Really Minnelli

This is a piece of writing that I published on Reedsy's website. You can read my writing here , but I'll be posting them on my blog anyway. Hope you enjoy reading this. :) I kept looking at the door expectantly, watching the people come in and go out of the restaurant. I could feel butterflies in my stomach, and I wondered if I’d even eat tonight. I was nervous — not even the light instrumental music playing in the background or the bright little candles dotting every table could make me calm down — but it was a good sort of nervousness. Looking around, I noticed that there were a few families, but most of them seemed to be couples, all of which were busy chatting or clinking their glasses together and cutlery on plates filling the air with the sound of dining. The waiters bustled in and out of the kitchens, some even skilfully and effortlessly balancing a number of platters on both their hands and along their arms, making the aroma of food waft around the place. After watching

This is a piece of writing that I published on Reedsy's website. You can read my writing here , but I'll be posting them on my blog anyway. Hope you enjoy reading this. :) The bus-station this particular morning was deserted save for a few people dotting the concrete seats built into the walls of the station. I knew that I had to take the 4.30 bus to Kandy, but I didn’t know which exact bus to take. I was in the mystical foreign land of Sri Lanka that my ancestors had under their grasp a few decades short of a century; however, people that could converse well in English (and not send you on the wrong route, speaking from personal experience) were almost nowhere to be found. Undeterred yet, I decided to ask the stationmaster, or who I assumed to be was the stationmaster. “Hello,” I said warmly with a tinge of tentativeness in my voice. The little man in a beige shirt and black pants looked at me in an unwelcoming manner and returned to the piece of paper he was holding, which he

The keys fell on the ground with a clink. I picked them up and tried locking the door with my trembling hands. I dropped the keys again. I didn’t want to be late. Sighing, I bent down to notice that I had folded my jeans up. I hastily pulled them down, knowing how much she hated them that way. Without her around, I was living on autopilot. After a few more attempts, I heard the much awaited click of the lock slipping into place. I slapped my back pocket to check if the book was still there, and the even lump confirmed so. I walked past my car and the flower beds that only had brown soil and brown, withered flowers. I didn’t take the car; I decided to walk instead. I made my way towards the market a few blocks away. I was still trembling, my head dizzy, sweat running in rivulets down my nervous face. “This is a bad idea. I should go back home,” I told myself sternly. I turned halfway, but then strongly decided against going back. After months of worrying and procrastination, I got mysel

Sitting in my porch I watched the children run and scream in delight as they played a very animated version of tag. On Saturdays the kids spend the day at my place, and those are the best hours of my life that I ever so religiously look forward to. I wake up as early as my age allows me to, to bake some goodies for the kids. And every single morning the kids would fly into my arms and I’ll tell you that there’s no better feeling than that. I remember when I was that young. Those were the good old days when going from one place of the house to another didn’t take hours or make my joints ache as if they’d fall off any moment. Physical pain back then was temporary, much unlike now. Once, when I was in my mid-teens, during a netball match it started raining; however, the coach gave no indication of stopping the match, so on we went. But being the clumsy oaf that I am, I slipped and fell and somehow went and struck my knee on the concrete base of the post. I heard a crack (maybe it was