The Ambitious Rooster's Secret

This post has been published by me as a part of Blog-a-Ton 56; the fifty-sixth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. 

Jumpy was an ambitious rooster who lived on a huge farm, with various other animals. Though he lived with them, he never considered them of any importance, since Jumpy was ambitious, you see.

The tall, handsome rooster with lovely multiple coloured feathers and a bright red comb took pride in his being ambitious and a cut above the rest. The cows fed on grass all day and were milked twice, the sheep were for wool, the chickens were for eggs and the pigs were for meat. But Jumpy had an important job to do, which was to wake everyone up, so that they could begin working. Thus, he was full of self importance and pride. His only friend on the farm was master's dog, because the dog had a high status, like him, or so he thought.

Now, we must also know why he was ambitious. While the cows grazed all day and the pigs rolled in mud, and everyone else just went about their day as they were meant to, Jumpy had some dreams. Everyday, he saw the sun coming up in the sky, the clouds travelling here and there, and birds flying, the eagles chasing pigeons and the flocks of migratory birds doing their seasonal movements. He imagined he could fly in the vast, open sky some day. Every time, he looked up and remembered his dream, he would be giddy with happiness and pride and go jumping all over the farm.

'If only they knew,' he thought secretly, 'that there is a life beyond this farm, and there is so much to do, but they do not know, and they cannot even think like me. they have no imagination and no ambition. Stupid animals!' 

Though Jumpy was snobbish and unfriendly to the other animals, the animals loved him. He was their rockstar. They were in awe of him, and they talked of him in hushed tones, praising his sophisticated mannerisms, his handsome physique and his charismatic personality. The cows wanted to cock-a-doodle-do like him, but only a 'moo' came out whenever they tried to imitate their worshipped hero. The sheep wanted to get rid of all the unsightly, dusty wool and to have lovely multi coloured slender feathers like him. All the hens wanted to be with him and sighed with desire upon seeing him. The pigs desired to have a bright red comb like Jumpy, and rolled in muddy swamps to hide their embarrassing looks. While Jumpy, basking in the glory of his own aura and mystery, knew very well that he was the handsomest creature on the farm, and walked tall with conceit, his chest puffed in self-admiration.

Once, thinking about his flying dream, Jumpy could not sleep all night and dozed off in the wee hours of the morning. As a result, he could not give his wake up call and the animals woke up late. To their dismay, they saw Jumpy sleeping. They huddled up, worried and sad. Everyone had their own theory for Jumpy's unusual behaviour.

'Probably he has bird flu,' said a worried pig. Pigs know a lot about flu, as we all understand.

'No, that could not be right. Jumpy is the healthiest rooster I have known.' The head-cow opined. She was just back from an animal-rights convention in the capital, which had effectively got beef banned all over the country. 'I think he is sad because no one fights for chickens' rights. It is still being served, and there is no likelihood that it is going to stop in near future.' 

'Oh, I know just what is wrong with him,' chipped in the black sheep, 'I think he is worried that the fasting season is getting to a close and his life  might be in danger. We all must talk to him and assure him.'

'Jumpy is not afraid of such things. Probably he needs a girlfriend, and he will be all right,' said one of the coquettish hens, fluttering her nictitating membrane.

'Woof, what are you all doing here, wasting time? Don't you have work to do?' The dog walked right in the middle of the group. 

'Mr. Dog, we were wondering, what is the secret ailment that is bothering Jumpy. The farm is so lifeless without his energetic cock-a-doodle-do, and his enthusiastic run all over the farm.' said the head-cow.

'Oh, it's no secret. He was up all night, chatting with me about his dreams. Do you know, he is such a revolutionary, he wants to fly, high up in the sky. Though he is a flightless bird, he is a bird nevertheless. You all are his neighbours and still have no idea about his life!' The dog growled. 'Now stop dallying and get to work everyone!'

Everyone nodded. They could not do a lot in any case. So they decided to leave Jumpy alone and went on doing what they did daily. 

A few guests arrived on the farm that day, and as we can easily guess, they had a sumptuous meal of farm fresh chicken curry and hot steamed rice. 

The next morning, as the animals woke up grudgingly, without the wake up call again, they saw  the dog burying something deep in the ground. They decided that they should ask him to talk to Jumpy and convince him to stop this lackadaisical attitude and resume work. They were missing Jumpy too much and were really worried. As they stood in a semi-circle near the dog, he gave them a smile.

