Sunrise reflections by Andaleeb.A.K


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Dawn breaks, reflecting its beautiful colors on still waters.Birds busy with their feed, the water brings life .

Dawn breaks,the hues of the sky change every second.Calmness and serenity with each breeze.

Dawn breaks,the fiery ball comes up with its grace and beauty,lighting the horizon with its brightness and glory.

Dawn breaks,bringing forward a new day.

-Andaleeb . A . K



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“EXCEPT THERE WAS NO MAN…” Moving out wasn’t easy. Leaving your divorcee father alone in Chandigarh and moving away for a job in Montreal wasn’t simple. It felt like you grew up too fast to be moving away. I swear I was 16 yesterday but now I’m 30 working in a stressful IIT company. I was working fine in Chandigarh, earning a minimum wage every citizen of India gets. However, my promotion had happened. I was planning on declining it, but my father insisted I go. When I read the letter carefully, I would work in Canada and not anywhere in India. I was scared, scared because my father would be all alone with no one to take care of him. Maa had left him when I graduated high school and no relatives were ready to take him. The patriarchal mindset of divorce was against Indian communities and families. But my father said, “Phikara na karo Hera beti, maim thika ho javangi,” meaning “Don’t worry Hera, I will be alright.” But what if he’s not? When I reached Montreal, I booked a rental 2BHK villa. Most of the furniture had arrived by the time I reached the flat. The villa was satisfactory with all the emergency help required. A metal board on the door with emergency helpline numbers like the local police, ambulance, civil defence and even a women's helpline number. I felt safe here. Back in India, there isn’t even a board with such numbers like these. No wonder so many cases happen every minute. I arranged the furniture and cleaned the whole house. I had organised a small puja for my new home. Praying all the negativity and any evil nazar (eye) should never step into my new home. I had already made stuffed aloo paratha before coming to Montreal. I removed them from my handbag, heated them in the microwave and sat on the couch to have my dinner. My internet box was already set up on the TV table. The bedrooms compared to the hall were small. The hall was a modern set-up with the essence of a vintage era. Next to my TV, I had put a photo frame of me and Dad being together. Canada's weather wasn’t hot or steamy, rather it was cold and chill. I kept the window open for the wind to pass through my home, making it cosy. I grabbed my large blanket to cover my body and ate my food, binge-watching my all-time favourite series F.R.I.E.N.D.S. It was my comfort show growing up and all the fun moments in the show were highly sarcastic. I was done eating my food by 10.27 pm and decided I should arrange my closet so that tomorrow I wouldn’t be late for my job interview. It was in the policies, that if you move to another country due to a promotion, you always need to give a second interview to see if you fit in the same position or they might switch you to a new position. I had my outfit planned for tomorrow: black blazer, white tank top and black jeans. It was 11 pm by the time I arranged my closet. I tend to sleep by midnight or even later, hence I read at night. I grabbed my novel and sat on the couch reading with my tea. The wind blew through the house with a powerful passion, scattering my old documents kept on the table. I got up from my couch to keep it inside my drawer. When I kept the files in the drawer, I saw a human figure standing outside. Approximately 10 km away, but I could see its figure under the flickering street lights. I was confused, why would a man come out at such an odd time? The clock had already struck midnight and this man was out roaming? Strange. I scoffed and was about to turn away when I saw from the corner of my right eye, he came closer. Too close. My villa was on the ground, and anyone could snuck in without any difficulties. I was frozen in my spot, unable to move an inch. The atmosphere becoming more and more tight. An intense change of time. In moments, I feel a hand over my mouth smothering me, making me unable to breathe. My scream not being heard by anyone, but the person’s hand pressing on my mouth made it hard for me to speak. My eyes felt an intense burn, and my throat was dry. He finally let go of me, and I was on the ground crawling to get a knife from the kitchen. My legs had gotten weak and I could barely breathe. Tears scattered all over my face. I crawled to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I kept it ready in my hand and hid behind the huge kitchen island. I couldn’t crawl or walk anymore and rested my head on the microwave under the gas stove. Thud. My eyes wide open when I heard this sound. Thud. It sounded like a man’s footsteps getting closer and closer. Thud. I slowly peeked over the kitchen island, as the man’s footsteps got closer to the kitchen. Except there was no man… A mannequin. Without a head. I screamed until my throat was hoarse, the sound piercing the silence of the night. I ran to my bedroom and my hands trembling to lock the door. “Please please God, lock the door!” I muttered to myself. When the door was finally locked, the lump in my throat was gone. I slid down facing the door and sat on the floor. I couldn’t take this anymore. I took a few clothes out of my closet, put them in a bag and locked the suitcase. I decided to get out of the house by the windows. I opened the windows and threw the bag down on the ground. I then got down and took my bag. The Headless Mannequin standing in front of me. I was unable to move, talk or even tilt my pupils to the right or left. I was paralyzed. The night was cold but now it became intense. For a second, I felt he was going to me stab so I flinched back, but he brought out something which was even more disturbing than a knife or a gun. My Dad’s cut-off head. He dropped it on the floor like it was a piece of cardboard. I picked up my Dad’s head and sat on the ground. He’s dead eyes shooting right back at me. I looked back at the mannequin and stared at him with my tired eyes. It’s not like he could stare back at me, but his back bent down and he was standing straight again. For now, my destiny circled back to the two headless people, first, my father’s, and second, my father’s tailor shop’s mannequin. THE END

