Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts

Friday, June 05, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #48: Chapter 40 - Zindagee aur Maut

Posted by Mojo at 6:00 AM 12 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
Out of the woods to either side emerged a band of raggedly clad men, most armed with blades of one variety or another. Their apparent leader swaggered out of hiding last, a battered rifle propped across his arm. With more enemies than bullets, Arjun tramped the lorry's throttle aiming the bumper at the group's heart.
Notes:
Zindagee aur maut: Life and death
Previously
M6Friday: 55FlashFiction
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Friday, May 29, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #47: Chapter 39 - Gheraao

Posted by Mojo at 6:00 AM 11 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
The explosive report snatched the smile from her lips in an instant. Her knuckles whitened on the door handle, expecting the worst. The lorry staggered to a halt, its left outer rear tire a shredded tangle of rubber. The driver, climbing down to inspect the damage collapsed in the dust, felled by an unseen assassin.
Notes:
Gheraao: ambush
Previously
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Violence UnSilenced
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Friday, May 22, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #46: Chapter 38 - Muskarati

Posted by Mojo at 6:00 AM 11 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
She felt strange, having this conversation was bringing on a sensation she vaguely recognized, but could not identify. It was pleasing enough, but somehow alien. And that strangeness made it somewhat unsettling. It was almost a full minute more before she finally realized she was smiling for the first time in far too many years.
Notes:
Muskarati: She smiles
Previously
M6Friday: 55FlashFiction
Violence UnSilenced
Stumble This!
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Friday, May 15, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #45: Chapter 37 - Shabaash!

Posted by Mojo at 6:00 PM 9 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
"Achchaa" he replied, "so are you running now from the one who left the bruises I can see?"

"No" she answered, "one does not run from hyena shit."

His laugh was almost musical, and his hands clapped in rhythm to its tune. "Shabaash!" he managed to say, breathless.

"The hyenas also said that", she remarked.
Notes:
Shabaash: "bravo", often used facetiously (though probably not in this case).
Previously
M6Friday: 55FlashFiction
Violence UnSilenced
Stumble This!
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Friday, May 08, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #44: Chapter 36 - Samajh

Posted by Mojo at 12:02 AM 11 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
Not anxious to explore the matter of his father, Arjun turned the conversation to her. "And what of you?" he asked, "Who hurt you so much?"

She started, her alarm obvious.

"It's clear someone did." Arjun continued, "The bruises are hard to hide."

"Some of them" she replied bitterly, "are all too easy to hide."
Notes:
Samajh: Understanding (n.)
Previously
M6Friday: 55FlashFiction
Violence UnSilenced
Stumble This!
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Friday, May 01, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #43: Chapter 35 - Mein Usko Maraa Hua

Posted by Mojo at 8:00 AM 11 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
Her confusion was obvious, her interest more so. "My family are strict Brahmin" he explained, "And when I chose the army, my father himself broke my sacred thread and disowned me. To them I am dead."

"You? You are laawaaris?" she asked.

"Some say laawaaris, some even dalit." he replied, "I say I am Indian."
Notes:
Mein usko maraa hua: "to them I am dead"
Dalit: Essentially "untouchable". One who is of the lowest caste, or lives outside the caste structure altogether. The term is one applied by the subgroup itself and refers to a wide cross section of disenfranchised people who may be segregated and at times persecuted or discriminated against because of their occupation or social class. The term later came to be more broadly applied to all "oppressed peoples" including peasants, landless workers and women. The name is taken from the Hindi root word dal meaning "suppressed" or "held in check".
Laawaaris: One disowned by his family. Brahmins were/are teachers and priests. Warriors and kings fell into the Kshatriya caste. Thus a very strict Brahmin family might well have considered a career in the military unsuitable, possibly even to the point of disowning a son who chose it. However common or uncommon this extreme reaction would have been is open to question as Brahmins and Kshatriyas both occupy the higher rungs on the ladder.
Previously
M6Friday: 55FlashFiction
Violence UnSilenced
Stumble This!
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Friday, April 24, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #42: Chapter 34 - Rishtedaar

Posted by Mojo at 12:02 AM 12 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
With a clash of gears the lorry lurched ahead, rocking the occupants backward, then forward again. Arjun cast a sideways scowl at the driver, then asked "Do you have family in Amritsar?"

"Not Amritsar or anywhere." she replied, "There are none left."

Arjun smiled grimly and mused, "In my family I am the dead one."
Notes:
Rishtedaar: Relations, family
Previously
M6Friday: 55FlashFiction
Violence UnSilenced
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Friday, April 17, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #41: Chapter 33 - Arjun

Posted by Mojo at 12:02 AM 9 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
She'd shed her birth name, Vidya, along with all that tied her to her past, and as such "Anaamika" fit her as well as any name.
"Achchaa. I am Arjun", he replied. She hesitated, still unsure of his intent. Sensing her apprehension, he slid into the lorry first, allowing her the seat by the door.
Notes:
Anaamika: literally "nameless one", Anaamika is ironically a fairly common first name
Achchaa: literally "good", achchaa is frequently used to mean "very well", "I see", or "Really?" among other things. Its meaning, like many Hindi words, is entirely dependent on context.
Previously
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Friday, April 10, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #40: Chapter 32 - Anaamika

Posted by Mojo at 12:03 AM 13 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
"Aapki naam kya hai?" he asked, more making conversation than out of any real interest. She almost didn't realize he was speaking to her. The formal "aap" had never been used by anyone in her memory to address her. That anyone would do so now - and in these circumstances -- startled her.

