"My partner is so much like me, yet I fight with her..
Because sometimes I need to fight myself. "































































"Madam, so for the record, can you please summarize the speech again?" asked a bespectacled reporter hunched in the corner and overshadowed by the camera flashes. He did not expect 'Madam' to hear him in the midst of the cacophony of questions but she did. Maybe because the other reporters were asking more personal questions and she wanted to avoid them.
As the lift doors closed, he looked at her with lust-filled eyes. Though he had a wife who filled his heart with love, he could not stop thinking of her. For days at end he tried to get over that attraction. But seeing her in office everyday only served to invigorate his fantasies.
He was having a stressful morning and could not focus on his work. As was his usual practice he decided to browse the Net and watch some news to unwind himself. But the breaking news of the day was incidentally not a joyous one.
My baby nephew came up to me crying one morning. He had tripped on the carpet and knocked his elbow on the sofa. He was apparently in pain and blamed the sofa for it. He wanted me to do something about it. Instantly I walked over to the sofa and kicked it couple of times, at the same time shouting a few warnings about not harming the kid anymore. Seeing that the nephew smiled. I think he was satisfied. The pain did not matter anymore.
B was not the usual academician. He loved to teach, not to lecture. In the class, he was a king, who demanded attention of his students and nothing more - attention not towards the board, which frequently got them bored, but towards the unified mind that he was trying to build inside the room. He did not care so much about asserting his authority over the subjects he taught as much as interacting with the shine in the eyes of the subjects that populated his classroom. It was the light in the eyes of the students, he would say, that lit up the path ahead of him.
Three of her sons: her Three Musketeers. And musketeers they indeed were: setting out at dawn, traveling far and wide, hunting, gathering, foraging - doing what was expected out of good sons - until it nearly wore them down, and then returning home, tired and famished, to snuggle up in their mother's warm blanket. Puppy musketeers!
It was his day off from work. He always took his off on a weekday, while the rest of his mates were at the office, so that he could enjoy an undisturbed visit to his favourite hangout: Big Momma's strip-club. The usual routine was to stand by the bar and watch ladies pole-dance. Each lady had a price tag, that was usually her 'starting price'. Once a particular lady was chosen, the client would write his price and send the note over. Whoever quotes the highest price would get to go for a "private time" with her.
Radhumai watched the television with a little more attention than usual. Normally she sat the whole day crouched in front of the idiot box either cutting vegetables or sewing torn clothes. The television ran mostly in the background while she focused on her errands and spoke to the maid in the kitchen. Today she was squeezing cotton swabs into wicks for her lamp. They were showing scenes from the Gadhimai festival - countless rows of cows being beheaded by volunteers with one swish of their sword for each head. The scenes amused Radhumai.