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The Deficiency Of Capability ( Short Story Adult Category) I was just scrolling through Instagram or according to Gen Z and Gen Alpha on ‘gram’ where I saw an advertisement as I was over with my 10-year-old son’s handwriting. I was searching for an online handwriting teacher to improve his handwriting because he will use a pen next academic session. I cannot unveil the mystery of his handwriting with an occasional use of pen, which he is so obsessed with and excited to use but I am pretty sure he needs help. So this advertisement had their page bio as ‘ helping parents raise capable, skillful( in actual bio skillful was spelled as ‘skilful’), and happy children. I need to understand how a class or institution can help parents to raise children. Are our children lab rats? No offense but out of the many lab rats they conduct experiments on, the success is found in only a few after much trial and error. As a parent I tried handwriting classes during the summer holidays, of course, there is a fallback because subconsciously my son has fallen into his old writing pattern so he needs practice and patience to build it subconsciously. As a parent, I can only raise my child by making myself understand how much to interfere with and where I must interfere in my child's development. How can some institutes fool around by offering to help or misguide parents that this is the course they must take and they will make the child extraordinary? Many institutions like schools, classes, or any educational center are the labs where they conduct uniform experiments through various curriculums which they believe to be a formula for high-quality education to create successful adults might not work for every child. There is a need for certain elements in children which differ and which can only be offered by parents. Institutions can only give us signs that this is deficient in your thinking capability. Now to interfere in that development should be your call. It is much debatable theory. We are raising a character that cannot be done in one course or class. We know kids are observing us, but their brains are still too young to understand that we lied over the phone as we can not or do not want to attend the meeting or event. So if our children lie to us just because they don't want to share some part of their day and we catch that stuff to make the child stress about his/her character is not fair. At this moment, we have to tell our children what not to hide, being true to themselves and their parents is a source of faith and trust, how much ever they can understand according to their age. As an adult we lie to ourselves, we fake happiness but expect our kids to be ideal, happy, and capable when we struggle to be capable. In this world where no one not even the richest person can say that they are happy when they are capable of buying any luxury they want. Can our children be capable forever? The capability to handle themselves is an evolving feature. We have to focus on teaching our children evolution and acceptance according to the circumstances of life. Why did we lie not to attend an event? We are answerable to our children. They must know the scenario of why lying was a necessity in certain circumstances. What emotions are telling you to avoid that event, will make them capable of understanding themselves? So next time don't enroll your children at least in the classes where they are offering you capability because only a parent can make a child survive different kinds of situation, not the other way around. Classes or institutions can only teach idealistic, theory-based models. Application and circumstantial learning is in our hands. Children failing as children is far more correctable than a child failing as an adult. Adult life circumstances are too overwhelming and we expect our children to behave like adults whereas they are observing our imperfections every day. They are storing it subconsciously it is okay to lie or manipulate my friends as my parents are doing it. It is confusing for a child's brain how to accept their parent's perfections and imperfections in a month or year. Consistency and discipline if not seen and observed in the habits of a parent then how a child can do, will always be the question in a child’s mind. The capability of a person is based on their knowledge, intense pursuit, locus of control, resilience, and being practical. A parent and the environment at home is the only superpower that can build capability in children to become a capable adult.

