Cookie Jar (Short Story by Smruti Choudhury)

Riyaz was ecstatic. His pieces were being headlined in the Kochi Biennale this year. He couldn’t stop showing off his latest stone work sculptures on Instagram.

He put his PR team into overdrive, asking them to get him magazine cover stories, radio spots and even getting featured in the Art & Culture Show of a leading television network. 

His friends threw him a party to celebrate this new milestone. He was always the most sought out sculptor in the country, but being showcased in the Biennale was instant catapult into the international market.

The party also got featured in Bombay Times the next day. His Instagram account had swelled considerably ever since the news was announced. He was invincible. And the cherry on top was that he got the radio spot. It was a 30-minute segment where they would do Q&A with art lovers.

The radio interview went fairly well, even though the station took too many ad breaks. The producer tried to explain that lifestyle segments like this needed to be sponsored. He didn’t care. He was a celebrity now.

The Q&A were mostly people gushing about how good he was and congratulating him for putting India on the map of international sculptors. It was a breeze. Then the producer signaled him that there was a potential buyer on the line and if Riyaz would be comfortable negotiating his art pieces on air.

Image Courtesy: Google

It was the last caller and Riyaz thought that was a perfect way to end such a fabulous interview segment just a day ahead of the Biennale closing.  

The buyer had already bought a small dancing girl made out of alabaster from his last exhibition and was hinting that he might be interested in the main display item in the exhibition. Riyaz quoted his price and the buyer was silent for a long time. Even the producer thought that the call was disconnected. But then the buyer said that he won’t be able to afford it, although he did want to know why Riyaz was quoting such a heavy price for a simple bone china cookie jar.

Riyaz explained that the bone china actually used his father’s ashes and that putting a reasonable price to it would mean that he had to part with it.

Cookie Jar (Short Story by Esha Babla)

No one liked the grumpy old lady next door. There was always a frown on her very wrinkled face and her eyebrows would draw together when someone spoke to her. But each line on her forehead showed hardship and had a story to tell. But who would take the dare to go talk to this grumbly and crabby old lady? The adults had tried, but she would always shoo them away as if they were children. They kept away from her and also told their kids to stay away from her.

The old lady had the same routine every day. She would step out in the early mornings to water her garden and dry her clothes. The children would stop and stare as they skipped down the road towards their school. There was something very fascinating about her, which drew the children as she went about doing her chores. They even had her routine down to pat: she would fill her watering tool, and would walk from left to right as she watered her plants. They also knew what colour cloth pins were meant for what type of clothes.

They would try to catch her eye, something she would vehemently avoid. They would try to greet her, but she would hurry back inside. As children always know, they knew they wanted to get her to smile.

And so, they came up with a plan. The next morning, they headed out early. She wasn’t outside yet, her door firmly locked. The children picked up the newspaper lying at the main gate. One of them picked it up and headed inside. Just as he was dropping the newspaper at the door, it opened and out stepped the old lady. Taken aback, she froze. The child smiled widely at her as he ran back to his friends. They all started running down the road, only to glance back and greet her with a loud hello!

This became a routine which continued for weeks, each time with the old lady freezing as the children greeted her. There never was a reply, but they never stopped. 

A month passed, when one morning the old lady opened the door to see only 2 of the children. They stopped to greet her, but this time told her about how the rest of them were down with chicken pox. The old lady doesn’t react as the children wave goodbye. But the next morning, when the children stop to drop the newspaper at her main door, they notice something already lying there.

Curious, they head closer, only to see that it was a cookie jar. Next to it was a note that asked them to take one for their sick friends. And just like that, from that day onwards, the children always found a cookie jar at her door as they all went about following their routines.

The Cookie Jar (A Short Story by Sadhika Menon)

Louie wakes up every morning and waits around the kitchen counter staring at his object of affection- The cookie jar. He almost can’t wait for Lisa to wake up and give him his daily dose of sugary goodness. Everyday his patience wears thin and he will make countless attempts to reach the jar. Once he managed to hop over the stool and almost toppled it over but that damned Lisa woke up and as a punishment he did not get any cookies. And that made him so sad he did not even feel like going for his evening run with Lisa. How was he supposed to be a good boy at all times? So, life was hard and unfair for Louie sometimes.