'Hey folks, its great news. Jumpy's dream of flying came true. He has left the farm and has gone to fly with the other birds.' Said the dog, slyly, as he covered the last bone with dirt.

The animals, happy for their hero, went on doing what they usually did. Jumpy's secret had become Jumpy's legend on the farm now.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked http://www.blogaton.in/2015/10/blogaton56.html">here

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Rains Bring Rainbows

Marshal's Pick Award

This post has been published by me as a part of Blog-a-Ton 55; the fifty-fifth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Rashmi Kumar, the author of Hooked, Lined and Single and Jyoti Arora, the author of Lemon Girl. . 

Violet 

Viola pulled a deep breath as she accelerated her scooter through the drizzle on the wide road. Oh! How she loved the intoxicating smell of the parched earth soaking up the first shower of rain. The falling drops pierced her bare arms like little needles, the cool wind ran its wet fingers on her face and she felt invigorated. In no time she reached the Academy Crossing, where uniformed armymen had stopped the traffic to let the cadets pass through. The road ran right through the Academy and divided it into two campuses. The traffic halted multiple times during a day to let the cadets and officers cross the road and visit the other campus. Viola brought her vehicle to a halt and waited impatiently, as jealousy crept up like a fire in her belly. 'Fancy people these, they get the road all to themselves!' Driving in the rain was thrilling, waiting in the rain was frustrating. But no frustration for her today. This day was too good to waste. Viola saw the cadets crossing hurriedly on their bicycles and a smile crossed her lips. Cadets looked charming, the weather was beautiful, and she was a romantic at heart.  Her seventeen years urged her to evoke all the love that she had in her and see the world in it's warm glow. 'Next term,' she thought, 'I am going to meet a cadet and get invited to the Academy Ball. Oh! It would be so glamorous and romantic!' Staying in this city and not going to the Academy Ball was an absolute wastage of her college years. She felt like the heroine of a romantic film who was about to fall in love, as she watched the last cadet struggling to keep pace with others in the growing rain.

Indigo

Cadet Neel blinked his eyes vigorously to ward off sharp little raindrops from his eyes. He found it very difficult to keep cycling in rain and was trailing behind his coursemates as they crossed the road and vanished behind the other gate. Eventually, he dismounted his bicycle as he was left alone and as a rule, he could not ride a cycle alone. In order to ride their cycles, cadets had to form a squad. Though Neel was getting late for his evening lecture, he felt greatly relieved to dismount his cycle. He had no idea how others managed, but he did not like cycling in the rain. He did not even like cycling. Coming from an affluent family, snazzy cars and bikes were his playthings. But here in Academy, he had to follow the rules. He dragged his bicycle along as he tried his best to keep his satchel strap on his shoulder while running in the drizzle which was swiftly changing into a shower. Neel hated every single moment of this run, with water now running down his spine through his collar and dripping through his socks and soaking his canvas shoes.

Neel had given up a life of luxury which was custom-tailored and delivered at his doorstep as a birth right to endure this difficult training because he wanted to unfold the many layers of life and take a peek beneath the surface where he expected to find something much more valuable than money and luxury, to measure his self worth and weigh his own mental strength. This passion more than made up for his lack of stamina and street smartness. He took all the difficulties in his stride, but as his training was getting closer to the end, the thought of just reaching out and grabbing that glorious moment was making him restless. 'Few more months', he wiped his eyes with his right hand and muttered to himself, 'Just few months!', as he saw an instructor's car coming from the opposite side. In a few months, he expected to graduate from the Academy and say adieu to this pre-owned Hero Jet cycle that had served nobody-knew-how many generations of cadets, and to own a car with his own hard-earned money. As the instructor's car passed by, he straightened himself and shouted a crisp 'Jai Hind, Sir'.