"Anaamika" she replied.
Notes:
Anaamika: literally "nameless one", Anaamika is ironically a fairly common first name
Aapki naam kya hai?: "What is your name?"
A bit of detail is in order here to fully explain why Anamika was surprised by the wording of the lieutenant's question. The Hindi language employs three variations of the second person.
"aap": The most formal and nearly always used with elders and strangers older than the speaker. In theory it should be used to address anyone you don't know well but social convention allows exceptions to that rule when addressing someone of a lower status or age.
"tum": The familiar form used when addressing peers, friends, relatives (of one's own or younger generations at least).
"tu": reserved mainly for small children, and intimate relations. I like to say, if you wouldn't share a bed with this person, "tu" constructions are probably a bad idea because used in other contexts, this is considered insulting. Which is ironic since "tu" may also be used to properly address God.
That the lieutenant would use aap when addressing a woman, especially one who was probably younger than himself and almost certainly of a lower caste would have surprised her (and probably anyone else within earshot).
Previously
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Violence Unsilenced
Stumble This!
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Friday, April 03, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #39: Chapter 31 – Bhaiaa Vaadaa

Posted by Mojo at 12:03 AM 20 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
"Then I swear on you, I will see you safely to Amritsar."

It was easy to believe him. She was surprised to realize that she wanted to believe him. His eyes held a kindness, not unlike her Baba's eyes had. For a long silent moment she considered him.

Gripping his throat, he added, "Bhaia vaadaa."
Notes:bhaia vaadaa: "brother promise"
Update: Owing to G-Man's question a bit of explanation. Gripping one's own throat in India is similar to "crossing one's heart" in America, only taken a bit more seriously.
PreviouslyM6Friday: 55FlashFiction
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Friday, March 27, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #38: Chapter 30 - Amritsar

Posted by Mojo at 12:04 AM 11 comments
In case you missed it: Check out my entry in Nicole B's Scavenger Hunt!

Some stories are the same in any language.
"Amritsar" she said with a conviction she did not feel. In truth her only destination was as far from the hell she had come from as possible. And Amritsar was the only name she knew. As she said it, realization dawned that she knew nothing of the world outside the village that had borne her.
Notes:
Amritsar: a major city in Punjab
Previously
M6Friday: 55FlashFiction
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Stumble This!
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Friday, March 20, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #37: Chapter 29 - Chetaavnee

Posted by Mojo at 12:02 AM 9 comments
In case you missed it: Check out my entry in Nicole B's Scavenger Hunt!

Some stories are the same in any language.
"A woman alone on this road is not safe", the officer explained, "there are bands of Muslims stealing Hindu women right before their families' eyes."

"And you're to tell me that Hindu men aren't doing that and worse?" she said archly.

"At least let me see you to..." he paused, "where are you going anyway?"
Notes:
chetaavnee: warning
PreviouslyM6Friday: 55FlashFiction
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Friday, March 13, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #36: Chapter 28 - Pahraa

Posted by Mojo at 12:02 AM 11 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
The army lieutenant seemed kind enough. It was the sepoy driving the lorry that pricked her wariness. From the darkness of the lorry's cab she imagined him leering at her, imagined the puerile thoughts in his mind, imagined what he might do if left with her unattended. "No" she reminded herself, "what he would attempt."
Notes:
pahraa: on guard
Previously

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Friday, March 06, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #35: Chapter 27 - Raastaa

Posted by Mojo at 12:01 AM 9 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
Squinting into the rising sun, she set her feet to the path once more. Lost in her thoughts she didn't register the lorry pulling alongside her. "Ruko!" she heard a man's voice call.

"It isn't safe for you to travel alone this way", the officer said.

"Safer alone than with a man", she replied acidly.
Notes:
rastaa: road
ruko: stop
Previously
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Friday, February 27, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #34: Chapter 26 - Nikalnaa

Posted by Mojo at 12:01 AM 11 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
She turned eastward, determined her eyes would never again fall on this festering dung heap. As she passed the edge of the village, her sari grazed the ground, picking up a last trace of dust*. When night fell and she had put miles behind her, she scrubbed herself raw and reduced the sari to ash.
*Nod to Tiff... thanks for the visual babe.
Notes:
nikalnaa: to emerge
Previously
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Friday, February 20, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #33: Chapter 25 - Golaa pooraa huaa hai

Posted by Mojo at 12:01 AM 11 comments
Some stories are the same in any language.
She had considered staying, considered hunting down the others and delivering them to their maker as she had Vinay. But she had no way to know who they were, and no one was going to aid her in finding out. She was tarnished now, damaged, and for all practical purposes dead to all but herself.
Notes:
golaa pooraa huaa hai: the circle is complete
Previously
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Friday, February 13, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #32: Chapter 24 - Das Phere

Posted by Mojo at 12:01 AM 11 comments

Some stories are the same in any language.
She'd scarcely had time to consider what his last words to her meant when the door opened again. Another shadow fell on her, tearing and grunting. And the import of what he'd said burst on her consciousness. Nine times more the door opened. Nine more faceless monsters ravaged her to cries of "Vandhe Mataram!" outside.
Notes:
das phere: ten times
Previously
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Friday, February 06, 2009

55 Flash Fiction Friday #31: Chapter 23 - Indhan

Posted by Mojo at 12:02 AM 8 comments

Some stories are the same in any language.
She would have fought him this time, would have resisted, but her head was too dull and her body too weak. His invasion of her was more violent than ever, fueled this time by rage as well as liquor. His parting words chilled her to the core.
"This is not done. Not by one tenth."
Notes:
indhan: fuel
Previously
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