Reminiscing about all the horrid cookie-less days he decides to stays put. He sees a figure coming towards him and he goes running to check out who it is. ‘It doesn’t smell like Lisa, maybe Jack is going to give me my morning cookie today’, he thinks. He runs to Jack and runs around his feet to get all his attention. Jack pets him on the head and goes about making his own breakfast. Louie can’t believe it. Something doesn’t feel right. He goes running to Lisa’s bedroom to wake her up since Jack was ignoring him. He goes in and is shocked as Lisa is not there. How did he not get to know she had left. How could she leave him without feeding him the cookie. Betrayal and sadness is all that poor Louie feels. But he overcomes that in seconds.

Louie chins up and decides to get his demands heard by Jack. He knows if he yaps enough he could get his way with Jack. But no matter how much he yaps on this day, Jack is just not paying him any attention. Louie jumps on his lap, licks his face, looks at him with the saddest eyes while he is devouring his bacon but nothing. Louie has never felt so unloved. He misses Lisa terribly.

Jack is walking out the door. Louie tries one last time to run after him but before he can reach him, Jack is gone. Louie is sad. It was one of those terrible days he would have to get through. But he did not do anything to deserve this and he feels hopeless. He has just about to resigned to his fate when he hears the door unlock. He feels a bout of excitement and hope and goes running to the door and hold and behold it is Lisa. He jumps on her, licks her, tells her how much he missed her and she hugs him back. She goes to the kitchen and gets him a cookie. Louie cherishes each bite and goes back to sleep with contentment. He knows this day is just going to get better.

Letters (Short Story by Esha Babla)

Sneha belonged to a family of writers. It started with her paternal grandparents who had worked as typists in the olden days. They were one of the very few who could read and write English, and were thus pursued relentlessly by the government for official jobs. Luckily for her grandmother, her grandfather understood the rights of women, even in those times, and let his wife work from home. She in turn was pursued by locals, who needed help in writing to their loved ones who were settled abroad. 

This became a family business, with her grandfather opening his own firm which eventually started a magazine that helped address problems written in by people. His two sons including Sneha’s father and one daughter, were all encouraged to study further. Sneha’s father and aunt did their journalism and soon enough joined their father’s business. Her uncle went to become a prominent editor for a Bollywood magazine. Sneha’s mother was a writer with her uncle’s magazine, working as an agony aunt, where she met her father and they fell in love.

Sneha took after both of them, and knew she just wanted to write. She joined a consultancy firm which helped create resumes, write business letters etc. She flourished on the job, and it’s there that she met her husband, Ashwin. They had an extraordinary love story, and Ashwin went out of his way to make sure his proposal to her was special. He’d written love letters, each speaking about an event in their relationship that made him fall deeper for her. A treasure hunt was set up to look for the letters, all hidden in places that were special to them. She also remembers how he had written his marriage vows in the form of a beautiful letter to her. This made her believe in happy endings. 

All throughout the first few years of their marriage, the couple would leave little letters for each other in various places like their lunch box, the bathroom mirror etc. So it was only fitting that when Sneha miscarried their baby, she would write a letter expressing her grief to Ashwin. Their communication was at its best through letters is what Sneha believed. So it seemed quite ironic when she came to know about Ashwin’s affair through a letter she received from his girlfriend. Ashwin continued with the tradition when he sent her divorce papers with a short, brief letter when he left her. Finally, Sneha knew what had to be done. Their marriage had started with a letter, so if it were to end, there would be a last letter. She took her time writing this very last one, with no hurry in her mind, before she jumped from the building terrace. Letters, after all, were how they communicated best. Their marriage would have then reached a full circle.  

The letter (Letter by Sadhika Menon)

18, Rosewood Avenue

PO Box 12616

Fresno, CA

Dear Millie,

How are you doing? I hope you are taking better care of yourself. I have missed you a lot.

I know your head is pretty much exploding and you are very confused by receiving this letter. I am sorry to put you through this after all you've been through. Trust me, the last thing I want to do is frazzle me you. Before reading this please make yourself some tea, it always calms you down. 

I should have tried to contact you a lot earlier but I just did not know how. I mean mailing or any electronic communication was out of the question. I am taking a big risk writing this letter as well.

I just need you to believe its me. I hope you have a better memory than I do about what happened on 25th January 2 years back. These two years have just been all about finding the missing pieces of the puzzle. 

