First blog post



Please watch this space for small stories as I like to say really small stories, and excerpts from my upcoming novel. I do not boast of possessing great literary skills but hope to write interesting enough to draw your attention and give you few pieces of heartwarming fiction. Please feel free to give opinions and insights.

Caution: The blog writer reserves the right over all the posts. Please don’t try to ‘get inspired’, copy, use, recycle, print or any other kind of plagiarism without prior approval. If you are a publisher, send me an email.

Yours truly

Dishwar Yamil



Before the Feast-Excerpts

Thousands had gathered for the feast of Mother Drishtavati which was being organized by the Chief Bhadrak. Carts full of men, women, and children started arriving two days before the day of the great feast. We were among the first few. Laakhan still had the limp but he was adjusting well with the one-eyed vision. As we were looking different from the gathered crowd of the Dishwars people, curious glances followed us everywhere we went. It was a matter of time before we were to be quizzed about our purpose in their great gathering. The time came soon enough when a lad, not older than twelve, came over to summon us. The chief Bhadrak had wanted to see the unknown twosome roaming around in his lands. The lad was showing us the way towards Bhadrak’s compound,  easily the largest in the hamlet. In the way, we passed in front of many small and big houses, mostly constructed by the timber logs and having thatched roofs. Surrounded by the lush green paddy fields and interspersed by the huge canopies of evergreen trees, this small village of the Dishwars had a very beautiful setting, as beautiful as anywhere in the south. Houses were big and small but all had compound walls surrounding them; neem trees were invariably towering over these walls, from within the compound, where they had been planted by the house owners or their forefathers. We kept our thoughts to ourselves while following the boy on our way to the house of chief Bhadrak, in the far eastern corner of the village, at some distance from the main settlement. The house of the chief was the biggest in the village; its boundary wall covered a huge area around the main building but had a much smaller wooden house sitting at the center. Made up of logs with sharply pointed upper ends, the wall around the Chief’s house was the only sign of any fortification in the whole village. Once inside the wall, the scene was nothing less than that of a carnival. Dozens of colourfully decorated carts had been parked on one side of the front yard and sturdy oxen with painted horns were there on the other side. Families had occupied the most of the remaining space with their makeshift tents. The boy guided us through the maze of tents and towards the main house. Once inside, a burly man relieved the boy and ushered us into an open gate, opening into a large windowless hall with a mud floor. The dim light inside the hall made me disoriented but Laakhan adjusted fast and greeted the middle-aged man sitting on a wooden platform towards our left. He had apparently sensed him as the person in authority. He was right; the man was Bhadrak, the hereditary chief of the Dishwars, the migrants from the north who had, generations ago, settled in the south.

Spy or fugitive?” the question was as direct as it could be and it unsettled my companion. Before they could sense his discomfort, I answered, “none–I am neither a spy nor a thief”

“What about the other?”

“He isn’t either–”

Bhadrak had a stocky frame but in the dim light inside the hall, his features were looking indistinguishable. Even his voice sounded very ordinary but with a certain rusticness to it. It was hard to guess what was going on in his mind and he was not in a hurry to share it either. After a few very anxious moments, he said again,” My people have told me that a one-eyed boy is on the run from Sinhdwar –”

“That’s me Chief,” Laakhan spoke without thinking of consequences.

It’s good that you have accepted”

“No point in hiding when I need your help — and shelter here–” Lakhan told his whole story to Bhadrak; but it drew no immediate response from him who perhaps was pondering over our conflicting statements. To be fair to him, he had no obligation to help. We were nothing more than the possible harbingers of trouble. Bhadrak would not have been much wrong even in handing us over to the men of Prince Abhirath. However, what we had gathered about him, made us hopeful of a more considerate decision.

“We are in no position to save you from the Prince. The moment  Prince Abhirath’s men come here looking for you, we’ll hand you over to them.But–”.At that moment, when Bhadrak took that pause, our hopes were  hanging with the last word he had spoken.’But’.

But we have a tradition of helping the needy. As per our traditions, you haven’t done anything wrong; so you can stay here”.

“Thanks,” both of us said simultaneously.

“But remember boy! You can stay only until the day soldiers reach here following you in these distant lands. Don’t expect us to fight for you then”

“I’ll remember.”

Bhadrak got up from the place where he was sitting and approached us. Putting a hand on my shoulder, he said, “For you, Mahibhoj soldier, I have a special assignment. “

Caution: All rights reserved over this post by the blog writer. Don’t indulge in plagiarism.

