‘ Memories~ a short story’

Hey there this is me kunjal😃. We both have been tad busy with 10th grade. A new chapter that is Offline class has been so far, both exciting ( not gonna lie!) as well as tiring.

This is my first attempt in writing a sci- fiction story😃. It is titled Memories.


They can be tricky can’t they?




The camera followed the girl with pigtails. She was dumping clothes in a jute bag. There were clothes of all colors and all types- ragged blue jeans, a small blue skirt overflowing with jasmines, a small lily adorned t-shirt peeked from the bag and they were getting under, by the inflow of more clothes. The camera stopped at the girl who was busy dumping clothes. Her curly brown hair were tied in pigtails and her cheeks had the red colour of spirit and excitement. Her fishy eyes opened and closed without staying anywhere, but the black tiny eyeballs- as they moved hither and thither- had tinge of elation and happiness in them. Her fingernails were painted in colours of pink and purple which often ran above to scratch her hair but not in thought and her other hand moved above to rub the head of sweat which was not there. She stopped and the camera which was just a dreamless blue eye flickered with a higher speed. A shrill voice ran through the air and made the eye stumble- ‘ Maya! Come here and have your breakfast!’.


Maya rubbed her head fiercely and ran out of the room. The eye emerged out from behind the bedpost, not without the appearance of an image of a short girl applying some goo at the bedpost. It settled in front of the wardrobe. The camera had a special ability. It could look at anything and conjure up images related to that thing. The image could be any memory. Memory was information. With the exception of very few memories, most could be produced. For a memory, however lost in the mist, remained stored in some compartment of the mind. It was not difficult to navigate. The camera settled before a pink t shirt that was strewn across the floor. Maya had dropped it when her mother called her. Strong geoseptic rays-strong signals-were coming from it. The camera ‘s eyeball turned violet as it focused on the t-shirt absorbing the rays. It focused on the  mark of ink near the bottom of the t-shirt. An image flowed before the camera- and in a memory beckoned.

Maya was 5 and holding a pen. Her eyes were staring ahead and her brows were shot up. She was holding a pen- a pilot pen and sunlight came through the windows lightning up her eyes even further. Drops of ink were falling from the pen at a paper resting below it and she looked scared. The image vanished and another came- the eye turned and focused on a large brown mark which had discoloured. Maya was bending down pushing the bottom of her t-shirt towards her knee. The part of the t-shirt was red.

 The camera focused on all the odd shades, marks, blotches, as small as dots and even tears at some places. It turned vigorously.  Memories- images flew across the eye -maya eating a burger, in maya falling down the pavement, maya falling down with her bicycle- it was a pink Hero bicycle-, maya chewing the cloth of her t-shirt while eating, maya dancing with her eyes closed, maya snoring and saliva dripping out of her mouth- her hand gripping the bedpost, maya holding a knife and standing with a woman in what appeared to be a kitchen , maya holding a blue ball pen and drawing behind an advertisement, two little girls in kitchen touching the knife.

In some pictures she wasn’t there at all. When it was just water and bubbles. The images moved with a high speed and

The camera stayed still as pictures flashed before it even before they could be read. The t-shirt had strong geoseptic signals which meant strong memories which meant that people still remembered some of  them  very strongly while they were stored inside.

‘ Thank you mommy!’ a frantic voice ran in the air and Maya was returning back. The camera turned and  took a look at the knob of the door as it turned and another image flashed before it a brief image which flickered out very soon. A man bent in front of the door.

The camera blinked and hid behind the bedpost and waited. Maya closed the door as she entered and strode ahead to her wardrobe scratching her hair. The t-shirt came before her feet and she looked at it. The camera blinked at her from the bedpost. She picked up the t-shirt, and after moving it for some time, threw it into the jute bag.



~Kunjal Gupta.


‘ The Bench – A SHORT STORY’

An attempt to write something new… an attempt to gather attention… please read this story till the end.. Would love to know everyone ‘s views😃.( Anything simple will work the best!😅 Dont contemplate too much)




1.)    “ Did I ever stop to say I care?

When I didn’t seek to hear it to?

When you weren’t so sure that I ‘d be there,

Did I ever show love to you?

2.)    A wounded animal leaps with a broken leg.  It continues to do so until the pain eases. And fades away.

  Once, there lived a lively man named Robert. Robert Gupta. He started his Monday like every other person. He ate his breakfast, a half-made sandwich like many office goers. Often, cursed at the traffic and people. because they are existing to be cursed at.. and different varieties in that… His grudging boss who called him in hours, non-applicable hours..  even while driving home he would connect his device to his car system… Afterall to catch up to next day at office. Like every other being, once in his life.. he could not be the master.. He was a servant to his colleagues… who wanted to hear a joke from his self occupied self,… the inalienable nature of his boss was to annoy and by agreeing to be annoyed and giving up his precious time, he was a self-conscious servant.. Serving others though, is not always at diffidence to onself.. one ‘s health and one’s pleasures… He was a servant of love afterall.  Self desired.. self-made self groomed love. Love imploring for more to happen.  An assiduous engineer, because he struggled for a pay raise, made a fool of himself every time he showcased himself before his love. That is how it is called? Or who is called. My love.


