English at home

This time we had to write a story based on the 5 gibberish words:

Florple,Draemol,Grimble,Strawp,Plarft

English at home

“Mum… Mum… Mum… Help me finish my English assignment”, Josh, hopped in front of me (actually between me and my beloved TV) and said.

“What help do you need?”

“I have to invent 5 new words and provide meanings to them tomorrow in class. I can’t let Ryan score again, please help”, couldn’t help smiling for that. But seriously, inventing words...

“Just put some letters together. Why do you need my help for that? I asked.

“Mum… the words have to be authentic”, he said excitedly.

I smiled at him, tilted my head leftwards to catch a little of TV. He blocked my view. I tilted right, blocked again. Why does he have to be so stubborn? Well, I’m his mother.

“I can’t. I’m busy”.

“Florple”, he mumbled.

“What”?

“Florple. Thinks only about oneself, even if someone near needs their help”, he explained.

“Excuse me!!!.... I… Let me guess, you thought of me, while inventing that word.”

“Not excused and yes, I thought of you. You form the best example!! You are watching TV instead of helping me”. I tried to defend.

“Fine!” I snapped. “We’ll make a deal. We work together to find these words and their meaning. Whoever gets to the 5^th word first, will get their wish granted. Deal?” I asked.

He thought for a while. It had no “visible” loopholes, so he agreed.

 “So, your first word is… “

“florple”

“Right. And, your next word will be….. Grimble. It means… multitasking. Like, I’ll make coffee and still assist you in your homework”.

He gave a wide smile and said, “Nice……..”

I rolled my eyes and went to the kitchen to get some coffee. Josh would come up with few jumbled letters. 

Few he would reject, the rest I.I grabbed a tray, put few snacks on it, placed the two coffee cups and carried them to the hall. But it wasn’t our hall anymore. Josh had spread books, laptop... papers all over the floor.

“What are you doing?... draemolling this place???”

He looked up, confused. I signaled towards the scattered mess.

“These are just for reference... Mum… I need to invent words, not write them. And what did you call this?”

“Draemol… litter a place.” I replied.

He tried few more words. I rejected all of them. He creased his eyebrows, and said” Strawp”.

“And what does that mean?”

“It means modifying your opponent’s thoughts to make them loose.” he explained. How was he able to catch that? I put a poker face and tried to defend, but he cut in.

“Yes. I’m taking you as example”. I had to shut after that. He invented a few more, but rejected them instantly.

“Apart from Strawpping, can you do anything?” I asked.

“What?” Again, I showed the mess.

“Mum... I’ll clean it after I’ve finished my homework, and by the way, its draemol not Strawp”.

“Grimble!!... I’m missing my show” I murmured.

“Mum… you are supposed to help, not confuse. And for your information, its florple”, he said in an irritated voice.

“I’m not!! See, florple – cheater, grimble- multitasking, draemol- selfish, and …Ah!yes, Strawp –litterring”.

Josh screamed, “Mum….

Florple – Selfish

Grimble- Multitasking

Draemol – Litter

Strawp – Manipulating your opponents mind!”

There!!! My work was done. My son had invented five new words and also remembered their meaning!! Else it would be T.A. Edison inventing the light bulb, but not knowing where to plug it in.

“Plarft”, I said proudly. “Plarft - We have a winner”. Feeling proud, he noted down the last word.

Well, we did have a winner. I invented the last word…

On the other side of the Glass

On the other side of the Glass

Traffic jams in urban cities are the most dreadful things, especially when you are running late. But, these jams narrate their own story, and this is one such story.

On a very normal day, sitting in the passenger seat of a very ordinary cab, reading a historical novel, I was waiting for the hideous traffic to get cleared up. Finished a page... finished 2 pages... Finished 5 pages… I had barely moved 5 inches!!

Frustrated I looked out. Cars, honking two-wheelers, trucks… there was no end. I sighed. Disapproving, I went back to my reading. Soon afterwards, I heard a soft tap on my window. A woman was standing outside my taxi asking for money. But I saw, a woman not asking for money, but a helpless person, humbled down by the cruelness of fate, scarce of hope. I took few notes from my purse and gave it to her. It put a smile to her face.

Next day, I got stuck in the same traffic. I opened my book and started reading. A rap woke me up from my reverie. The same woman was standing outside. I pulled a little money from my purse and gave it to her. But she returned it and left. Confused, I called her. She obediently came.

“Why did you return the money?” I asked.

“I had taken the money from you yesterday also, Madam. I can’t take it today too”, was her reply.

“Why not?”

“Yesterday you lent me money, because I had asked you to. But today, you are lending because, you are feeling pity”

My first thought was of disapproval. But then, what did I feel for her? Why was I giving her money? If it wasn’t pity, then what else? I was left without words.

Every few days, when we met, she would wave a soft “hello”. On one such day, when she passed by, I called her and gave her a few loaves of bread. She hesitated, but I insisted. She took with the big expression of gratitude on her face.

At the beginning of this story, I said traffic jams were dreadful. I take it back. It’s unbearable, especially when the skies decide to give you a shower. I wanted to reach office early, but now, I was running late and the icing on the cake formed the heavy downpour and my umbrella, safely resting in my house. I decided to call my supervisor, when, I heard a sharp rap on the window. I looked up, to see the excited face of my new friend. She was carrying a child.

“This is my baby son. I wanted him to see you”, she said in ecstatic voice.

The little boy was peering through the foggy window, trying to locate my face.

I rolled down the window and waved. He turned and hugged his mom. She laughed.

”Where are your friends? How come you are not with them?” I teased him.

The mother answered. “He doesn't have any friend’s madam. He will be with me most of the time, while I roam asking people for money”.

“But in this weather?”

‘It’s fine madam. We never have the privilege of having an umbrella over our heads”, she said.

The signal turned green and my taxi started to move. Both the mother and her boy waved goodbye.

Life is really not the same as read in historical novels.

It is strange though, all this time, when she wanted money, I had them. But today, she was in need of an umbrella and I didn't have.

The Secret Princess

“She’s adorable, isn’t she?” said the evil witch, looking at Amora lying on her tattered bedspread.

“Poor little girl… born a princess, made to live a slave. And now, after many years, she will finally be mine. She will be a princess again, a princess who serves me!!”

“But, what if the Queen finds out that she’s gone, Mistress??” said her pet cat, Lady Evan.

“Well. She can’t cry over what has been long dead, can she? If she does, it would seem like the horror of her daughter’s death finally overcame her, and she would be locked up just like her daughter”.

The High Queen was the symbol of Royalty. But her magic was gradually deteriorating. Because of the curse, the Queen was not able to perform any magic, until…. her eyes fell on her daughter. The Queen declared her daughter dead and used her magic reserve. Every time the Queen cast a spell, she would refill her magical reserve by draining her daughters’.

Amora, now 118 years old, never saw the outer world. Her only pet was Fairy, a dragon Fly. The Evil witch was her maid, who Amora trusted far more than necessary. She was 2 years old when the dungeon became her new world. Occasionally, her mother would visit her, to ask her for a little ‘help’. Amora’s heart ached for her mother. Being the High Queen, she was expected to do impossible things, even if she were sick. Amora, wanted to be a part of the world, to help her mother, to use her powers, instead of her mother’s. But her mother had talked against it.

Amora had a visitor. She introduced herself as Lady Evan and that she was rescuing her. Amora, who had forgotten what leaving meant, stood there… transfixed.

“We have to leave before the Evil witch arrives”. When Amora didn’t show any signs of moving, Lady Evan pounced on her.

“If you don’t leave now, you will never be able to leave this wretched place again. This is your only chance. I’m your only chance. Please come…” pleaded Lady Evan.

“You might not remember me, but before you were captured, we would meet every day at the meadow and play. Later, when my mistress, the Evil witch came to know about your fate, only then did I know you were still alive. I swore that at the first opportunity I get to relieve you from this cursed hole, I would help you“

As Lady Evan talked, brief fading pictures made their way into Amora’s memory. She faintly remembered being in the meadow, the trees, the sunlight, the mist slowly lifting through. Lady Evan begged again. Slowly, with every step, Amora felt her freedom seeping in. But the Evil witch had appeared. With one look at things she knew what was happening. She lunged at Amora. About the same time, Fairy, inserted a poisoned needle into the witch’s neck. The witch collapsed. The three flew the dungeon.

Lady Evan carried little Amora on her back. She took her through the outside walls of the palace, through the meadow... all the while thinking, planning. Fairy’s little stunt would not keep the witch down forever, but it gave them time and…. hope. She knew she wouldn’t be able to protect Amora for a longer time. It was a risk Lady Evan was ready to endure. A risk that would end her life. A risk that would endanger Amora. But it was worth it. A little freedom to Amora was worth it. Amora was worth it.

The Right To Hope

My story is quite simple. The evil wanted to rule the magical kingdom. The good fell on the way. Last survivors were our Hero and a mighty dragon.

Prince Acquereus:

Anger blazed in Acquereus’s eyes as he sat on the high pillars of the Pantheon, looking over his dismantled kingdom. The Evil magicians had raided and trashed the kingdom. They had captured the dragons alive, killed the mortals, and left the dead to their pets. They burnt everything they saw. Living had turned into powders of grey. The kingdom that once stood tall and proud, now lay burnt in ashes, ashes of his people, people who he had to save. Instead he had abandoned them. The high priest had forced him to flee. To leave and return when he was a trained warrior, when he was ready. And now he had returned. Returned to claim his kingdom, claim his right to the throne…to claim his father.

All along, he had waited like a brave soldier alongside his pet dragon, Rider, to reclaim his kingdom. But he also had another duty, a duty to his dragon. Rider was being attacked by few of the frail magicians, when Acquereus had stepped in and rescued Rider. Since then Rider was his only living mate. But that was not the reason he felt the responsibility over the dragon. Rider had shown him the palace where his father was held captive. It was a labyrinth. Not many details could be made out of the vision, but it at least gave him hope. Along with the vision, he had sensed confusion inside the dragon’s mind, a sense of struggle, between hate and trust. Acquereus swore that he would end everything and find an answer to the dragon’s questions… and his

Rider:

The old master had visited him. But he was pale, very pale… Rider could see right through him. His master was just a shadow of his mortal figure, stranded few feet above the ground. Rider knew something wasn’t right. His master had told him to leave the safety of his home and travel. Travel far, where nobody would find him.

“Leave and never turn back, for you have a greater duty to the kingdom. Never be captured, or my death would go in vain. You have to find a new master. You have to help each other in order to find what is lost.”

He had left. He had travelled. He had found a master, or rather… masters. After travelling far, a series of tragedies had continued, everything ending with either betrayal or death. The outer world is more treacherous than you realize Rider. It is not what it seems. His master had told him many times, but Rider had refused to believe.

After several years, he had found Acquereus.  He had never trusted him at first. They both had fought over trust issues. He had complained a lot, babysitting a dragon, he had called. Rider later learnt of Acquereus’ past. His struggles, and his loss… his father. Rider had shown him the palace where the king was held captive. Acquereus had soon reacted. He made plans. He trained harder. Probably that is why his master had saved him. But how can he help Acquereus? He was just a simple dragon. Rider had never understood his master’s riddles. Why was he saved, while all the rest were taken? Why did his old master provide him the sole responsibility of the one being responsible to bring the old kingdom, back to its standing glory? Why was he the one last hope?