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Plagued Love - Adult entry for March ( dedicated to the medical profession) She was torn apart with her handicap to balance her professional and personal life. The Hippocratic oath masked all other thoughts. The surge of patients in the hospital was rising by the hour. She was caged with ailing and infected patients. Her physical being was trapped in the ppt kit but her thoughts lingered between her loved ones and her duty. She was on the verge of breaking down and running away from all this ‘call of duty’ jargon. She overheard a few colleagues in conversation with indistinguishable tones of fear and complaints. Even the system was helpless against this fury of nature and wide spreading virus. The medical staff and team were under immense pressure. Yet we were the only hope against the fury of this monstrous virus. Her heart was heavy with guilt of leaving her spouse and her baby at home . She had not been home since a fortnight! Today she felt remorse for all those times she threw a tantrum at home, argued with him, hurt his feelings by vocalizing her regret of marrying him. How could she be so ruthless ? He stood by her in this crisis, her emotional war of choosing her duty over family. What were his thoughts at this moment? Is he regretting his decision too ? Is he going to be her forever knight in shining armor? She had been sitting in the canteen over a tepid cup of tea lost in her din of emotions. Her cell phone buzzed . It was her “only moral support”, her spouse. They conversed for a while and she felt a wave of calmness engulf her . His assurance to look after their child well,his faith in her capabilities, his love for her made her feel better. His words rang in her ears , his caressing voice made her nostalgic. She wanted to cuddle in those strong arms. She wanted his warm breath on her crowning glory. She wondered if she would ever have those moments again. Will she leave the hospital alive ? Her only solace remained that he loved her and her precious off spring was in safe hands. At this juncture she had to carry on till more help arrived and she would be able to go home for some rest and breather. There were many others like her who had chosen duty over safe confines of their hearth. She could feel their pangs of separation and stressing circumstances. She resolved to face the challenge with a renewed hope of going back soon with the precautions of isolation and regular tests. With masked face, warmth in the cockles of her heart and courage in her eyes she walked back to the ward to tend to her charges!

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‘Mis’-matched ( Adult entry for February 2024) Two mis- matched socks on a domestic help' s blistered feet were talking to each other. Spotted Green: “I miss my twin.. this feet is too rough for me.” Pink and Beige :” So do I .. but I am still thinking bout this feet I cover .. it’s blistered, it needs to rest “ Spotted Green:”I can’t wait I to be washed, the previous feet were soft and smooth, I loved the shoe .. I hate this broken slipper,yikes!” Pink and Beige :”this feet trudges and tires, you need to be kind to it, have a heart… green one.” Spotted Green:” my heart … I lost it to the shoe… I miss him” Pink and Beige :”forget him as beyond this you shall be a toy for the dog in the narrow lane here .. till you survive ! Spotted Green:” really ! No no … I need clean feet and a warm wash .” Pink and Beige : My new partner, let me be honest, this is the fact about sock life … it sucks.If you need to adjust and accommodate. We were born to cover, give warmth yet the choice of foot is not ours. I don’t know how much we shall last or be together, but as long as we are let’s smile through our holes ! These feet need us more than our previous owners. Are you game?” Spotted Green: “Yeah .. ohhk … I will try my best but tell me one thing , will this feet hurt each day ?” Pink and Beige: “ yes each day… each minute .. till some one gives’ her’ a half used tube or oil to care for the blisters.”