But more than that, drifting away from the myopic scope, just like all others he was a servant of life.. And sometimes, no always.. you can’t dictate life to plunge down there rather than attacking at the exact point.. 


And there once lived such a  lively man.. lively because he remained active in the worst ( boss, office, job, pay raise) and of course he was an active onlooker, a participator at the best life still offered him.

It has been two years. Robert stares at his bed post, and turns off the alarm of his phone. It has been longer than anticipated.. 6.AM. Robert goes inside to freshen himself… Life must take a turn..  Robert, his shoulders shrugging, turns to apply paste to his brush. He does not look up at the mirror. He prefers to keep his identity reverted to his phone. But that too will run out of interesting stuff sooner or later. It’s a Sunday. But this man has risen himself up at his office’s alarm. With nothing better to do, he goes into the kitchen to make coffee for him.. A picture of him and Pia is there at the kitchen wall as he works. But he seems too tired to react to some “subversions”, some distractions of his past life and melt down and cry .   Yet Robert declares himself enslaved…  He declares everyday..

Its 10a.m and still a Sunday..  Locking the door behind him, he turns to walk ahead and coughs in the winter air. He does not speak until he has reached his destination.. it’s a fountain. A beautiful fountain which is producing water and reflecting some of the sunlight as it splashes down around it. Its hard to find such a sight.  And Robert the only onlooker seats himself before the fountain over an iron wrought bench and he settles himself down.

‘Hello Rob what brings you here’, an old man wearing a heavy coat and groggy glasses not too fastly, calls to Robert. It is more of a greeting and less of a question. The old man seats himself beside his Sunday companion and Robert passes him a smile in return..

‘Nothing just the usual uncle’ Robert says in reply.

‘Just the usual?’, the old man pushes his stick forward. ‘A fine man like you must be engaged at this hour. I find this peculiar and rather very embarrassing for yourself!’

‘ Engagements are proposed. And I am too short of proposals’, Robert says smiling, looking at the old man.

‘Your smile seems rather toothed though’ the old man tweaks a tone and stares at Robert with fake accusing eyes.

 ‘So where did we leave?’

‘Ahh at the point when you were to tell me about your engagement with the girl,’  Robert exclaims. These days the  only surety he is aware of was a  cliff-hanger from someone else ‘s story.

Oh, oh yes! The girl. The engagement did not happen though.’

Robert turned sharply and asked ‘Why?’

‘ You see I had approached her too soon.. or maybe we weren’t meant to be together. That is what I think, sitting here. But that time I was enraged inside, overpowered by a tremendous sadness. Afterall she left me.’

‘She d-‘,

‘Oh no not like what happened to you. But very similar to your case. She left me for another person.. another guy’

The old man continues hitting his stick to the ground,’ Alright he had a good nose.. good nose… maybe that is afterall.. yes! She left a fine chap. It was purely her loss.. She left me after all’ 

‘ You must have been sa- ‘ Oh sad I was.The old man jumped, maybe realising he was approaching too fast,’ The guy had good features. Ok. I agree he was affluent. What did I have then? A struggling folk into some ‘business’. I still remember him though… never thought this bad from him.. , the man grinds his stick to the ground.

‘ Oh too sad… too sad..’ the old man says as he reverts to Robert ‘ I had befallen down.. I felt dejected. I felt the greatest remorse of the world.. I felt an itching sadness beside my bed.. I felt bad.. terrible.. ‘

‘And?’, Robert asks. In an urgent tone he asks for more.

‘ And wasted.. that was it! Yes the worst feeling ever it gave to people around.. to me it brought nothing.’

The old man continues, ‘ But I was fortunate enough to be guided by some event and realised it sooner than later.. I felt why is it my fault? Why do I have to curse myself for not being rich to be not born with a silver spoon..  Moreover, It is as if I am cursing my parents more than myself… And strangely Robert, though I was expected to- . Robert is looking at the old man but with  a quite strange expression as the next will flow out of the old man. Robert ‘s mouth forms an oval ‘O’

Pia is looking at him, her fists clamped down over her lap and saying ‘ You enjoy this don’t you. This.. feeling of numbness.. feeling of doing nothing.. approaching nothing.. trying nothing new.. because new always tends to bring struggles.’

‘So’  Pia continues waving her hand ‘ you enjoy this na… You don’t have to do anything.. You just blame it on what has happened to you.. You don’t kiss the picture on the wall and cry every night.. You have already lost the feeling.. So why acting so numb? Why making me feel the accused one. Didn’t I give you enough love to show’. Robert though breaks the illusion, thinking some illusions are meant to be broken.