Blue

Major Firoz mouthed an inaudible 'Jai Hind' acknowledging the cadet who was now so thoroughly drenched that droplets flew in a flurry out of his mouth when he spoke. Major Firoz was in a hurry as he sped towards his office to take care of something important. Nowadays, he was on a study leave, striving hard to cram a roomful of books in a few weeks time before his crucial pre-staff entrance exam, and came out only in important situations, like today. Before the call came from office, he was immersed deep in a thick book in his study room, but the studious schoolboy of yester-years had lost his capability to continue studying for long hours without intermittent calls from office and signing of important documents over cups of tea. He faintly remembered that he used to love rains long ago, as if in a past life. When he joined army, the strict regimentation of army changed him overnight from an unworried teenager into a  disciplined soldier. Years went by and he could not as much as notice the seasons changing amid his busy schedule, competitive courses and tough job. Beautiful rainy days like this were at their best a hindrance in his path now, like a flat tire or a fused bulb...bulbs... oh, and he had to rush to the Canteen after office to buy some bulbs, as Harita had asked him in exchange of chai-pakoda. Harita, who was at this exact moment, folding the dozenth paper boat at home.

Green

Harita threw her head back and stretched her arms after finishing folding the last paper boat. She was immensely relieved as rain had cooled off the hot and humid afternoon and a pleasantly cool evening was on its way. Monsoon had made a hearty appearance and after a heavy downpour for almost an hour, the rain was taking a step back to look at the effect, like an artist would look at his artwork, with squinted eyes and tongue thrust out between lips. Harita got up to examine the effect too and peeked outside the window. Green leaves appeared clean and bright, droplets still hanging at their pointed ends, air was cool and little puddles had appeared too, like they always did. She realized she did not have the old urge to run out and splash in the rainwater filled puddles. Instead, she was worried about mosquitoes, moths and fungus growing on everything, groceries, fruits and her expensive silks.  Long ago, monsoon meant long bike rides in the rain with Firoz, going out in the rain to enjoy spicy street food. Years had blown away all the superficial romance like candyfloss and solid life had precipitated like soft and glowing snow on them. Now, monsoon meant saving carpets from muddy footprints, and preventing moths from eating clothes in damp closets of creaky old bungalows, opening a dozen boxes and sunning their contents. Rain had not changed a bit, life had changed immensely, and...oh, ouch! She came out of her thoughts and saw the windowsill was wet with seepage and gave her a mild electric shock when she absently placed her hand on it. She rolled her eyes. Such incidents were minor issues in these parts of the world and no house was completely free of seepage, chipping paint or leaky taps. These were old houses, well lived in, and came with their own history. And their own furniture.

She craned her neck to see the time. The maid was terribly late, probably due to rain. Harita changed into a funky pair of squeaky rubber flip-flops and came out to go to her friend's home, on her way out asking Pitambar Bhaiya to stay at home and supervise the maid's work when she arrived.

Yellow

Pitambar was sitting on the veranda on a lawn chair, waiting for the maid to arrive. He was bent over his phone, checking for any new messages, rather staring at the screen for new messages to appear. He was worried, though his worry had nothing to do with his father's old age, his sister's doomed marriage and his brother's high school results. He was worried because it had rained today. He was a native of the hills and it had rained heavily there, so heavily that there were floods and all contact from the outside world was lost, roads were closed and phone networks were down. He was married four years ago and had never had an opportunity to stay with his 'family' in the married accommodation. Now, he had come to a family station, bless his 'Saab', where he could bring his 'family' and be a proud and dignified family member, he had got a flat allotted too by Saab's recommendation,  and was due to leave next day to bring his wife. But the rain seemed to rob him of this great opportunity and had shattered his dreams. All his preparations and plans were washed away. The evening was getting darker than usual due to clouds, and his heart was sinking into great depths of helpless longing. Tired  of staring on the screen and tired of waiting for Kesar, the maid, he got up from the chair and stood on the steps of the veranda purposelessly.

Orange

Kesar Bai increased her pace as she saw the evening fading away fast. She was late and was scared of the fact that it will be dark before her return. It had been two months since she had started working at the new 'Memsahib's' house. Memsahib was all right and did not constantly monitor her, as long as her work was done on time. But the house was situated in a faraway corner of the colony, hidden behind dense shrubs and trees. Walking on the deserted road frightened her even during daytime and she could not imagine walking on it in dark, that too wet and slippery. This area was full of wild animals and even falling leaves sounded like a leopard is approaching. Memsahib always told her to carry a stick which she sometimes did. After rain, the shrubs had come alive and ringing with sounds of chirping insects. There might be snakes also, what if she gets bitten by a snake in the darkness? Or attacked by a wild boar? She was almost running now, shaking away all scary thoughts and promising herself to borrow some money from Memsahib and buy an umbrella next day, cursing the monsoon whose sudden arrival had skewed her budget. The roof of her quarters was leaking and she had to buy a big plastic sheet to cover it. Her room always flooded in the lightest of the rains and she will have to do a little brickwork also to make a threshold to prevent rainwater from entering her quarters. 'No season is friendly towards us poor people,' she thought as she panted and puffed. In the distance, she saw Memsahib holding Laal's hand, coming back from her friend's home.