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“EXCEPT THERE WAS NO MAN…” Moving out wasn’t easy. Leaving your divorcee father alone in Chandigarh and moving away for a job in Montreal wasn’t simple. It felt like you grew up too fast to be moving away. I swear I was 16 yesterday but now I’m 30 working in a stressful IIT company. I was working fine in Chandigarh, earning a minimum wage every citizen of India gets. However, my promotion had happened. I was planning on declining it, but my father insisted I go. When I read the letter carefully, I would work in Canada and not anywhere in India. I was scared, scared because my father would be all alone with no one to take care of him. Maa had left him when I graduated high school and no relatives were ready to take him. The patriarchal mindset of divorce was against Indian communities and families. But my father said, “Phikara na karo Hera beti, maim thika ho javangi,” meaning “Don’t worry Hera, I will be alright.” But what if he’s not? When I reached Montreal, I booked a rental 2BHK villa. Most of the furniture had arrived by the time I reached the flat. The villa was satisfactory with all the emergency help required. A metal board on the door with emergency helpline numbers like the local police, ambulance, civil defence and even a women's helpline number. I felt safe here. Back in India, there isn’t even a board with such numbers like these. No wonder so many cases happen every minute. I arranged the furniture and cleaned the whole house. I had organised a small puja for my new home. Praying all the negativity and any evil nazar (eye) should never step into my new home. I had already made stuffed aloo paratha before coming to Montreal. I removed them from my handbag, heated them in the microwave and sat on the couch to have my dinner. My internet box was already set up on the TV table. The bedrooms compared to the hall were small. The hall was a modern set-up with the essence of a vintage era. Next to my TV, I had put a photo frame of me and Dad being together. Canada's weather wasn’t hot or steamy, rather it was cold and chill. I kept the window open for the wind to pass through my home, making it cosy. I grabbed my large blanket to cover my body and ate my food, binge-watching my all-time favourite series F.R.I.E.N.D.S. It was my comfort show growing up and all the fun moments in the show were highly sarcastic. I was done eating my food by 10.27 pm and decided I should arrange my closet so that tomorrow I wouldn’t be late for my job interview. It was in the policies, that if you move to another country due to a promotion, you always need to give a second interview to see if you fit in the same position or they might switch you to a new position. I had my outfit planned for tomorrow: black blazer, white tank top and black jeans. It was 11 pm by the time I arranged my closet. I tend to sleep by midnight or even later, hence I read at night. I grabbed my novel and sat on the couch reading with my tea. The wind blew through the house with a powerful passion, scattering my old documents kept on the table. I got up from my couch to keep it inside my drawer. When I kept the files in the drawer, I saw a human figure standing outside. Approximately 10 km away, but I could see its figure under the flickering street lights. I was confused, why would a man come out at such an odd time? The clock had already struck midnight and this man was out roaming? Strange. I scoffed and was about to turn away when I saw from the corner of my right eye, he came closer. Too close. My villa was on the ground, and anyone could snuck in without any difficulties. I was frozen in my spot, unable to move an inch. The atmosphere becoming more and more tight. An intense change of time. In moments, I feel a hand over my mouth smothering me, making me unable to breathe. My scream not being heard by anyone, but the person’s hand pressing on my mouth made it hard for me to speak. My eyes felt an intense burn, and my throat was dry. He finally let go of me, and I was on the ground crawling to get a knife from the kitchen. My legs had gotten weak and I could barely breathe. Tears scattered all over my face. I crawled to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I kept it ready in my hand and hid behind the huge kitchen island. I couldn’t crawl or walk anymore and rested my head on the microwave under the gas stove. Thud. My eyes wide open when I heard this sound. Thud. It sounded like a man’s footsteps getting closer and closer. Thud. I slowly peeked over the kitchen island, as the man’s footsteps got closer to the kitchen. Except there was no man… A mannequin. Without a head. I screamed until my throat was hoarse, the sound piercing the silence of the night. I ran to my bedroom and my hands trembling to lock the door. “Please please God, lock the door!” I muttered to myself. When the door was finally locked, the lump in my throat was gone. I slid down facing the door and sat on the floor. I couldn’t take this anymore. I took a few clothes out of my closet, put them in a bag and locked the suitcase. I decided to get out of the house by the windows. I opened the windows and threw the bag down on the ground. I then got down and took my bag. The Headless Mannequin standing in front of me. I was unable to move, talk or even tilt my pupils to the right or left. I was paralyzed. The night was cold but now it became intense. For a second, I felt he was going to me stab so I flinched back, but he brought out something which was even more disturbing than a knife or a gun. My Dad’s cut-off head. He dropped it on the floor like it was a piece of cardboard. I picked up my Dad’s head and sat on the ground. He’s dead eyes shooting right back at me. I looked back at the mannequin and stared at him with my tired eyes. It’s not like he could stare back at me, but his back bent down and he was standing straight again. For now, my destiny circled back to the two headless people, first, my father’s, and second, my father’s tailor shop’s mannequin. THE END

  • Short Stories Anaya 27 Apr 2024  0    698

Adult Entry - The real heroes

  • Short Stories Nivedita 23 Apr 2024  0    731

Sunrise reflections by Andaleeb.A.K

  • Short Stories Andaleeb 9 Apr 2024  0    1778

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  • Short Stories Stanley 7 Apr 2024  0  1  1240

Cotton candy sky ( Poem ) by Andaleeb.A.K

  • Short Stories Andaleeb 6 Apr 2024  0    1411

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The Deficiency Of Capability ( Short Story Adult Category) I was just scrolling through Instagram or according to Gen Z and Gen Alpha on ‘gram’ where I saw an advertisement as I was over with my 10-year-old son’s handwriting. I was searching for an online handwriting teacher to improve his handwriting because he will use a pen next academic session. I cannot unveil the mystery of his handwriting with an occasional use of pen, which he is so obsessed with and excited to use but I am pretty sure he needs help. So this advertisement had their page bio as ‘ helping parents raise capable, skillful( in actual bio skillful was spelled as ‘skilful’), and happy children. I need to understand how a class or institution can help parents to raise children. Are our children lab rats? No offense but out of the many lab rats they conduct experiments on, the success is found in only a few after much trial and error. As a parent I tried handwriting classes during the summer holidays, of course, there is a fallback because subconsciously my son has fallen into his old writing pattern so he needs practice and patience to build it subconsciously. As a parent, I can only raise my child by making myself understand how much to interfere with and where I must interfere in my child's development. How can some institutes fool around by offering to help or misguide parents that this is the course they must take and they will make the child extraordinary? Many institutions like schools, classes, or any educational center are the labs where they conduct uniform experiments through various curriculums which they believe to be a formula for high-quality education to create successful adults might not work for every child. There is a need for certain elements in children which differ and which can only be offered by parents. Institutions can only give us signs that this is deficient in your thinking capability. Now to interfere in that development should be your call. It is much debatable theory. We are raising a character that cannot be done in one course or class. We know kids are observing us, but their brains are still too young to understand that we lied over the phone as we can not or do not want to attend the meeting or event. So if our children lie to us just because they don't want to share some part of their day and we catch that stuff to make the child stress about his/her character is not fair. At this moment, we have to tell our children what not to hide, being true to themselves and their parents is a source of faith and trust, how much ever they can understand according to their age. As an adult we lie to ourselves, we fake happiness but expect our kids to be ideal, happy, and capable when we struggle to be capable. In this world where no one not even the richest person can say that they are happy when they are capable of buying any luxury they want. Can our children be capable forever? The capability to handle themselves is an evolving feature. We have to focus on teaching our children evolution and acceptance according to the circumstances of life. Why did we lie not to attend an event? We are answerable to our children. They must know the scenario of why lying was a necessity in certain circumstances. What emotions are telling you to avoid that event, will make them capable of understanding themselves? So next time don't enroll your children at least in the classes where they are offering you capability because only a parent can make a child survive different kinds of situation, not the other way around. Classes or institutions can only teach idealistic, theory-based models. Application and circumstantial learning is in our hands. Children failing as children is far more correctable than a child failing as an adult. Adult life circumstances are too overwhelming and we expect our children to behave like adults whereas they are observing our imperfections every day. They are storing it subconsciously it is okay to lie or manipulate my friends as my parents are doing it. It is confusing for a child's brain how to accept their parent's perfections and imperfections in a month or year. Consistency and discipline if not seen and observed in the habits of a parent then how a child can do, will always be the question in a child’s mind. The capability of a person is based on their knowledge, intense pursuit, locus of control, resilience, and being practical. A parent and the environment at home is the only superpower that can build capability in children to become a capable adult.

