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Blind not blinded by

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Woof! Woof! “Betty, darling, take care. There’s oil spilled on the pavement, it’s slippery.” “Thanks, Romeo. Your timely warning barks are exactly what this blind, bonny lass needs to reach eighty! Good dog, Romeo!” It’s appreciation and pats like these that keep me going. The pain is excruciating, but Betty and I have been through a lot, and this feels like just another needle in the haystack. We’ve broken our limbs together, seen the insides of operating theatres, been confined to our room in neatly wrapped bandaged bundles, and suffered many other atrocities together. But being blind Betty’s helper dog is what brings me to my paws every single day. Dark times don’t necessarily end with light. They just turn a little less dark. Oh, forgive my fur! Like me, it sheds philosophy these days. Old age, you see. “You see”, such an overused phrase! The ones who can actually see can’t see the harm it inflicts on those deprived of sight. Now, you see, I’m a philosophical, old-school follower d...
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Who is she?

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 Appearances can be deceptive. My image in the mirror was telling me that. "Who is this woman staring back at me?" My numb self knocked on my mental faculties. "Clueless." Jumped the answer to my pursed lips. The mirror image portrays a woman with strewn hair and bruised nose. Her dry eyes, hollow like a parched well give a distant glance. To no one in particular they are propelling fire. A sole earing dangles from an overladen lobe. It is symbolic of the weight of guilt bearing her down. ***** "You are the best thing that has happened to me in my entire lifetime." Paritosh kissed Charvi's forehead. She closed her eyes in absolute bliss. In her ears, she could hear the shenai and happy giggles of her younger sisters. Paritosh had sneaked into her room just before the pheras and the two enjoyed a private moment to themselves before the week long celebrations began.  Charvi could not have asked for anything more. A degree in landscape architecture, a mar...
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Solentine English version

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  The birds chirped as loudly as they could, making a noise of their existence. Flapping their small, colourful wings, they hurried in and out of the dense mango foliage. Big, juicy, saffron mangoes hung from the branches. A pop of orange in a sea of green. The sunlight that filtered through the canopy, sketched mosaic patterns on Nirmala’s papery skin. ‘Hey, shoo away!’ She tried staving off the birds, with a stick, from her wheelchair. ‘What makes them so happy? Crazy birds!’ The angry woman spat on the ground in a fit of vengeance. The wave of disgust that surrounded her, for some time now, didn't seem to wash over the birds. In their distasteful company, the warblers still continued to be merry. Yet, their merriment didn't dissolve her discontent. She kept whacking the stick on the mango tree to scare them away. In all the tussle of keeping herself away from the little joys of life, a bright yellow mango fell on her dull, messy maxi. The sight of the fruit made her dr...
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