Red

Laal was happily hopping, wearing red sandals, holding Harita's finger, making up stories about the 'twees' and 'fowers' and 'wain' and 'watal', pointing with tiny fingers, adding special effects by making sounds, widening eyes, exaggerating and then looking at her face searching for signs of belief and appreciation. Harita nodded enthusiastically, exclaimed and praised Laal's stories more than they merited, and satisfied, Laal moved on to the next line and the next..

When they reached home, Laal found paper boats lying on the coffee table and screamed with joy. Today's children do not play in rainwater on streets. Harita took him to the bathroom, filled a big tub with water and handed him the boats one-by-one. Laal held the boat like a spoon, stirred with it in the tub and sang:

Low low low yo bot 

genty doh a teem,

Melly melly melly melly

lie a deem..

Harita stood at the bathroom door, watching Laal sinking boats, and smiled at his sweet song. Rains always brought rainbows, one just had to tilt her head and find out.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Participation Count: 04. Image Credits: Monsoon by Yann (Wikimedia Commons). Shared with GNU Free Documentation License CC Attribution-Share Alike.

Chocoderella

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 53; the fifty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with ​Soulmates: Love without ownership by Vinit K Bansal. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. 

Once upon a time there lived a chocolatier. Moulding chocolates was his passion more than profession. He used to make chocolates in all shapes and sizes. Once he moulded a batch of chocolate babies on order. When he packed his shop away for the night, he forgot one chocolate baby out on his counter. That night when the chocolate fairy visited his shop, she saw the little chocolate baby and spun her magic wand thrice and lo and behold! The baby came alive. The next morning when the chocolatier came to open his shop, he found a beautiful baby girl crying on his counter, in a pool of chocolate sauce. Her tears rolled down her cheeks and dried into chocolate chips. He named her Chocoderella and brought her home to his wife and two daughters. In the beginning everything was alright, but the chocolatier died after a few years and the wife started giving Chocoderella a step-motherly treatment, though she was a loving and caring mother to her own daughters. 

Chocoderella used to work hard all day long, wearing rags but would hardly get anything to eat. Her sisters dressed up in gorgeous dresses and ate gourmet food all day. As a result, they grew up into lumpy and lazy girls while Chocoderella was a lovely girl who smelled of hot chocolate.

Once, her sisters went to the royal ball, all decked up in jewels and pretty dresses, leaving Chocoderella home to keep their beds ready when they came back home from the ball, tired after all the dance and fun. Chocoderella sat down in a corner, crying tears of chocolate chips. As she kept crying, the floor got covered with chocolate chips and when there was no more room, the chocolate fairy appeared, and with a flick of her magic wand, turned all the chocolate into a grand coach, driven by six white horses and a uniformed coachman crisply holding a whip. She then turned Chocoderella’s rags into a beautiful gown, decorated with lace made of spun sugar and a necklace of candy gems adorned her neck. Lovely as she was, Chocoderella now looked like the goddess of temptation and desire with her golden tresses of molten caramel and her creamy skin reminding of milk chocolate that she was actually made of. 

The fairy smiled and said, ‘You are all set to go to the royal ball now, Chocoderella. But you should be back before midnight for that is when my spell ends. Your coach, horses and coachman will all become chocolate chips again and your clothes will turn to rags.’

‘All right,’ said Chocoderella happily.

Chocoderella had a gala time at the ball with the prince, and when she heard the first stroke of the midnight, she was shocked to find how quickly the hours had gone by! She was suddenly reminded of the bitter truth and reluctantly pulled herself away from the prince’s arms. As he saw her slipping away, the prince wanted to pull her back but all he could get hold of was the little finger of her right hand. In her hurry, Chocoderella pulled her hand hard and her chocolate finger snapped. Startled and shocked, she ran away. The prince stared at a vanishing Chocoderella, his jaw dropped, her little finger in his hand, smelling divine and looking tempting. In a trance like state, he took a bite of the finger. Never in his princely life had he ever had a chocolate so delicious. Without thinking, he hurriedly ate the whole finger and licked his palms crazily which had held Chocoderella and were now fragrant with her hot chocolate sweat. He had fallen madly in love with her.

