

She, Shabnam, his wife, was about to die__ the only punishment that he deemed worthy enough and that could match up to her crime__the crime of not staying loyal.

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This short story was written for  both

Six Sentence Stories



Three Things Challenge, 11 July 2018





By Neel Anil Panicker

So you tell me that you did this because you were greatly hurt at being falsely accused  of inappropriate conduct by your colleagues and that to clear your fair name you set this all up in order to investigate and thereafter  catch the person who had brought you so much ignominy, that you did this as you wanted physical evidence of wrongdoing that would help you be exonerated of all accusations of wrongful conduct once you placed it before your bosses, right, Mr Ankur Tomar?

Yes…yes…yes Sir…I felt greatly humiliated, especially and more so when they spoke ill of me on the staff in-house blog and on other social media.

And what exactly did they say about you?

That I am a dirty person and that I don’t bathe and smell bad all the time and the most hurtful of all that I don’t flush the toilet after use.

So, my friend if that’s your defence for placing a camera and recording your colleagues,  several of whom being  females, in various stages of undress, then I am afraid that’s a very weak one, one that will not cut much ice with a judge who will slap you with charges of voyeurism and send you behind bars.
I..I…I am sorry; I now realize that only real cops are allowed to play cops in order to  catch the real culprits; all others have to face the fate of either living with the humiliations leaped upon them, or wait for the truth to come out.




By Neel Anil Panicker
It took a while for her to understand but ever since his last indiscretion__ a quickie weekend fling couched as an urgent out of town meeting with
“some VIP clients who wanted to sign a big ticket deal__she had stopped to shed silent tears in the vain hope that he would he would mend his wayward ways and turn over a new leaf.
“Only those who feel guilty can ever hope to ride the path of Reformation,” was  the solemn pronouncement of Beatrice, her bestie and go to person for all times.
And she couldn’t have agreed more.
Except that one day, she, fuelled by righteous indignation and unbridled rage, decided to take matters into her own hands.

And so it was that one fine morning when hubby dear was lost to sleep, that she climbed on top of him and severed  his organ, the one that was that was the main culprit for his uncontrollable libido.

It’s another matter that she spent the rest of her yeas battling the forces of guilt, leading her wasted existence behind prison bars.
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It’s Six Sentence Story



Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!


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By Neel Anil Panicker
It all started with an innocuous little incident, an everyday occurrence, one of those seemingly mundane happenings that are part of the hustle and bustle that is the DNA of any big city, leave alone New Delhi, the ever on the boil thriving capital city of India.

Mary Philips, all of eighteen, and running late for his first day at college half ran after exiting from the metro, elbowing, nudging and edging past the teeming morning throng of office goers exiting Gate No. 7 of Connaught Place.

It was too late by the time he  realised that he been pushed from behind.

By the time he realised what had happened and even before he could steady himself, he had fallen head over heels on the mosaic tiled floor.

He twirled and turned around to find himself spreadeagled on the floor, his legs twisted around like malleable steel around another stranger’s, a girl’s, his arms brushing against her left breast.
Hurriedly and very apologetically he extricated himself from the unforeseen awkwardness and took to his heels but not before turning around and honouring the beautiful damsel who had fallen into his lap with his best Sunday Special smile, a magical curve that he knew from experience never ever went unrewarded.

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By Neel Anil Panicker

“You need to be a little flexible, after all what’s life without a little give and take?”
Inspector Sharma scratched the edge of his nose; immediately, a sticky wetness ringed his index fingers.


Damn’t! He was losing his cool, getting nervous, a condition that he knew was precipitated by palpable anxiety that he knew would only too soon lead to a blinding heaviness in his head, a benumbing pain in his temple that would put a full stop to his ability to think coherently.
And that was something he could ill afford, especially considering the fact that he was dealing with was no ordinary criminal.
After what seemed an eternity, Sharma pulled himself to his full height and looked through the iron bars of Cell No. 5 of Tihar Jail at the man the underworld knew by the moniker ‘Savage’ and replied, his voice sans his usual firmness, ‘Ok, I will give you the consignment next Monday when you come for your fortnightly visit at the hospital’.
The senior inspector of Specialized Unit Three, Delhi Crime Branch, didn’t wait for the prisoner’s reply; instead, hurriedly trotted out of the jail, his mind furiously debating over the ethicality of helping one criminal in order to catch another.
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Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!

Hosted by GirlieOnTheEdge

Cue Word:  Flexible



By Neel Anil Panicker

“Unlike Ranjeet, Arijit is constant, too constant in fact, so constant that I can predict right down to a last nano second what he is going to wear or say, who he is going to meet, and where and with whom he will be this very moment three weeks, or worse, even three years hence.”

Absolutely unbelieving what she had just heard, Pragya lowered her head and spoke, her voice a low whisper, mindful of the gang of garrulously shrieking teenagers seated in the table next to theirs at the downtown Starbucks outlet on a Monday afternoon, ‘Shreya, if he is constant then be it so, at least he doesn’t, like Ranjeet alternate between extreme care and sheer indifference, one moment showering you with flowers and chocolates, serenading you around like a princess and the very next treating you as if just don’t exist, like you were this inanimate thing, just another door or something that he chooses to walk in and out of as per his fancy.  Shreya, you need to know that in life more than often than not the known devil is better than the unknown angel, and moreover Arijit is your husband, the one your parents chose as your life partner.’

“Husband…life partner…my foot!!! Listen Pragya, I’m done with him as I no longer need a mere rubber stamp for a husband, I need a man, a real man who makes me feel like a woman, a real woman.”

‘And you believe that person is Ranjeet, a Lothario who has a reputation of bedding every single woman that moves around on two legs, who meets you only to satisfy his libido and does the disappearing act for days on end.’

“Yes Pragya, you’re right when you say that he is a pleasure seeker but then aren’t we all and as for as the disappearing act is concerned I’ll make sure that he is bound to me for ever, an obedient puppy on a tight leash.”

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Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!





By Neel Anil Panicker

Ever since Olivia died__and that’s hardly six years ago though it seems as if it were several moons back__I have not been myself.

Things that I had taken for granted have suddenly turned complex; a simple walk in the park is no longer the pleasurable activity that it used to be; instead it’s she and her memories that cloud and blur and assault my mindscape turning each single cellular movement, every single nano step that I take into one excruciatingly torturous experience.

The agony spills over into the day, infiltrating by being, making deep inroads into every single mental and emotional crevice that’s left unguarded, seeping deep into its innards, skimming and sapping it dry off the last ounce of energy.

They, and that includes though who claim to know me__the legion of fellow survivalists__are quick on the draw, inundating me with a deluge of homelies, lathering me with beaten to death aphorisms, ramming their ‘sure shot’ know all advices down my reluctantly sore throat.

I guess they have given up on me as I have noticed that with each passing day there’s that wee bit lessening of such lathering along with the thinning of my vaunted much touted long list of ‘friends and well wishers’.

And now with each passing moment I find myself drowning in utter loneliness where the only sound I hear is the echo of her heart inside my heart though I wonder how on earth could that ever be possible as hers had long ago stopped beating.


Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt!