Olive Chaudhuri

//  “Meera”, the therapist called. “You sure you don’t wanna say anything?” He asked. I looked at him and shook my head. “Give it a try Meera. Words will help in healing.” Like every day I gave him As-If-I-Care look and went back to my room. And like always he chanted from behind - “Confessions are good for the soul Meera”. I came back to my bed and start thinking about why does he keep saying that? Is this a part of his psychological study or just a random one-liner he flaunts. And do I give a f*uk? I mean, all I have to do is eat thrice a day, take these medicines which keeps me drowsy, attend therapy, look around other so-called patients from my window who roam around like zombies, lay on the bed and stare the ceiling for hours with this unique peculiar medicinal smell around me. Except for the silences, I hate everything about this place. But now this is a life I’m destined to live, life in a mental asylum. Now, it’s been more than a year here. I haven’t spoken to anybody yet. ...

//  “Whoever says luxury is your best friend, never owned a dog.” I still remember the day when I brought him home. A shiny cute little Golden Retriever puppy. I raised him from feeding cerelac to chicken chunks, fetching the ball to his early morning walks. It is never like I have so much absence around me, I cremated my wife 10 years ago. Both my sons are married now and they are busy expanding my business. Their wives are a bit more social so their shopping, kitty and clubbing never goes out of fashion. Grandchildren are strictly advised to stay away from me, so any of my preachings shouldn’t spoil them. To cut a long story short they hate me. I’m just a 64 year-good-for-nothing old man for them, who is spoiling their privacy with his dog in a 2-acre luxurious house (which is actually made by me). But actually nowadays, I hardly care about these tantrums as long as I have him. I named him Shadow after his merry-go-round world around me. He is actually like my shadow. He wakes wi...

//  She was staring at the passing trees, one after another. Unlike the roads of her city, this was a pleasant path to drive. No frequent brakes, no honking, no shifting of gears on every signal. Although she wanted to, but she wasn’t driving. She was at the back seat of a hired sedan on her way to Nandi Hills from Bangalore. She was strictly instructed neither to drive her own car for this visit nor carry her smartphone for the journey. Mishika had never witnessed this feeling. It was a mixture, she was nervous but also very excited about it. She wasn’t joyous but wasn’t sad either. She had been to Nandi hills before. But not like this – alone without any phone, without telling her daughters, without her husband’s knowledge. Her husband, every time she thinks about him, her eyes welled up. Atul and she had been married for the past seventeen years now, have a beautiful home with two beautiful daughters. Yet, she’s on her way to hills to meet another man without anyone’s knowledge....

  // I was about to deboard the train when I spotted her. I closely looked at her to reconfirm as I didn’t want myself to end up as an eve teaser beaten by the fellow passengers travelling around in metro. It was definitely her but I couldn’t be sure. She did have those same eyes, same dimple on her chin and a very small mole on her neck. I stared at her for a minute then I took a deep breath and went to her. I waved at her as she was fiddling with her smartphone listening to something, She noticed me and pulled out the earphones. “Hey, you are Devika, right?” I asked her with fingers crossed. She nodded “I'm sorry, but do I know you?” “I’m Ayush ” I smiled. She looked at me with a confused I’m–still- not-getting-who-you-are look. “We studied together. We were classmates in eleventh & twelfth.” “I’m sorry. I seem to forget things lately” She said apologetically. I was so happy seeing her after all those years that I almost forgot it’s been 17 years since our school ended and un...