The Widow- Excerpts

Kumar Pal chose to remain silent on this . Prince Abhisar, the other prince, younger to Prasenjit, intervened this time,”Answer Kumar Pal what the queen mother is asking–you will not get many chances of a civil conversation later “ “ Now a cripple is threatening me,”Kumar Pal sneered at Prince Abhisar, mocking his impaired left […]

via Excerpts from the chapter–The Widow — This Is All Fiction

Excerpts from the Chapter-The Prince of the Rising Son

The cold desert night was even colder today. The riders of the Empire were provided with wood fire by the village folk. Till late in night, sounds of boisterous laughter kept coming from the camp where they were joined by many villagers including Jigmat. The tarak was brought and swallowed by the rowdy mix of […]

via Excerpts from the Chapter-The Prince of the Rising Son — This Is All Fiction

Excerpts from the Chapter-The Prince of the Rising Son

The cold desert night was even colder today. The riders of the Empire were provided with wood fire by the village folk. Till late in night, sounds of boisterous laughter kept coming from the camp where they were joined by many villagers including Jigmat. The tarak was brought and swallowed by the rowdy mix of soldiers and villagers. The laughter faded when the night had half passed.Slowly the silence spread throughout the desert like the winter mist. The wind had picked up and its howling was punctuating the spells of silence. He felt cold seeping into his soul, making it tough for him to breath. He woke up shivering. Brashchik had no way to find out whether his father was asleep or just feigning it. But he was awake, disturbed and agitated. The cold was increasing by every hour; reaching to the bones, it was numbing the senses. Worried for his father, he started a fire in the hearth. The fire flickered and dim light spread in the hut. He looked for his father in his cot. It was empty.

Father,” he called softly.

No reply came.

” Father” a little louder this time,” father ,where are you?”

” Stay inside son”

His father was outside their hut, Brashchik realized. Without bothering for his father’s advice, he joined him outside but with his favourite longsword in hand.

     Wrapped tightly in the sheep skin, the frail figure of his father was looking away in distance, in the direction where no soldiers had erected their tents. The mist had descended to the ground obscuring the vision beyond few feet. The cyclic wind was creating shapes out of the flowing mist, twisting and turning it in every direction. Still his father kept looking intently.

What are you doing here, father”

His father didn’t answer; he perhaps didn’t listen.Brashchik waited for him to answer but his father didn’t even look at him. Just when he was about to repeat his question, his father said,” Let’s go inside.”

       Brashchik didn’t bother to push his father for a reason and turned to go inside.His father followed him back in to the hut.

Why were you outside?”

” They are near”

“Who? ”

” them”, his father replied absentmindedly.

” Who father? Who is near”?

His father didn’t reply but fiddled nervously with his beard.

Father !,” Brashchik was losing patience.

We will leave this village with the first light,” his father ordered. He didn’t repeat his question but looked intensely at his father’s face.

You know them as Yamils”

” How do you know they are here father?”

“I just know,”  the pale face of his father had turned even paler; the fear drained blood out of his veins. He seemed to be making effort for gathering some courage. He didn’t want his son to see him as a coward.

They must be following the soldiers”  his father figured out.

Are they for real, father?”

” Yes but not seen for hundred years”


“We can’t live here any longer, this is their land now”

Brashchik found it hard to believe his father. It was too fantastic.

I am not going anywhere ,” he pronounced, “this is my home”

Before his father could answer,sound of berserk foot steps broke the silence.The sound grew louder till it reached their ramshackle door. The sound of footsteps was now replaced by the sound of jarred frantic breathing.

Please open-“

Before he could decide, his father got up and opened the door. A disheveled man fell inside.Brashchik bolted the door behind him.

What happened?” he asked.

A closer look revealed his uniform. Soldier! Suddenly, what  his father had said was making more sense. The man was petrified. Shivering more with fear than cold, he tried to speak but nothing came out of his dry mouth.Given some water, he spilled it on his tunic. The fear of death loomed before his eyes.The only words he said, before passing out, were,” Ddevilll…”

    They didn’t get much time to decide and were surprised when the fiendish sound appeared along with the sound of hooves,all around their hut.

    ” Wee coming in peace  o son and father……,” the voice was ghoulish but clear.