  • Short Stories Anuradha 7 Mar 2024  0    2018

Plagued Love - Adult entry for March ( dedicated to the medical profession) She was torn apart with her handicap to balance her professional and personal life. The Hippocratic oath masked all other thoughts. The surge of patients in the hospital was rising by the hour. She was caged with ailing and infected patients. Her physical being was trapped in the ppt kit but her thoughts lingered between her loved ones and her duty. She was on the verge of breaking down and running away from all this ‘call of duty’ jargon. She overheard a few colleagues in conversation with indistinguishable tones of fear and complaints. Even the system was helpless against this fury of nature and wide spreading virus. The medical staff and team were under immense pressure. Yet we were the only hope against the fury of this monstrous virus. Her heart was heavy with guilt of leaving her spouse and her baby at home . She had not been home since a fortnight! Today she felt remorse for all those times she threw a tantrum at home, argued with him, hurt his feelings by vocalizing her regret of marrying him. How could she be so ruthless ? He stood by her in this crisis, her emotional war of choosing her duty over family. What were his thoughts at this moment? Is he regretting his decision too ? Is he going to be her forever knight in shining armor? She had been sitting in the canteen over a tepid cup of tea lost in her din of emotions. Her cell phone buzzed . It was her “only moral support”, her spouse. They conversed for a while and she felt a wave of calmness engulf her . His assurance to look after their child well,his faith in her capabilities, his love for her made her feel better. His words rang in her ears , his caressing voice made her nostalgic. She wanted to cuddle in those strong arms. She wanted his warm breath on her crowning glory. She wondered if she would ever have those moments again. Will she leave the hospital alive ? Her only solace remained that he loved her and her precious off spring was in safe hands. At this juncture she had to carry on till more help arrived and she would be able to go home for some rest and breather. There were many others like her who had chosen duty over safe confines of their hearth. She could feel their pangs of separation and stressing circumstances. She resolved to face the challenge with a renewed hope of going back soon with the precautions of isolation and regular tests. With masked face, warmth in the cockles of her heart and courage in her eyes she walked back to the ward to tend to her charges!

  • Short Stories Nivedita 7 Mar 2024  0    1627

"It's locked"

  • Short Stories Anaya 29 Feb 2024  0  2  2408

Cravings of Solitude and Nostalgia Allegory by Sir. Armaan Bin Awaz

  • Short Stories Armaan Bin Awaz 29 Feb 2024  0    2320

‘Mis’-matched ( Adult entry for February 2024) Two mis- matched socks on a domestic help' s blistered feet were talking to each other. Spotted Green: “I miss my twin.. this feet is too rough for me.” Pink and Beige :” So do I .. but I am still thinking bout this feet I cover .. it’s blistered, it needs to rest “ Spotted Green:”I can’t wait I to be washed, the previous feet were soft and smooth, I loved the shoe .. I hate this broken slipper,yikes!” Pink and Beige :”this feet trudges and tires, you need to be kind to it, have a heart… green one.” Spotted Green:” my heart … I lost it to the shoe… I miss him” Pink and Beige :”forget him as beyond this you shall be a toy for the dog in the narrow lane here .. till you survive ! Spotted Green:” really ! No no … I need clean feet and a warm wash .” Pink and Beige : My new partner, let me be honest, this is the fact about sock life … it sucks.If you need to adjust and accommodate. We were born to cover, give warmth yet the choice of foot is not ours. I don’t know how much we shall last or be together, but as long as we are let’s smile through our holes ! These feet need us more than our previous owners. Are you game?” Spotted Green: “Yeah .. ohhk … I will try my best but tell me one thing , will this feet hurt each day ?” Pink and Beige: “ yes each day… each minute .. till some one gives’ her’ a half used tube or oil to care for the blisters.”

  • Short Stories Nivedita 27 Feb 2024  0    2131

Passionata Volume II. Seset 3.

  • Short Stories Armaan Bin Awaz 24 Feb 2024  0    2044

Passionata Volume II. Sestet 2.

  • Short Stories Armaan Bin Awaz 24 Feb 2024  0    2046

Passionata Volume II. Seset 1.

  • Short Stories Armaan Bin Awaz 24 Feb 2024  0    2368

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