Successful Suhani settled down on the couch with her favorite coffee mug and â€˜The Monk who sold his Ferrariâ€™ a self-help book.
The commotion at her heart was too much. She closed her eyes to relax them for two minutes.
Letâ€™s take them to the police; cried uncle Sam. His wife was in â€˜Durga avatarâ€™ looking down on her mother as Shit. Little Suhani and Dev were scarily holding their mom tight. Who will save them from the accusations of being a thief? Why did papa left us so early?
Her reverie broke feeling momâ€™s hand on her forehead..
The alarm buzzed at midnight. Kamya and Kul were asleep. It had been a long day. Kamya had lost her examination card only to find it in her bag; Kul had a cold.
My mind was throbbing. Having nothing new to imagine, I opened my diary, and fixed myself a mug of coffee.
â€œForget the kids for a week. This is your chance to get published!â€
My thoughts wandered and stopped at the acrylic painting on the mug â€“ Kamyaâ€™s creation at 3. My ink was ready to flow, the next instant, â€œWhen the ant stepped out of the paintingâ€¦.â€
Maria trudged into her daughterâ€™s room, still bright and airy as ever.
A book with its pages flapping.
A half drunk cup of Bournvita.
Her daughter had topped every exam. Including the one she just wrote.
How then, did she fail the one life put before her?
Tears streamed uncontrollably, falling into the cup; creating ripples; crashing into each other.
Maybe it represented the chaos of the opinions of others,
A storm in a cup.
And then, she saw it all slowly fading away
The ripples they created have now faded into nothingness
Sheâ€™s finally calm now.
The clock hits two. The entire town is fast asleep, adding ingredients into it's vessel of dreams. Vishal was up with his buddy, a cup of coffee in his hands. The next morning will bring the last exam of his college life. A book lays open on the table,which is kept unread for past an hour. He is staring blankly at the cup, thoughts are filling up his mind. Is it a new beginning, or is it going to an end of his childhood? Or is it just like the half empty cup, which is still half full?.
Note book : "Dad, I am leaving with my love and we are getting married".
Staring at the note, he had suffered a nervous breakdown. But eventually he overcome it and picked up the broken pieces of leftover life.
The cup hand painted by her,for Fathers day make him so happy.He give away all the other things belonging to his daughter while retaining the cup.
It reminded him of good times.
Now he is only waiting for the doorbell to ring.....
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"Look ma, I made this," beamed her daughter.
"It's lovely," she said.
It was always made her happy to see her daughter achieve these weekend DIY goals. With deteriorating health, massive hair fall and plummeting grades, it was only art that kept the smile alive.
Today, she flipped the pages of her memory book while sipping coffee from the last piece of art created by her. It had been long since the little one sought appreciation.
"Why did she agree to play that stupid board game in the first place?", she pored over a book and mused.
Coffee mug in hand, she tried to relax.
A slight knock could be heard at a cabinet; wait there was someone locked up inside. On second look, there was nothing out of the way, except an Ouija board stacked in a bundled cloth.
The damage was done, the devil inside wished to come out..
Not all people are meant to last forever in our lives. Not all stories are entitled to have an ending.
Our lives are complete in incompleteness.
It was a similar rainy evening when she gifted me the coffee mug â€“ her first attempt at doodling.
All of us live with our past. All of us allow expectations to shape our future.
But, some of us know how to shrug the past. I think that is who I am.
The phone rang. It was her. I turned the screen off and resumed my reading, intermittently sipping from the unfinished coffee mug.
â€œMama we started learning ceramic painting at school todayâ€! Exclaimed an exhilarated Seher, filling Ayeshaâ€™s heart with pride. â€œYouâ€™re a championâ€, Ayesha had said kissing the 5yr oldâ€™s soft tiny hands.
â€˜Seherâ€™s 1st ceramic painted mug gifted to me!â€™
Reading these lines from her diary made Ayeshaâ€™s eyes well up quicker than she realized.
â€˜My dear little Picasso! This morning mama drinks from your mug again, 3 years since that fateful day when you left us forever..HAPPY 6th BIRTHDAY love.â€™
Read the moist diary pages as Ayesha finished her morning tea, rising to leave for work.
She was delighted to find a fresh mug of coffee and the diary as she walked into the room. It was her favorite thing to do in the morning, read the old diary while sipping a hot cup of freshly made coffee. She loved reading about herself.
Meanwhile, he cleaned the kitchen after making the coffee and thought to himself, â€œItâ€™s a good day to write. Publishers are pushing the deadline to finish the book. This one has to be a page-turner.â€ As he turned toward the coffee table he saw the pages of the diary flickerâ€¦ slowly.
Best time is when you spend time with your own self. Revamping, Loving, Pampering, Analysing yourself at ease. Its the time in middle of your coffee and book when you get deep into thoughts and dive in to some different world of yours, where its you and nobody else around. This time comforts you, pushes you near towards your mission of life for which you are here, though you get all negative feels but your positivism surpasses it at this time and you get motivated. .
He sipped coffee and wrote gleefully into his journal.
I remember the day you gifted me this DIY cup. You told me that the direwolf on it was your childhoodâ€™s only friend, Lady. The bitch made you feel safe, just as I do. You left, when I professed my undying love for you. You may never read this. So, I will put this message in a bottle and throw it in the ocean because I left some pieces of you in it. Others, I fed to Ladyâ€™s pups. Because I love you. All of you.
For a woman, motherhood brings the feeling of being complete.
I never met another woman like my mother, she was a super woman. She was not a friend, but never disappointed me when I wanted an advice or rest my head upon her shoulders. I remember those late night study sessions when mum used to stay awake with me. The milk glass turned into coffee cup with time, she always did it silently. The sacrifices, she did then now I realize after becoming a mother. I can see myself in my daughter and my mother in me.
Can I be whole again or who I used to be? It was for me to accept that my role would always be limited. I could choose to leave or wait until, the never ending chaos I bury into falling and failing ended. And it did but I didnâ€™t. I deserved better but he wonâ€™t give me the dignity of a goodbye either. I picked my pen to peace-
Tanvi popped as an angel and whispered, â€œYou donâ€™t have to forget. Carry a part of the pain but not all. Enough to make you write well.â€
"You know its Thursday right? I hope you have written."
"You know me. I write only after the world sleeps."
"Don't fall asleep without writing. It's been a few weeks now."
"Thanks for reminding. I won't."
She looked forward to his stories. He couldn't tell her he was having nightmares. His block was haunting him. An empty diary and an empty cup of coffee; they just wouldn't fill up.
He woke up with a start. He had spilled the coffee. The diary lay open....
"Ok class, for your today's assignment you have to write a narrative on this image."
"...and she dreamt the tortoise who loved music, had turned into a three headed dog. Why, that was it! The missing character."
"...the missing journal was key to the decryption. He missed his pipe. Darn it, Watson, he thought as he looked at the empty cup and scribbled some more."
"Double your money! Double your money! Double or nothing! He said, fiddling with the coffee-mug that held the dice. The diary was his con ledger."
She could now choose the best and submit it..
Mona stared at the mug, that last remnant of them. She wondered why she'd kept it all along on her table, even though it looked so horribly out of place. Her way of holding on to the past.
Well, not anymore. Oops, she muttered, as she carelessly let it drop, watching it shatter into a hundred shards.
Later, when picking up the pieces, she admitted to herself, some things were best left broken..