Things She Did For Love

                  They parked the bike at the start of the lane.Dimly lit by a solitary bulb in the protruding balcony of Gupta Ji, the narrow lane didn’t have visibility beyond few feet.The dim light of the sixty-watt bulb was further diminished by the hundred sixty voltage supplied by the UP Electricity Board.  Bhuppi stopped well before the place from where the arc of the light of Gupta Ji’s balcony started, but he had to go further, till the second last house in the right side of the lane. Moon was about to rise and she was waiting there. It was not clear whether Nimmi was influenced by Simran of DDLJ but she wanted to break her fast only after seeing her own Raj. Her Raj, twenty five year old Manish Maheshwari, son of a well to do business family, was equally in love with her. Love he had for her in plenty but it was the passion she brought in the relationship which defined their love story. The front of the house, they decided to meet, was vacant as it was under repair. The timing for meeting had to be perfect as Nimmi could manage hardly ten minutes outside her house, located in the same lane. But this was the fifth year for the karwa chauth and they had perfected the schedule. As always Bhuppi remained in the dark, keeping a hawk eye for any danger, and ready to create diversion long enough to allow them to slip. Danger was immense and law of probability was catching up with them. But all passed peacefully. They met and hugged and she broke her fast by taking a gulp of bisleri water from his hands. For her it was not the moon in the sky but the moon in her lane that mattered. She broke her fast well before the moon was seen by her both sisters-in- law. She reached the roof of her house in time to announce the rising of the moon to her bhabhies and mother. To avoid suspicion, she had spent whole day with her friend Nilotfar at the girls’ hostel of her college, on the excuse of group study. But her deadline to reach home was six thirty and she reached by six forty. Ten minutes late was not a big deal.With all these limitations, she had to break her fast fifteen minutes before the moon rise time but this much diversion didn’t matter when lives were at stake. Nimmi was daughter of Ratan Pal Malik, a local jaat leader and an influential person in the community.

