Kamna's Blog

Brushing my mince meaty molars by the window at noontime while questioning my major meaningless morals. The nightmare phase is the best phase. The phase of inspiration, the phase where this blog is given the attention it surely must deserve. "It's all in your head," she always so surely asserts. What does she know, for she is headless and her eyes are her nipples, her belly button the hole through which she breathes and the 3 holes southward she uses to speak with, each louder as you descend to the last smelly one. Not that I would go sniffing about. I'm just assuming it is smelly because she has bad breath when she uses her loudest hole to speak and because she can be such an all-knowing self-righteous bitch sometimes. She takes my small soft chubby hands in her unnaturally large rough man hands and she tells me it will all make sense sooner than I can imagine it being simple enough to sweep sneakily under the wall unit when no one's looking. Dark disturbing de...

It had been so long since they were together, longer than they were married, longer than they were even a couple, and as long as she could remember. He couldn't remember, after all those years of togetherness, he had no memory of her, no deja vu when he smelled the lillies at the window sill that was her signature scent for all those years. He didn't remember anything about her. It was as if she never existed, as if those memories; some bittersweet, but most of them just so incredibly sweet, were just never made. But it didn't matter, his not remembering, not anymore anyway. What matters anyway? She died last night. And he didn't even feel the loss. How can you feel the loss of something you don't know and something you have never had? That's comforting I guess, his not being able to feel the loss. If he could, it would probably be too much for him to endure. Especially after all he'd been through already. I'm his second wife, but his first wife in hi...

Trring---Trrrring-----Trrrrring. For the umpteenth time Gareth snoozed his  alarm on his shiny new phone and it felt like it had been ringing a million  times. He fought waking up so hard this morning because, one, he was getting  to sleep for this long, after long and two, because he was having the best d ream about Trisha and himself. The girl in question was someone he'd been  infatuated with for two years. She worked in his office six months ago as an intern and although he had not seen her since, he had been content with  stalking her Facebook page first thing in the morning and other times in the  day.Gareth smiled, his cheeks reddening at the thought of her gorgeous face and  never ending long legs as he jumped out of bed. He ran a cold shower, gobbled  a measly coffee and muffin-from-last-week and rushed to work in his new  shiny car. He was crossing a signal and before he could turn left; which was his everyday route, he went ...

Faraway, in a land of sparrows and oranges, lay half a million bugs under a boulder. Bug Andy was a funny bug. He was always playing tricks. But he had a good heart and bad breath. Bug Andy had an accomplice named Bug Mindy. Bug Mindy was a gleeful insect. Always helpful and willing to participate in all of Andy's pranks. One day, a giant snake named Python Xavi overturned the boulder and there lay exposed the half million bugs scurrying away as fast as their tiny bodies would permit.Python Xavi in a huge act of deviousness leaped at the bugs and quietly scooped half of the million bugs. Bug Andy was mortified. He and the surviving half managed to enter into a rabbit hole. Rabbit George was perched at his desk eating an orange and poring over his papers. He was a judge of the highest order. Bug Andy crept up unto his ear and shouted, "We bugs are in great danger! Save us from the python." Bug Mindy cried, "Yes Rabbit George! Save us from the python's wrath!...

In the great mountains of Uvapishidora, there are rich and at random locations, well decorated in flowery embroidery and intricately adorned Ape Kings for each range and a mighty sword each of great lineage. But they never go to war, they just use the swords to check the ripeness of their many lovely myriad variety of exotic fruits. Among these great Ape Kings or Yeshums, there is one of them of certain distinguishness that for this story to have a plot, if not be another one of my foolish night writings, has to be talked about, well, in humongous detail. Hell, imma make this all about King Jaraka. Because, one, a short story is best with the least employment of characters and it's way past midnight, and two, because I'm no Christopher Paolini thinking up awesome weird names. Okay, so King Jaraka here, was a pretty awesome kind of king. Kind of like the emperor in the 'Emperor's new groove,' minus the skinniness and the eventual show of heart in his character. (Co...

प्रस्तुत कहानी   के   शीर्षक   की   सार्थकता absolutely अनुचित   हैं| The truck was cruising at speeds conceivable only to broad sighted men. Van Der Vaughn sat confident; his 200 pound behind placed comfortably on the custom-made seat, howling enthusiastically along to Motown his woman Pam picked out especially for this road trip. Countless old country traffic signals were being passed with not so much of a look of acknowledgment. Van Der Vaughn had been looking forward for this one journey for twenty five years of the grand enigma that was his life. He didn't come from an easy childhood. His mother was a rag-picker, and he had no father nor any siblings. He was twelve and a half when his mother hanged herself in the Holly Hood's motel. He was put under the care of his Uncle Jim who was a drug dealer cum drunkard. Van worked at a convenience store and did odd jobs for his Uncle's "friends" to put himself through high school. And then, Uncle Jim died....

