On The Cold Winter Grass

ON THE COLD WINTER GRASS

 

The husband harbored an aversion to the notion of vacations; for him, solace lay in the embrace of a good book and the comfort of a bed. His wife, on the other hand, possessed an insatiable passion for travel, urging him to dance away the monotony. If he was the embodiment of dullness, she represented the vibrant spectrum of colors. Their union remained a mystery to onlookers. Seated on the cold winter grass, the husband spoke softly, "I brought your favorites, pink Hazels and lavenders." Apologetically, he continued, "I'm sorry for not coming yesterday; time slipped away from me." His gaze shifted downward, fingers caressing his wedding ring. The wife remained silent, contributing to the uneasy atmosphere, perhaps harboring anger. A keychain, a token from a foreign land, appeared next to her, a gift from the husband who reluctantly embraced her passion for travel. As they lay side by side on the wintry grass, a profound silence lingered. Initiating conversations was not the husband's forte; his wife often took charge, reminding him that even in his inability to dance, he danced within during joyous moments—an understanding he struggled to grasp. After a prolonged pause, the husband, in a subdued tone, confessed, "Traveling without you lacks its essence."

Reflecting on their initial journey, he recalled her sneakily booking tickets on his laptop, an unexpected adventure that had caught him off guard. Standing, he extended his hands over a stone boulder, as though gently caressing her cheeks. Walking away, the bouquet and keychain remained on the tombstone amidst the cold winter grass. A month after her passing, the husband nightly checks his laptop, half-expecting her to have surreptitiously booked another journey.

God’s Nectar

 

Gods Nectar

Once upon a time, a little boy came home from play and asked his mother, 'Ma, what is milk?'

the poor woman went on to say

'Milk is a very sweet, and creamy drink. They say it is the sweetest known to mankind, and is also God's nectar!'

'Even I want to taste milk! All my friends drink it every day,' implored the little boy.

The poor woman, who did not want to see disappointment on the face of her dearest, could not gather up the courage to tell him that she was an underling, who could never afford milk.

She mixed flour and jaggery in some water and handed it to her son. The child was now elated! He started dancing, now that he knew what milk tasted like.

The mother, who, through all the years of hardship never shed a tear, today wept at her son's trust and her own deception.

Now what remained between the mother and a helpless cow, was a difference in their bodies. Their calves loathed for food, for it was reserved for the gods.

The Seven Year Itch

THE SEVEN YEAR ITCH

 

Her heart was racing. Her hair was neatly done. The golden bun being the eye catcher, glistening strands of her hair slid down her head as if caressing her cheeks, complimenting her graceful smile. His face flushed a deep, tender crimson, the blush glowing warmly against his dusky brown skin. They both walked together down the aisle, with their matching dresses. Her white long dress, not dragging, flowing across the garden which was now covered with pink and white petals; her favourite colours. Her translucent veil covered her face just enough to hide her bold eyes. He held on to her hand while they slowly walked together. His wrist, showing an elegant Silver watch; a token from his loved one. Her. They kissed each other on the golden hour, their silhouettes dim against the honey sky. The newlywed's gift was a 1977 Ferrari GTS. Oh the look on her face. She loved cars!

The sun was a toddler and refused to go to bed. They drove in their car through their married years, each season, each day, whenever they could. The car was Mustard in color. His favourite colour. It bore all their memories, their joys, their tears and their most precious wedding picture in the glove box. For seven years, the car drove through all of it. Through the first snowfall of the year, over the crisp dry leaves in the fall season, under the warm orange sunlight of the summers. It was taken well care of, They both washed it every Sunday together. He always ensured that it was locked, that nobody could break in. After all, It went with them everywhere, everyday. Until the mustard vehicle slipped.

The soft mustard colour now had blood splashes all over it. "Just married" read the sticker on the cracked, rather

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Texte: Abeer Telang
Bildmaterialien: Abeer Telang
Cover: Abeer Telang
Lektorat: KDPS services
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.03.2025
ISBN: 978-3-7554-8058-7

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Widmung:
An old man who loves travelling with his wife, two newlyweds who love driving their new car, a pregnant woman who awaits a special gift, and a widowed woman who loves her son to death. All connected by an invisible string that runs through the winds which we often forget. When The Wind Forgets is a collection of light hearted stories, which explore, how people express grief for the ones they love.