When the king saw the prince’s condition, he announced on the spot, ‘Go and find the girl with caramel hair and milk chocolate face who smells like hot chocolate. The prince will get married to her.’

The king’s men now searched the whole kingdom for the chocolate girl with a missing little finger and finally reached Chocoderella’s home. Chocoderella’s sisters, in order to impress them, bathed in hot chocolate that morning. But when they came in front of king’s men, they were covered in blisters. As they were leaving, one of the men spotted Chocoderella standing in a corner, covering her right hand with a cloth.

When she saw the king’s men bringing forth Chocoderella for examination, her mother sniggered, ’Oh, but she is only a maid. She could not have gone to the royal ball.’ But it was too late. One of the men had removed the cloth from her hand and it was missing the little finger. Her hot chocolate fragrance confirmed further that she was indeed the chocolate girl that they had been looking for. At that moment, the chocolate fairy appeared and waved her magic wand. Chocoderella’s clothes changed into a royal gown, but surprisingly her hand remained unhealed.

As the sisters and the mother looked on wide-eyed, the fairy said, ‘The missing finger cannot grow again, but if you find it, I can attach it to your hand.’ As Chocoderella nodded, the fairy disappeared. The king’s men took Chocoderella to the palace where the prince was eagerly waiting for her.

One would think that Chocoderella married the prince and they lived happily ever after. But since this is a new age fairy tale, what happened next is written in golden caramel letters in the history of chocolates.

Chocoderella asked the prince about her little finger. The embarrassed prince admitted that he ate it in a crazy rush of greed and excitement, and now he wanted to marry her because he could not forget that divine taste and all he could think of was her hot chocolate fragrance. Chocoderella replied dryly to this proposition saying, ‘If you cannot resist eating a little chocolate finger, I am afraid you would eat me alive if you get the opportunity. You are not in love with me, but only lusting over chocolate. And no one can deny, chocolate can heal a broken heart, and it can almost replace love!’ Holding her head high, Chocoderella stomped out of the palace. She restarted her father’s closed chocolaterie and lived happily ever after. Only, every once in a while, Chocoderella cried for her missing little finger and there never was a dearth of chocolate chips in her chocolaterie.  

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Sevaram's Last Case

Bronze Award

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 52; the fifty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with Metro Diaries by "Namrata". To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

There was once a village in Bihar in which every living person, whether young or old, woman or infant, was a defendant in a murder case. How they all were mired in such a controversial case together has an interesting story behind it.

There once lived an old man named Sevaram, in the village. His name meant 'service' but he was the antithesis of his name. Harming people was his hobby. When he was young, Sevaram figured out that creating problems for others was the motto of his existence. To calm down his itchy fingers, he used to hurt others' pets, broke branches from the trees in their courtyards for no particular reason, punctured their tires just for fun. But he was never satisfied with his small adventures and wanted to become an even bigger pain in the neck. 

As luck would have it, he discovered the best way to fulfill his purpose of life. A big fight took place between two groups in his village and they took the matter to court. Sevaram would listen to old people discussing the case under Banyan trees for hours. He would be enchanted and would dream about dragging people in court cases. 'Oh! It would be such fun,' he thought, 'Way better than pulling dogs' tails or stealing sugar canes.'

Sevaram wanted to become a lawyer, but he came to know that it might take so many years and so much hard work that he dropped the idea. He managed to find a job in the 'Kutchery' (Court) and honed his skills for a bright future in suing people. After that, Sevaram began his suing spree, suing people at small instances and thus gaining his infamous nickname Sevaram 'Mukadmebaaz'( One who is involved in court cases).

As Sevaram lived through his reputation, he brought up two sons and made them study law. They were now established lawyers and Sevaram took pride in the fact that he now had all the information and resources at hand regarding court cases. Trapping people in court cases was now a breeze for him. 

But he was also getting old. His sons had bought big houses in the city and had moved there. Sevaram did not want to leave his land and his litigations. He could not live without troubling people and suing every living person in his village was his ambition. So, he stayed back, looking for reasons to sue people. 

