The old woman dropped her purse as she fell, spilling its contents all over the sidewalk. He rushed to help her, stopping short when he saw the back gun under the purse. He was surprised to see an old woman, frail as her, brandishing a pistol. “What’s the world coming to, or has already come to,
Lokmanya Tilak Terminus, 10.51 am. He nervously looked at his watch, fingers beating a tattoo on it. The weather was sultry. His collar was damp, with sweat trailing and pooling in the waistband of his trousers. The tracks appeared to melt in the haze of the oppressive, crowded station. The weather wasn’t the only reason,
The footsteps sounded closer, I ran through the empty corridors, my heart pounding. I turn a corner, stopping short. I’ve reached a dead end. A locked door on the left resists as I try to jam the knob. It’s dead like my love life. I stop to catch my breath, panting, my lungs on fire.
Disappointment is a bankruptcy of the soul… “No, it’s not possible this weekend, Vanhi. My work commitments don’t permit me to take the time off. I hope you understand.”, he said, not raising his head from the laptop. “Okay. I’ll let Sana know about our change of plans.”, she said, keeping her voice and expression
“Hello, my lovely people, I’m Simba, a dog and this is my, and my human, Shivani’s story about our fight against domestic abuse. We suffered, mentally and physically at the hands, and fists, and feet of Sunil. But Shivani, tired of the abuse, revolted, and decided to … wait, I get ahead of my story.