Do you remember what we did on that day? We went for a movie with Jim and his folks. It was one of those superhero movies, I cant remember. We were all more excited to go to Cathy's  party. I think I still regret not making it for that party. Jim's mom invited us for dinner and we thought it would be a good idea to get some food before we started drinking. I remember feeling a very eerie vibe when we first got to his house.  The front door made that classic 'horror movie creak' sound. There was this funk in the room, I cant remember clearly. His dad hardly spoke anyway and his mom started freaking out because the her pot roast had burned. I mean if Jim wasn't the hottest guy in school we wouldn't  have gone there anyway. Anyway, I remember going to his room, we made out for a bit and then his mom calling us for dinner. When we sat for dinner that's when things start getting hazy for me. I remember things in flashes now. I don't know if these are figments of my imagination or actual incidents from the night. 

I remember feeling a hard thud on my head and blacking out. Next thing I am tied to this chair, and a person in a dragon mask is just siting in front of me. Then I remember being laid out on a table with other people wearing the same mask and some sort of ritual taking place around me. And then I just remember waking up in a seedy motel on the highway. I was so scared. I checked myself for scars, I was wondering if Jim and our parents were looking for me. There was not a soul at this motel so got on to the road and hitchhiked my way home. But when I got home, I saw you were already there? If you were there, where was I supposed to be? And if you were, who was I? I still don't know. Meet me at the address I have attached with this letter. I need to know if you remember anything from that night. Please you are my only hope.

Love and regards, 

Millie

Letters (Short Story by Smruti Choudhury)

In the game, he always played as the captain. He didn’t know how to play any other part. But it was all fine as nobody objected. Till she walked in. She didn’t want to be the second fiddle. It was not in her nature. She wanted to be the captain.

He tried to reason with her. Threw tantrums. She threw bigger ones. It was an impasse. Then Spuds suggested that they play a different game.

She jumped at the idea of being able to change the narrative. Her daddy was always talking about changing narratives on the phone. She had asked many times what exactly it meant but daddy never had any time for her. She had then nagged her brother about it and he had tried to explain it to her using Legos. She was just fascinated that Legos could be arranged in alphabetical letters. All Mumma had shown her were tall blocks.

Image Courtesy: Google

She had spent the entire day copying all the letters from her picture book. She had been proud of her work.

Now she had the chance to change the narrative and she wanted everyone to get their Legos out. But then he pointed out that they would still need a captain. That didn’t go down well with her. She punched him in the face. He howled in pain and hurled the Legos all over the place.

She sat there taking in the tantrum quite calmly. Then slowly picked up the Lego letters and took them home. She never came back. She learned to play all by herself. She could be captain every day. She didn’t need him. She had changed the narrative.

The Walnut Boy (Short story by Esha Babla)

There he stood in his grand stature, golden brown in colour, his little hands clenched in tight fists at his waist, glaring at the setting sun. He’d had enough of being treated like a little boy. He was a grown man now, having broken open and escaped from both the shell-man and the green husk man where he had been held captive. This was all of two days ago, but his mother refused to let him out of her sight, stating that he was still too young to face the world. But he knew better. He knew he was special and had powers that would empower the human he chose to be his special friend. Together they could save the world! 

Daydreaming about solving complicated equations with ease, he doesn’t hear his mother yelling out for him. She grabs him by his ear and pulls him away from the tree branch, scolding him for standing at the edge. He could have fallen and broken himself. Yelling, he asks her to let go. He needed to head out to look for his special human friend as they needed to save the world. His mom stops in her tracks, and visibly softens in her stance. She lets go of him and gently tells him that he needed to wait till he was at least 4 days old before he headed out into the bad world. He needed to be old enough to be able to tell who could be his special friend, and wouldn’t just throw him away. They were a type of nuts that not many were fond of, and so he had to be careful in finding that human who just wouldn’t throw him away. He didn’t want to end up in a food dish, being ground or worst, catch a fungal infection that would lead to his death!

He calms down as he listens to what his mother has to say. She tucks him into bed, and kisses him on his favourite bump on his head. As she walks away, he sits up straight in his bed. He knew what she had to say could be true for other walnut boys and girls, but not him. He knew from every bump on his body, that he was special. He only needed to find his person! He waits till the house goes silent, before quietly climbing out of his blanket. It’s a chilly night, and he breaks out with goosebumps, both from the chill as well as the excitement coursing through him. He quickly heads to the branch where he’d stood just a while back. Just then he remembers something, banging his fist to his head and rushes back to his room. He emerges wearing a red cape around his neck. Now he looked just like his favorite superhero.  Sliding down the loose branch, he lands deftly on his feet, his cape swinging around him. He stands proud, with his hands on his waist and shouts out loud, “Wally, The Walnut Boy is ready to save the world!” before running straight into the darkness.