What my pen wrote

 God glanced at the spectacular AI console that had taken over decision-making and smiled. In the several millennia of creation, God had worked tirelessly, creating and keeping the creation happy. Racing against time, starting lives, or pulling brakes, revving lives beyond imagination or swerving to change paths was exhausting. And ever since God had created humans, rest and recuperation vanished into thin air. Humans were quite happy to forget that they were just a minuscule part of the creation. Their problems were difficult to solve because they just did not accept any solution! God had made humans intelligent, hoping that they would learn to take care of themselves.  Instead, the humans just used their intelligence to capture God’s attention in ingenious ways like prayers, offerings, words, and art, which left God with very little time to manage the rest. Protect me, save me, they chanted every day. The notifications from humans just kept coming, some of them so tr...

   Beyond the Lakshmana Rekha A haze is covering my vision, the haze that is peculiar to authors who are searching for the stories to show up and conjure themselves.    I am feeling boxed in, limited by the despondent and desolate news that is popping up around me. It is laughable, the titanic world is being held for ransom by the limitations of the extremely small-minded people. I even laugh a little, but the appreciation of the metaphor in my thoughts disappear in the haze. Is safety nonexistent today? I turn the wheels of space and time in search of my story. A person in a black long coat swims through the haze and becomes clearer. A young 17-year-old boy plods into the boundaries of my story. I follow my muse into his domain…… Ahmed pulls his coat tighter around his neck and holds on to it, a gesture of nervousness?    But it is cold, a very cold December day. The snow is falling in blotches onto the unkempt pavement conveniently. Conveniently? Yes, con...

  The Burnt Shackles A short story by Meera Venkatesan Sumi felt the unpleasantly familiar heave of bile from inside. She quickly got up for the fifth time in so many hours and rushed to the restroom. It was as if, something in her interiors was waiting to gush out of her being and expel itself from her.   She wished it would happen and provide her relief.   But just like the other characters in her life, who controlled her from outside, this inner enemy held her captive from within and refused   her freedom.   Sumi quickly locked the toilet door. As she leaned over, she closed her eyes to suppress the images that always rose up with her upheaving.   But she could not. As a student of psychology, she should have been quite curious at this inseparable bond between her physiological distress and the images that rose in her mind.      They both seemed to draw from one another, exist because of the other. Maybe even this curiosity would hav...

    Title: The Loving Traffic Signal Age: 4 to 8 years         I wake with a start, at the sound of the truck, I can’t believe that I have overslept! I quickly shake the sleep out of my head,   This will not do, a traffic signal cannot go to bed.              I love my job and everyone loves me too, It is actually simple, what I have to do. I have to wink at all the vehicles passing me, In green, red, and orange- the colours three.                The cars wait for me to turn green, I oblige everyone, I am not mean. The pedestrians wait for red to pass through, I love my job and everyone loves me too.               Every morning, I stand, alert and ready to start, With a song on my lips and smile in my heart. I make sure that the city moves smoothly, So that everyone will love me profusely. ...

  Title: An Uplift Author: Meera Venkatesan   “Life is a wheel. Every spoke that goes up, has to come down, “ the all-knowing Swami Maharaj told me, moving his steady palm up and then down. His smooth godly fingers brushed the tears off my wet face. The swamiji indeed had great powers. How else could he understand my state of mind with ease and advise me so correctly? “Always remember that son. Your life too will have ups and down, maybe a little more than others,” he had said, closing his deep brown hypnotic eyes. The great swami had the capacity to view God’s books and predict one’s future, the pamphlet at the bus stop had said. “Son, I see your name in God’s list. Soon, very soon, he will come by personally or through a messenger to eliminate your sadness. Keep your eyes open,” the divine voice said with a divine smile. And   with this, the great one had unlocked his eyelids with a flash. As I sat sucked in by his power, he had splashed the holy water on my...

  Will you give me time- A short story The wall clock ticked with the constant unwavering pace it had picked up at its inception, sixty years ago. It had the proud distinction of never having missed a minute, either in haste or in slack. Its owner, retired postmaster Ranganath had purchased it with his first salary.  Since then he had ensured that the clock kept its time, rain or shine, hell or high-water. When the clock entered his life, it was the only one in the house. It was highly sought after by all members of the huge joint family. If the clock could have gone on Facebook, it would most definitely have garnered at least 20 to 30 likes every day.  Unfortunately the clock was a little too early, or you could say, Facebook was a little too late. Today with clocks in every room and possibly, every pocket and every table, the darling clock still had only one trusted friend, Ranganath himself. It had struck the right cord with its master’s time- conscious mind and ha...