Hello,
I am including here part of a story written by me. If you have liked my style, I would commit myself towards working on your articles.
Wishing you good luck,
Ajit
It was a dark, cool, rainy night of an early monsoon season and I was deep in sleep when, I had a jolty, dready awakening by the thundering sound of a bustling bolt. In those days of maximum atmospheric saturation, my little boobish brain was chokingly saturated with stories of faulting kids getting struck by lightning that lay in ambush undercover of the gloomy clouds scudding across the rumbling sky. My thoughts wandered off to Kuttan. “The celestial prowler lurking about in the rainy clouds must have had a go at Kuttan, ”, I thought, “he might get punished for biting my brothers fingers that went bleeding, for snatching the laddu off my hands after gobbling up his own, for having got my best friend Babu Raj slithered and slumped into the muddy sludge, for having smudged my school uniform with his dirty fingers and for messily swamping everyone with his playful ravings that make them go bonkers – all these, in the span of a few hours that we spend with him, the last evening”. Until recently, it was he who spend his time with us since I was least interested in him. However, certain events, had of late reverted that trend and had me occupied with him with renewed interest, of course, with enthusiastic reciprocation.
Kuttan was a little boy who had of late shifted to Tevara along with his parents from the suburbs of Ernakulam. He was of my brother’s age who was four. I was elder to them by three. He lived in a hut thatched with palm leaves that lay close to our house. Situated on the banks of the river, it overlooked the entire length of the bustling Vendurthy bridge at the far away distance, having at its backdrop the Cochin Shipyard in the nearer side and the Naval dockyard on its further end. Scores of swishing planes and swirling helicopters from the nearby military base get a clear viewing from this side of the river bank. After sunset, the silhouettes of the grand man-made structures, the glint of ripples in the brimming river and the glimmer of far away lights, red and yellow, have remained a priceless mental framework intact and vivid in all its details. The rattle of leaves in the gentle breeze seems to be the only occasional hindrance to the serenity that pervades the ambient atmosphere hedged by mango trees and parasoled by coconut palms. The ambience so created, is disturbed as usual, by the monotonous slurring that gets louder as Kuttan’s drunken father bumbles his way to the hut. After that, its all bang, bump, bash, bummer and topsy-turvy. In the meanwhile, I and my brother do-the-bunk for-the-better.