‘To put in you some deal, Didn’t she Robert, in you?The old man is speaking. Robert nods, suddenly disturbed by a new type of headache.

To see each and every relationship in a new way?the old man asks with concern full on his face. He pats Robert. Robert looks around at the sudden turn of events and talks.

‘ Love is what life has to offer.. don’t destroy your life from having it Rob. Don’t make yourself unnecessarily burdened and tied to your past. You also have a present… ,  the old man smiles at Robert who looks flustered..

‘ What happened to you’, Robert blurts out at the old man.

‘I see … you want an ending..  Maybe I said all that too soon. Aging people can  hurry with the plot climax.. an ending. He chuckles exclaiming  ‘ Like the moral of the story before the story itself.’

He continues, ‘ After she had broken off the plan of engagement, and since I was in my car, I had to revert my vehicle to a different destination. It was uncalled for.. so I swirled and swirled, tidied up the roads, took turns back,.. and tried to find a new destination… because all of it, He presses ‘ was uncalled for.’

 So, I spent some whole months.. dejected.. wasted . Smelled puffs of cigarettes. I made regular excavations to a pub.  Did not sleep… awaited nothing..  woke up  everyday to be afraid to look at my reflection.., The old man sighs and stops’ existed without meaning.’ What more do you want to know?’ he says sharply and Robert looks at him with some familiarity uncalled for..

‘ He says, ‘ Life had been beautiful with your auntie though. ’

‘At some place. Call it a bench if you may.  I befriended someone… Someone old.. you see old people have a perspective..  I changed.. Not completely but yes I did…’ Robert looks at him flustered and gets up from the bench.

‘ But I did change.. the main aspect of me did change..  and I want the same to happen to you.. You come everyday and sit on the same bench. When people arrive at the same place, they are either arriving for someone’

Robert had already taken big steps away from the bench. Accusation runs sharp in his eyes for the old man who elicited some names out of him.. to lecture him sometime.

‘Robert’, the old man called. Robert turns out of habit.

‘People arrive at the same place every day, they come about for two reasons, either to wait for someone to arrive, waiting for the arrival of something sure- Robert turns to go away. ‘ Hear the old man! The phrases don’t come everyday’. Robert stops as well.

The old man continues, ‘Or they demand some answers of their own, unsure of the question they want to ask.’

‘ But I see a question in you. Whether or not?  and according to an old man who believes he has some perspective I believe, don’t accuse her. Start anew.’ But Robert walks away.

‘You are not entitled to this bench.’, the old man shouts and starts feeding the ducks. 

And the recipients are enveloped under a beautiful morning despite their mood. Afterall, the sun can never stop to present itself before us.



3.)    ‘ I feel like blaming myself. But you tell me the reason.’

                                THE END.







And i guess that is the end. i felt it needed an uplift or twist here and there. but some ends do not require a twist do they? Btw this is kunjal. I honestly dont know how it is.😅 But khushi, my best friend and partner really liked the style in it( i got a good inspiration from someone’s blog/blogs)

But for all i want to know,😅 ( and cool my curiosity) how was it?

See you guys in the next post…!! and check out a form that we had created in a previous post of ours here.. Do fill it guys! its for everyone!

SOME LATEST POSTS( In case you missed):



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Image source: https://www.thehomesteady.com/.a/6a017ee3c48414970d01901bb88b76970b-600wi


   ‘Have a great day! Didn’t you check these sweets out? They are freshly baked rich oil! Oh, madam you are a beauty. This colour will suit you the best’

 Shopkeepers bestowed the passers-by with plethora of compliments, disappointment flayed when they got to knew that people just came in to check out. “What Madam! You wasted our time”, the shopkeeper would scoff. The MANOJ SAREES shop was tucked between two other SAREE shops, and a perfect round of competition was full on.  A light shri Ram bhajan could be heard from the shop. It was anything but hidden in the night, lit by strips of different colours of tiny LED lights, the difference due to the switching colours from red, yellow, blue and white and a big yellow bulb shined above the threshold, thronged over by people in and out. The look was perhaps synonymous to Diwali that day. The fluttering lights symbolising the switches and chiaroscuro from dark to white and the immortality of another light, one which is always there, hidden away from us, right at the centre.

The shop looked majestic.

 A red Toyota car came and stopped near the market, and polished shoes, emerged out as the door opened.  In the streams of purple and blue the gentleman entered the shop in a heavy brown coat. He carried a languid grin on the face sweetened by a slight petite dimple on the other cheek.  Uncertainty flayed in his eyes as he moved towards what was supposedly a women’s saree shop.  Maybe for many such unsure commuters, shopkeepers are always on the cue, ready to remove their confusion with their profound knowledge, because the very next moment the shopkeeper and with his nurtured round belly grinned and beckoned the gentleman in. 