The brightness was unusually comforting. My heart was gladdened with the light that seemed to seep through my eyelids and force them apart thus revealing to me the otherwise unappreciated beauty of the morning's first sun rays. It was just the perfect amount of sun, too. Not too warm, not too cool, considering it was the middle of November. I moved ever so subtle-ly so as to not rouse Rosalind. She looked so peaceful in our bright purple duvet, like a white dove immersed in a love that only the sweetness of deep sleep can offer. As I slid out of the double bed I flung my cardigan over my head. I noticed that out in the veranda, lay strewn all across the floor were remainders of last night's exercise. Last night's "exercise", I say because it sure did tire me out; all the book-sorting work that Rosalie imposed over my otherwise dull day at the House. Rosalind and I have been married for the past seventeen years. Ours was a marriage of convenience. Both our...

Angelo Desilva, thirty-nine years of age, from the modest little town of Palajoy, lived a very mediocre life. Not a single thing about him or his life was unique; he was one of the crowd. As a preteen, he always wanted to become a musician. Listening to all the great legends, he fuelled fantasies about becoming a great musician himself. Simple middle-aged Angelo worked fruitlessly as a music director. He was not popular as he wanted to be; he created cheesy jingles for TV ads. There was nothing outwardly characteristic about him; he was ordinary in the highest degree. Angelo was a voracious reader. Like in every creative oriented job, he found himself many a times being idle for lack of ideas. And so Angelo absorbed most of that time in reading. Reading transported him to a different world, a world of make-believe, where he could forget for a while his purposeless, insignificant and drab existence, and pretend to be part of a happier world. It so happened that one time, he had to leave...

Cheque in a Bottle Imagine being the richest man in the world. Then imagine being the unhappiest. Will Bates was one such man; richest and unhappiest man in the world. Being the founder of Macrohard; a multi-billion dollar software company, and the brainchild of the modern computer generation, Will Bates had created history. As much as he was filthy rich, he was also very charitable. He and his wife Rebecca of 22 years, had established a world renowned NGO, generated billions through charity work, eradicated several diseases, among other great world changing achievements. However, Will Bates was unhappy. He had everything, but he felt unworthy of it all. It was not as if he’d never been happy. It was a phase he was going through, a mid-life crisis if you may. It was at this point in his life that he started doing some serious introspection about his life and himself. He wondered if it was destiny that made him “Will Bates”. He wanted to play with his destiny; challenge the forces that ...

Shelly Belly Those Bells. It was always those bells that made me think of her and of those times when we were free. Free to be whatever we wanted to be. It was GREEN and it had a wonderful tinkling sound. Reminiscent of the sound of Christmas and toy trains. We were four when we became friends. I was playing in the yard of our preschool. The big boys were bullying me. I had the fanciest shovels, you see. She was always the strong, protective one. She saved me then and countless times after that. Always put me first. More like a big sister than a best friend. Shelly saved me a seat in the cafeteria in middle school, fought with other kids over my seat in the bus. So brave and so good-hearted she was. Yes, WAS. My Shelly is no more. We were in high school when she WENT. No, she didn’t leave the country, she didn’t leave me. She could never leave me. We were inseparable, the two of us. She was there when my parents died. She was there when I couldn’t understand the bi...

Every time I remember my school days, memories flood my mind, brim full; memories of different days and a different life altogether. Memories of the people from that glorious life and incidents that make me yearn to go back, freeze in time and stay a child forever. My childhood was a place of freedom, a place of comfortable dreams and free all-you-can-eat ice-cream and chocolates with the joy of a lifetime compressed in those tiny years. My earliest memory is of waking up in the wee hours of the morning, the pre -dawn incandescent tube light of the room opening my sleepy eyes, the bustling activity of getting ready for school and eating a small breakfast with my sister before rushing downstairs and waiting for the school bus, Mother yelling in the background to be careful not to jump in the puddles. There in school, in the company of my little friends we would listen to tapes and make clay bracelets, play in the mud, run around chasing each other, playing hide-and-seek and t...

She was sitting on the beige carpeted floor of the motel room crying unstoppably like a baby. There were shattered pieces of china and blood all over the floor. Kim was sitting crouched in front of a corpse of a thin and hideously scarred man. In her hand was a small note, almost completely covered in blood. It read, “Kim I was innocent. I came here to see you for one last time. Your daughter is very beautiful, just like you, and Ben is a good man, just like you described him to me once. I wish you three a happy life. I won’t be here anymore. I am dying of lung disease. I love you very much. Goodbye.” Her husband Ben walked into the room shocked to see the sight before him. “Kim, Are you alright? What happened to Mr. Ross? Oh my god he’s dead!! Why are you crying?” She was not in a state to answer. All she did was hand over the note to her husband. He was clueless and even more confused. He embraced her to make her feel better and asked for an explanation. He said curiously, “do you kn...

Love Happens He was a short man of forty-five. Short because of his high-temper, his hastiness and ofcourse his height. His name was Richard Parker and he was quite good-looking for his age. He had a sort of businesslike aura about him. He had stubby fingers and was kind to people in general. He was fit and had deep blue eyes. He lived at No. 34, High Street and like most of New York City's working professionals he lived alone, occasionally going to the bar for a drink for he needed to relieve himself of all work-related stress, or else try to find himself some company. He worked in a bank as a chartered accountant and he worked so much he hadn't any time for marriage or kids. Therefore, he was unmarried, celibate for as long as he could remember and extremely lonely. His work was monotonous and his salary exorbitant. Richard hardly slept for six hours and practically lived on innumerable cups of coffee. He often thought about changing his job, settling down, and making a famil...