    Manish was the eldest of the three brothers and a sister. Sister Reema being the youngest. Two brothers,  Aneesh and Aashu were the second and third progenies of Rama Kant Maheshwari, who once had a thriving business of hardware. The bad times befell  the family when the elder brother and partner of Rama Kant Maheshwari lost fortunes in spot trading, forcing the whole family into penury. Manish and Aneesh dropped out of school but ensured their younger brother and sister get the best of education. With enterprise of Manish and hard work of Aneesh, they established thriving small businesses of cement agency, hardware and a swanky upmarket cyber cafe. It was here at the cyber cafe that Nimmi met Manish and love blossomed with every session of internet surfing and every print out from the laser printer. Years passed away, Manish added a Mobile store by buying a shop adjacent to the cyber cafe. The rented rooms of Manish’ friends became their escape from the world. From graduation to post graduation, Nimmi got enrolled just to be able to see her love. When the Girl’s Post Graduate College had nothing more to offer her, she enrolled in private computer classes to learn basics of windows 98. News was first broken in the family of Manish. Though not well received, the resistance wasn’t much and neither it was violent. The only issue they had was the ego associated with the family of the ‘boy’. They, specially Manish’ father, expected the parents of Nimmi to come with the proposal. But Nimmi’s family lived in a different plane altogether. Love marriage that too outside jaats was blasphemy, punishable with death. Afterall family’s ‘honour’ rested with the conduct of the girl. But Nimmi was made of sterner stuff. She broke the news first to her younger brother. From younger brother to both sisters-in-law and to mother and through both elder brothers, the news reached her father, Chaudhary Ratan Pal Malik. She was ushered in front her father, terrorised by the prospects of unforeseen tortures, she was mentally ready to speak the truth and stand by her love, which she did when faced with the harsh grilling from her father. The ‘shameless girl’ deserved the two tight slaps she got after finishing with her version of the story. The .315 calibre rifle was loaded but the trigger was never pressed. Afterall  she was the only daughter in the extended family. But punishment was awarded in other forms; her outings were stopped, classes were barred and she was confined within the walls of the house. The idea of this exclusion suffered a big jolt with the cellular revolution of free incoming calls. The older sister-in-law sneaked the phone to her and the barriers were breached again. Few words from her love would lift her spirits and she would be ready to face another day full of taunts and contempt. Months passed and things started to look normal again; even Chaudhry Ratan Pal Malik started turning into the doting father he once was. The father daughter conversations were now fluent again after some initial awkwardness of monosyllabic question-answer sessions. She waited for an opportunity to speak to her father when he was in good mood. The opportunity came soon enough and her father gave a patient ear to her reasons and entreaties. But the ground sank beneath her feet when her father replied,”If you wish to marry that boy, be very clear that I’ll kill him without giving a second thought. “ She didn’t know what to say in response to this; her father wasn’t someone to make empty threats.” If you want the boy dead and your father in jail, go ahead and marry him,” her father concluded.It were not the words but the chilling smoothness of his father’s tone that sent a shiver down her spine, making her break into a cold sweat. But she was her father’s daughter and replied with equal nonchalance, “ Be very sure Papa that I’ll not hesitate  in killing  anyone you force me to marry.” They never talked again on the subject for years until that day. But before this happened, nine years had already passed. Lines were drawn. She was allowed to leave her home as usual and soon she started to see Manish again but she was not to raise the dreaded subject again. The truce lasted for nine years. The issue of her affair with Manish was never out of anybody’s mind but all behaved as if nothing had happened. The only reminders of discomforting issue were the vehement opposition from Nimmi whenever any attempt, no matter how feeble, were made by his family, mostly by the efforts of her mother who was getting skinnier everyday worrying about the future of her only daughter. Soon she was bypassed as her younger brother Pankaj also got married. Everything looked normal in the family except that the only daughter was now in mid thirties and unmarried. The unusual became usual by its acceptance over a long period of time. The other thing constant during these nine years was her steadfast commitment to the relationship which was reciprocated by Manish. He had settled well in his own business and was under pressure from his family to get married when all her siblings, including the youngest Reema, were got married. Soon the pressure from his own family and adamance of Nimmi’s family started affecting the stoic patience he had maintained for almost a decade . The continuous pestering from family now resulted in his easy irritability when he was with Nimmi. The young dreamy eyed couple of  the last decade were now worldly wise adults. The passionate love of twenties had now turned into an affection out of habit. Nimmi was sensing the restlessness inside her boyfriend  but despite all the commitment she couldn’t breach the unseen wall erected by her family. Then this happened. Nimmi was sensing a certain aloofness in Manish for last few days.She sensed that he was avoiding meeting her but she ascribed it to the increased family pressure being put on him. For last two days even his phone was switched off.She confided in her younger sister-in-law who in turn forced her husband to find out the reason of it. His brother made few phone calls. The reason of Manish’s phone being switched off was soon found out. It was what Nimmi had feared deep inside her heart but wasn’t ready for it. What the pressure from her family couldn’t do in nine years, this two bits of news did in moments. She accepted that she had been wrong all along.The acceptance created a void in her heart big enough to consume her in it. The world of hope she had created and nourished around her collapsed suddenly, leaving her bereft of any hope in the world. She felt lonely. The world looks a lonely place when you realise that you have invested so much in a cause which was nothing but a mirage; loneliness that is caused breaks you from inside. Nimmi had just realised that she had been chasing this mirage all these years.

       Ratan Pal Malik had never seen his feisty daughter so helpless. Lying on the ICU bed, the girl with the forlorn look was not the daughter he knew. Doctors saved her life by washing the pesticide out of her body but saving her spirit wasn’t possible for the medical science. The elder Malik didn’t know what to say to her daughter. The guilt was overwhelming his mind. Her daughter turned her head and looked at his face.”Sorry Papa,” she managed to say. Her father couldn’t face those  lost looking eyes of hers any more. He turned away and rushed out of the hospital. She couldn’t see the tears in his eyes.

    Out of the hospital, he rushed home. The .315 rifle was again loaded. But this time the whole clan was there. Harindar, Surendar, Rampal, Ajeet, Vickky, Pintu, Sunny, Bhura, Jeevan, Ajab Singh, Ronny and many more were summoned, few from town and even more from their ancestral village of Raeespur. Few had the licensed weapons but others came armed with the country made guns. Loaded in Mahindra Commander jeeps, Boleros and Sumos, they reached the house in the posh colony of Sanjay Nagar. Rama Kant Maheshwari was supervising the decorations for the evening function, the ring ceremony of Manish with a girl in his own caste. He was shocked to see the convoy of cars stopping in front of his house and was even more shocked to see the hardy armed men inside the vehicles. It took him few seconds to recognise Ratan Pal Malik as one of the occupant of the white Tata Sumo, parked at his gate. The elder Malik got down from the vehicle , sans his rifle, but others were indicated to remain inside their jeeps.

