How Many Suns Are There?

“You lie. I will never believe you again,” Omar tells me.

“No Omar. I never lie, it’s too complicated for me.”

“Of course, you do,” Omar says defiantly.

Now I want to know about the lie which has ruined my credibility in Omar’s eyes.

“You said there is just one sun.”

“So? There is one sun.” I breathe easy. Sure this misunderstanding is easy to fix.

“I went to grandma’s house and there was one sun too. And there was one in my school too,” Omar looks at me accusingly.

“Omar, it is just….err there is actually one sun that we see everywhere. It is just that ….”

“You are a liar,” Omar cuts me short and leaves the room.

No, this is NOT easy to fix. I will remain a liar in Omar’s eyes for a few years to come.

Comments

How Selfishia got Rid of Her Feathery Moustache

Selfihsia the selfish hen was unhappy. And understandably so. After all, having a feathery moustache is not the same thing as having a new hairdo or a brand new dress from a well-known boutique. She couldn’t flaunt it. It didn’t make her feel beautiful. It didn’t even make her feel like an ordinary hen with a few feathers missing. She felt feathery at the wrong places and this made her sad. One day when she was crying and looking at her reflection in the puddle of water near the grapefruit tree, Kayseria strutted toward her. “Selfhisha, I have clucked at the thought and have finally come up with a solution,” she said. All the hens had been thinking about Selfishia’s moustache for a while now. There had been five meetings under the grape fruit tree to get Selfishia out of her predicament. “Really!” Selfisha clucked loudly with hope. Hearing Selfishia’s loud cluck the others came trotting and gathered around her. When the cluck cluck of exci...

Napoleon and His Family in the Land of Lilliputians

As Napoleon the rooster traveled in the white Suzuki pickup van that was taking him to the Land of Lilliputians, he wondered. Yesterday, he along with the five hens who now cackled in the van were put in a separate basket. They were sold to the Lilliputians. Napoleon looked at the five hens who were now under his guardianship. “What a diversified lot,” he thought. Somebody cackled in soft purring tones. He knew it must be Chandni , the eldest, the prettiest of the hens. She was snowy white with black dots. Yes, there she was, sitting snugly near the window; oblivious to the world around her except the warm egg which she had just laid. Chandni was good at it: laying eggs day after day. “The ever maternal Chandni,” thought Napoleon and smiled indulgently at her. However, at times it irritated him that Chandi treated her eggs as if they merited a pride of performance award. “As if this is the only act of creativity in the world! But then this is a hen...

Writer’s Life

Smitten with the written word is he. But this is not entirely an innocent love that shuns all thoughts of material gains. Omar’s love for the written word has a smattering of worldly motives. More than a smattering in fact. It all began when Omar decided to copy every book in the world. “I want to build my own library,” he told me.” “Why don’t you buy them?” simpleton that I am, I always fail to decipher Omar’s deeper motives. “I want to write my own books. And it will save money.” “But this is not writing, this is copying somebody’s work.” I have already admitted to not being very sharp. “I am writing. This is my handwriting .” Considering the finality in Omar’s tone, I decide not to wax eloquent on plagiarism. A chicken-hearted simpleton. Not very flattering! Thus a couple of stories are written . And here ends the first phase of the writer’s life. It is with swarming thoughts and plans of getting rich and famous that the secon...

Land of Lilliputians

Search This Blog