Folks in his village used to stay away from him. For, if he saw them, he would start calling names to instigate them and if someone dared to retort, he was in for a court case. Women pulled their children close when passing Sevaram's haveli, cyclists carried their cycles on shoulders and tiptoed through that part of the road to avoid inviting Sevaram's ire.

Staying all alone and a dearth of new court cases took a toll on Sevaram's health. He fell ill and when nobody saw him for a few days, they got suspicious. They checked in on him and found him ailing, counting days. Word of his illness spread swiftly and people from all the different colonies of the village flocked his house to see Sevaram Mukadmebaaz for one last time. In his last time, the poor wretched man was really vulnerable. Even those sued by him were now empathetic to him and stayed close to take care of him in his remaining days. They brought hot broth and chapatis, cool massage oil and freshly laundered sheets for him. 

After a few days of this community help, Sevaram became capable of speaking and called the Head of the village along with the five members of the village council. As they asked him about his health, Sevaram's eyes brimmed with tears and he spoke with folded hands, 'Dear Sarpanch Ji and all of you, you have helped me when I was ill while I have done nothing but cause trouble to this village all my life. I know my end is near. Here is a letter to my sons, please post it. As I am dying, I have one last wish that I beg to you to fulfill. You are kind people. I want you all to drive a nail through my heart so that I die at the hands of merciful people. It is the only way that I could get deliverance.' 

Though the villagers were very unwilling to do this job, they had to respect a dying man's last wish. So, they all decided to fulfill it. They knew that though it looked like a sin, God will know that they were only being good to a wicked man. What they did not know was the contents of the letter that Sevaram wrote to his sons and which was promptly posted before his death:

Dear son,

As you are reading this letter, I am most likely not alive. Finding me alone and helpless, the whole village has ganged up on me. They all hate me so much that they have decided to kill me by driving a large nail through my heart. In the event of my death due to this, please use this letter as a proof and sue the whole village. Spare no one, son as they are all the murderers of your old, helpless father. Sell my haveli if need be. But do not spare them or your father will not get deliverance.

Your father,

Sevaram.

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The Gentleman's Promise

Looking up to the sunshine, in the hopes of a beautiful day!

The night was dark, just like that phase of her life was. She was on the phone, talking in as hushed a voice as possible as her cousins were asleep in the adjacent room. The guy on the other side asked her repeatedly to speak loudly but she was scared, of one particular cousin to find out that she was talking to a guy other than him, that too to a guy he disliked as he had some sort of premonition about him taking this girl away someday.

The person who was on the other side had just proposed to her the previous week. He was in Army and had a busy working schedule. He tried to keep up with pressures of new-found love by calling her regularly, but what he thought was regular for him was uncomfortable for her. For instance, he called her at odd hours, sometimes from a desert where he was lodged for the night, sometimes from a tent or a truck. Some days he would not call at all and later when he called, he told her he had to walk a few kilometres to another sand dune to get cellphone reception.

She had learnt to keep her phone close to her at all times in the past week, as she would wait for him to call, just like all other girls in her hostel did. The girls teased her to no end since she met him, and never failed to mention his name, as if they knew all along that eventually they would come close, and she responded with fake irritation, smiling internally. They were in contact for a few months now, after reuniting on a social network after almost 10 years. They had been together in school, and she tries to think even today how  it would have been if they had fallen in love then! 

She was sitting on the mattress on the floor, looking over her shoulder for the signs of this nasty cousin, trying to keep the conversation on as she could hear the wind howling on the other side as he spoke. Trying to understand what he was saying, she bobbed her head to the left asking 'What?' and instantly turned right to see the cousin standing there, like a monster from a nightmare, his raging eyes almost burning her down. She gasped, but regained her composure somewhat, as she realized that she was still on phone, with someone she regarded very special to herself.

'Who are you talking to?' he asked, breathing heavily, his whole body shaking with rage, though he knew the answer clearly. 'That ***? '

She tried to come up with something, anything that could save the moment, but random sounds escaped her lips, as she thought of the guy on the other side. 

In one instant, baring teeth like a rabid dog, he snatched the phone away from her hands and smashed it on the floor, sending its parts flying across the room. She was numb with shock and fear. But only for an instant. She was now worried about her boyfriend and what would happen now to their one week old long distance love affair! He would have heard this and would find it very rude that she hung up on him. After all, army guys are well mannered, and they expect to see good manners in return too. He will break up with her now. Oh, the only guy she ever liked so much would hate her!