Without saying a word , Ratan Pal Malik greeted him with folded hands. Rama Kant Maheshwari didn’t speak eithere but nodded in reply to his greeting.The sexagenarian businessman understood the matter in moments but he waited for Malik to speak who took few moments to explain the purpose of his unplanned arrival,”You wanted the father of the girl to come with the proposal– “.

“Now?,” Rama Kant Maheshwari asked in a low voice.

Ratan Pal Malik knew that his sense of family honour had wasted a decade of two young lives but now he was adamant to save their remaining years.

I seek forgiveness for not keeping the happiness of our kids above my sense of family prestige–,” he explained.

Rama Kant Maheshwari kept mum for few seconds which looked like hours when the tension was hanging around in the air “. “Malik Sahab–the world can not run as per your wishes–,” he said firmly,”Now I can’t allow another family to be humiliated just because you have a change of heart after nine years”.

“Think again Maheshwari ji–my obstinacy wasted their nine years, yours might ruin their whole life,” Malik said , still folding his hands. He added,”I’ll seek forgiveness from the family where you have fixed the relation of Manish “

“Manish has agreed for the relation and will not turn back now–”

“Let him say it on my face”

“What if he says so on your face–”

Malik pondered over what Rama Kant Maheshwari had just said, but then spoke with a different, much harsher tone,” For nine years I wanted to kill him for wanting to marry my daughter but today I’ll kill him for not marrying her”

Before his father could answer, Manish rushed out of the house with other family members and relatives.

Uncle ji–,” he said.

The reply came in the form of a tight slap from ‘uncle ji’.

“Nimmi has consumed poison–”

“Is she–?”

“Not dead–at least physically”

“I never wanted to–,” Manish said as he looked at his father who looked away.

But the ice had melted. What couldn’t happen in nine years, happened in nine hours. The wall of ‘honour’ which looked impregnable for years was demolished in moments of emotional madness of a father. Ratan Pal Malik never saw her daughter happier in years when he appeared before her with Manish on his side. The doctor was against her being discharged from her hospital but she insisted and was discharged with a caution against exertion. But nothing could have affected her now, not even the possibility of medical complications. Everything was feeling like a dream; it was indeed a dream, dream which had come true. Deep inside she still feared that her father would change her decision anytime but her fear was unfounded. Chaudhry Ratan Pal Malik was a changed man. The marriage was hurriedly organised despite murmurs of disagreement from her father’s clansmen. Nine years were reversed in nine hours. Today, two years after her marriage, this picture was taken. The whole of Maheshwari and Malik families were in it with a new member, six months old Pammy– daughter of Nimmi and Manish, smiling in the lap of her maternal grandfather, Chaudhry Ratan Pal Malik, sitting proudly in the center with Rama Kant Maheshwari.

Caution: The blog writer reserves the right over this and other posts on this blog. Please don’t try to ‘get inspired’, copy, use, recycle, print or do any other kind of plagiarism, without prior approval. If you are a publisher, send me an email.


Excerpts from the chapter–The Widow

Kumar Pal chose to remain silent on this . Prince Abhisar, the other prince,  intervened this time.”Answer Kumar Pal what the queen mother is asking.You will not get many chances of  a civil conversation later “

Now a cripple is threatening me!”Kumar Pal sneered at Prince Abhisar, mocking his impaired left leg. Abhisar had a temper very unlike that of his elder brother .A Whole life of struggle on one good and one crippled leg had given him a handle on his emotions. His face remained impassive as if he had chosen not to hear the insults. But the queen spoke,” I have lost my husband and a son, the people have lost their king.” She wanted to say more in the same breath but the emotions came in the way.They were emotions of grief and rage.But she was the queen and didn’t approve of showing emotions in public. She put a lid on the volcano raging inside her heart.The queen must always be in control. But the brainwashed zealot was standing before her with not a strand of remorse. The punishment of the murderer and traitor Kumar Pal was a foregone conclusion.But she couldn’t allow him to die smug with a sense of martyrdom. The punishment should be exemplary for this man but before that, he must die a thousand deaths of shame and humiliation. It was hard for her to understand the motivation for this man but whatever it was,it  had overtaken his mind.How many more Kumar Pals are hiding in my Kingdom and how many in my palace–. The thought sent a chilling reminder of the danger lurking around her and her family.