‘Tyohaar hain tyohaar. Yaha pe aapko badiya saree mil jaygee! Suna hain bagal waali shop mein toh ghatiya kapde ki saari bechi jaa rahi hain. loot maccha rakhi hain. (Today is the festival. You will get really good sarees here! I have heard that in the other shop beside it, bad cloth is being sold. The people are being looted away.’ The shopkeeper crunched his face and said.

He continued ‘ I have just heard and informed you. And you didn’t tell me what is your wife’s favourite colour?’

The man finally answered ‘No I am not married. It is for um  a neighbour.’

“A neighbour?’

‘Yes, she is old and can’t visit these shops on her own. The man remembered and continued ‘But she loves to dress up’

‘Arey, so why didn’t you tell me before’. 

You didn’t allow me to say, thought the gentleman, Ramesh.

‘She would love sarees then. Appreciate it better than anyone. In our time women wore only sarees, not what we have today. Graced men’ he nodded and shook his head .

‘See you must tell her about this shop. And about what I had told you before you know…’ Sure, she would love some ramble. He shuffled behind for what seemed like 10 minutes ‘Ah! This one. Red orange texture. Having a nice border. Jute silk saree. Take it. She must be having a matching red blouse’

Left with no other choice Ramesh chose the colour and stood up with the shopkeeper towards the cash counter.  ‘Old women like to dress up young.’ The shopkeeper said as Ramesh was leaving.


After his purchase, Ramesh hurriedly walked out in the night and in a similar fashion into his car, and drove off. ‘Diwali is today, and I must surprise her’ Ramesh thought while driving. The night encompassed thin layers of blue and black dominated over by a blaze orange. Suddenly, you could see the red Toyota parked near the iron wrought gate.  A strip of lights was haphazardly placed over the gate. Ramesh approached the door, in a bit of wonder and looking down sheepishly rang the doorbell. 

Black chappals came visible,  below black coloured pants a brown shirt, and a perched oval face bearing a grim serious expression for a wise old man. After some time though, Ramesh realised the serious expression was because of something else entirely.

Ramesh asked excitedly ‘How is she, Ba? I have bought her a nice dress to wear too! she will be so happy!!’

Yes she will be. Certainly.

Ramesh waited for the man to say something. Beckon him in. He felt sheepish that day. After so many long unmet days.

‘so, what are we doing standing here. Let us go inside!’ Ramesh squeaked a tone.

The old man finally his neat demeanour giving up, teared up. Seeing Ramesh ‘s confusion, he pushed his head under his collar and tried to clean his tears. But failed. ‘She is unwell. ‘He loudly spoke in a throaty voice and started sobbing.

Ramesh couldn’t believe it. ‘She must have a bit of fev- ‘

‘SHE HAD A HEART ATTACK LAST WEEK’ the old man cleared. Sensing Ramesh ‘s shock he added ‘And… she is alive, but it feels as if she has lost her will to live. Lost herself. She doesn’t talk much. To me. She has changed entirely.’

‘That is why I called you. Before leaving, you had been close to her. Very much. This is an old man ‘s last attempt. I want to see her recover into her old self. Even if people expect old people to have lost energy already. So, you would stay here?’

The old man again asked ‘You would stay here, right?’ He thought the kid was shocked, and sad to hear the sudden news.

‘Hah!’ Ramesh said. An affirmation?

Ramesh walked in with an unusual attire on his face. There were no decorations, nothing. He put the jute bag on the mahogany table in the centre of the room.

And then started backing away slowly. From the room. He made his way and the old man confused asked ‘Aren’t you going to meet her? aren’t you gonna do what you always do. Talk to her.’

Ramesh, his beady eyes distraught again iterated a ‘Hah!’ just started backing away and when finally, he could feel the entrance behind himself turned and started walking out.

The old man finally understood what it was! He  waited for him to move towards his car to come back only  with his luggage. Of course.

 He didn’t though. He didn’t turn. He went towards the car but didn’t move towards the rear. He moved towards the front wheel, and didn’t look back as he started searching his pockets sitting inside.

 ‘WHERE ARE YOU GOING YOUNG MAN?’, the old man called. Confused.

Ramesh looked around. The old man did have a very loud voice..

Sensing people, he turned and approached the old man . And hugged him. And spoke loud enough as well ‘Have a nice day dear uncle! And take care Aunty!’ uncle replaced Ba..He thrusted the the Ganesha gift card into his hands and walked away. Swinging a melody Ramesh started the engine.  And the car roared and in no time went away. The old man looked at his occupied hands

‘I have many of these’.

And the gift prolonged into darkness as the door of the house creaked and closed.

” Some things become too old for us.”