In tears, she collected the phone parts from all over the room, and sat down on the mattress to join the pieces as she wished her shattered love story could also be simply assembled like that. Watching her sobbing and trying to put the phone together with shaky hands, the cousin sat by her side and took the phone from her. He put all the parts in place and gave it back to her. 

'Okay, don't cry now. Call him.' Of course, she was already dialing the now most important phone number of her life. The phone was ringing, but he did not pick it up. She tried calling many times, but it was not answered. Something she knew already. It was certainly the worst phase of her life, already bleak, ridden with multiple bouts of sickness, repeated failures at building a career of her choice, and now this, a heartbreak, which she had least expected.

Crestfallen, she put the phone on the mattress, as her cousin tried to console her. She could not register what he was saying. All she could say to him was 'He will never talk to  me again,' between her uncontrollable sobs. 

Her cousin had once been her best friend. He assumed himself in the place of her guardian since she arrived in this city to study. With time, this love took skewed parameters as he obsessed over her. He would pressure her to visit him every weekend, he came to meet her almost daily on some or the other excuse, talking to her on the phone when not visiting, keeping a tab on when and where she went, even with her girl friends, what she was wearing on these outings without him etc, which would make her feel stuck in a cage. Despite of her severe admonitions which were sometimes borderline threats, he would never stop trying to control her life. To add to her woes, he also tried to act like her boyfriend. Friendless and lonely, and mostly naive, she listened to him and laughed off his romantic advances thinking he is only joking. He never liked her talking to her male classmates or any other guys. The fact that she had a real boyfriend now obviously made him mad with jealousy.

Though he was apologetic the next morning, she packed her backpack and told him in a cold voice, 'Nobody has a right to tell me who should I talk to or fall in love with. Not even my parents do what you did. Whatever happens, I am not setting foot again in this house. You suffocate me.'

'Oh, but you say that every time you get angry. You will visit next weekend, of course.'

But she hoped to keep her resolution this time. A hope that was on the verge of being snuffed out.

Later that morning, as she was finding it utterly difficult to concentrate on the lecture with burning eyes and scorched heart, her phone started ringing. To her utter disbelief, it was the boyfriend. She rushed out of the class, excusing herself. What would he say? would he be angry? how would she tell him about the cousin? She was breathless with all the effort of carrying the ringing phone with such great expectations and an audibly beating heart. 

'Hello?' It came out as a question.

'Hi,' his sunshine filled voice replied, as she pictured him smiling. 'How are you? All well? I saw your missed calls last night. Sorry, I just walked up to this road, there was no connectivity in my tent.' 

'So, you are not angry with me?' The warmth in his voice was already melting away her fears, resurrecting her hope.

'No, why?'

'Because the call got disconnected last night.'

'Yeah, that was abrupt, but the connectivity is so bad in this area, I thought I will call you back when I reach my camp. But there was simply no network.'

'But why didn't you pick up when I called?' 

'Oh, we had started from our halt, and I could not hear my phone ringing over all the rumble these tanks make.'

'Ohh,' she sighed with relief. So in all its likelihood, the bad network had saved her love story.

'Achha listen,' he said, ' Forward me the number of your cousin, I should talk to him. He seems to have a big problem with me, I don't see why, and I should get it sorted out.'

There, her heart skipped a beat. So, he had heard it and was still not breaking up with her.
'Hello, what happened? Do not worry. I knew something was quite out of place when you first told me about him. Remember, I will not judge you, ever. It is a gentleman's promise.'

Oh, she fell even deeper in his love. There were people like him, who took it upon themselves to sort out the anomalies created by others and there were people like her cousin who did not even have his own life sorted out.

Her life suddenly started looking beautiful. She finally had found the right person who she could actually love like she loved her family, strength to overcome the cousin's pressure and hopes for a future where she could be free, to do whatever, go wherever with anyone she wished, wear whatever clothes she liked. In a few months she would out of this city and this cousin would be a matter of the past.

She gave him the number, he called, as she had expected the cousin did not talk to him after he introduced himself. The cousin kept visiting her and calling her while she stayed there for the duration of her academic tenure. She kept her promise and never went to his place again. She moved to a far away city for work, gradually the communication with the cousin became scarce and died down as she had intended. The army guy had become her knight in shining armour by just being there like an anchor.

Written as a post for the prompt 'Look Up Stories' for https://housing.com/lookup