“Everyone in this hall is also convinced of your complicity in the tragedy of Nameri. I lost my youngest and many families of Mahibhojas are grieving for the lost sons and brothers,” the queen said and paused to look for the reaction of Kumar Pal,he was indifferent. She continued, “ Speak now and tell us the names of your accomplishes else –”.Kumar Pal didn’t let the queen complete and burst out,”Don’t threaten me queen ,I won’t ever beg for my life.”

“No–you won’t Kumar Pal,” she replied,” you will beg for your death.”

It took few moments for Kumar Pal to understand what the queen had implied. He sensed that she had meant every word of it.

Take this traitor to dungeons and make him talk,” she ordered. Prince Prasenjit rose from his place to take command but the queen intervened,” Not you Prasenjit! Leave it for Abhisar  to handle.” . If Prasenjit was the sledge hammer, Abhisar was the sharp pointed chisel. Abhisar indicated the soldiers and they followed his unsaid command by dragging the prisoner by the rope he was tied with and moved to escort him out of the hall. As Kumar Pal turned to go, queen’s gaze met with his for a smallest of fraction of moment, she thought that she had seen something in them for the first time today.It was fear.

A Small Town Love Story

He knocked at my room’s door at four in the morning to ask for the immersion rod. After mumbling some unparliamentary words, the rod was given to him but with an instruction of not to return it any time soon. Taking immersion rod from his room was much better than getting the sleep disturbed at four in the morning. Next day, I saw him leaning over the uncovered pressure cooker that was placed over a gas stove. A closer inspection revealed that he was in the middle of a steam facial. A fairer shade of skin was what he desired. But the most weird  thing he would do was to buy fancy greeting cards for every occasion, pen the most romantic words in them, but never  sending them to her. It took him six months to find out her name– Namrata. She was with him in the IIT Physics coaching class with at least fifty other students. He would study only physics and ace all physics tests but the at the cost of mathematics and chemistry. After this skewed study choice, his chances of cracking JEE were miniscule this year also,the second year of his dropping out of the college. We felt bad for him. Four of us,me, Surendar, Amit and our hero Sanjay, had rented four adjoining rooms which used to be the servant quarters of an old kothi. I was preparing for CAT, Surendar had a contract clerical job with local water works department and Amit was doing his MTech. But Sanjay was different and so was his love story. Every other evening he would describe how Namrata had given him a long look which had lasted for full three seconds. Soon he started borrowing my Hero Honda Splendor for his every physics class. In the mean time, he kept acing physics tests and flunking those of chemistry and maths. Quite a few times,he had come very close to proposing his love, through meticulously written love letters on colorful sheets, but at the last moment his courage would disappear. He never posted those letters. In pre cellphone days,those letters were like calls which were never made.

             Season changed and came the spring. With spring came the month of love, and the day of Saint Valentine. Sanjay knew that this was his last chance. With collective encouragement of all of us,he finally decided to propose to the girl of his dreams, by personally giving her a letter. Dozens of different cards were bought by him. Perfect words were chosen to express his ‘pure love’. In the process, letters were written and rewritten until they read perfect.But Sanjay needed help and an escape in case something went wrong. I volunteered to take him pillion on my Splendor bike. The strategic spot ,as per the advice of Sanjay ,was chosen to wait for Namrata. Turning left from the coaching, as she was about to hail a rickshaw, we approached her. Sanjay was getting more nervous with every second. His feet had turned weak and the stomach was growling with anxiety but he went off the bike and approached her gingerly;the trembling right hand was extended to hand her over the meticulously written letter.

Read this card please–,” he managed to say. The girl was equally shocked by this unexpected event but she remained calm.For few seconds she kept looking at his face and then turned her gaze to his extended hand.

Which card ?”she asked.

Sanjay looked at his hand.It was empty. In the anxiety and the enormity of the event, he had forgotten to bring the card and had  extended his empty hand. Egg on his face,he turned away swiftly and asked me to ride away. Despite my feeble attempts to motivate him to express his feelings orally,he had lost all the heart to face her again.As I had kept the engine running ,half expecting a nasty reaction, we could leave the place swiftly. The girl kept looking towards the direction where our bike had gone but then another boy on a Yamaha approached her.

Should I drop you Namrata?” he asked.

She looked again towards the road we had taken to  flee. “Yeah–ok,” she agreed. Riding pillion on the Yamaha,she went in the opposite direction.