Coy and Stub

I have always wondered what happened to that poor cocoa bean, let’s call it ‘Coy’, which apparently, was not good enough to be a part of a Bournville. This is where my imagination took me:

 

After being rejected and insulted in front of all his friends and the people who more or less brought him up, he got up and began to walk out of the chamber. Sadly, nobody even noticed that he’s gone. Not even his friends who were now a part of something, ah! well, something elite! Coy walked out into the hallway and then silently towards the trashcan in a dark corner. The eyes that until a few minutes back harbored so many dreams were now covered with tears. All his friends have been a part of Bournville and Ritter Sport. He remembered his childhood. They always made fun of the cocoa beans that went on to make a sachet of Nescafe. Bru was even worse! Coy always believed that he was different, that he would do something extraordinary. All his hopes were shattered now. He was utterly disappointed.

 

As he reached near the trash can, the place began to stink. It had a hallway of its own. Ants and termites bumped into one another. The water drops dipping from a Kinley water bottle was a manmade calamity for those poor ants. In the corner, a crushed éclairs-wrapper was taking its last breath. The worst thing happened to the pencil shavings. Every time the door to the washroom opened, a strong wind would gush out and blow them away and they would be separated from one another. Coy was petrified at the sight. Just when he was about to enter the bin, a half-smoked cigarette stub called on him.

 

“Hey there Beany boy!”

Coy looked around in surprise.

“Here! To your left.” said Stub, the cigarette stub.

Coy turned instantly to look at Stub.

“Where’d you think you’re going eh?”

Coy was still in tears. He fought back his urge to break down and whispered coyly “to the trash bin…”

“Speak up!” he shot back.

“To the trash bin” He replied. This time more clear.

 

“Willingly? Hmmm.. But why?!” asked Stub, confused. “No one ever wants to go to a trash bin. Everyone’s thrown here. Those sons of humans first use us. And then, when they are done with us, they just throw us away in a stinking pile of dirt and crap!” He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. “What’s your story, boy?”

 

Coy narrated him the entire story. In case you are wondering what exactly happened, watch this video here

 

“Hmmm… That’s it? And you gave up? So soon?”

 

Coy’s eyes began to well up again and Stub realized he has been harsh on the poor bean.

 

“Listen to me…” Stub began, rather softly this time. “You see that éclairs-wrapper? A hippy crushed him and threw him there about an hour back. And he’s still lying there helplessly. You know why? Because there’s nothing much he can do about it! He has served the purpose of his life. But look at you! You’re as good as new! You were born to be a part of someone’s caffeine content! And you haven’t achieved it yet. So what if Bournville doesn’t want you? Ritter might. Nescafe might. CCD might. And Bru..oh not Bru. Bru sucks! But that’s not the point. The point is, it’s a big world out there! And it’s waiting for you. If you escape now, you’d be nothing but an escapist! So go, get outta here! Go and do what you’re born to do!”

 

Coy’s eyes lit up with a new-found hope and fire to achieve his goal. Stub had inspired every ounce of him. Overjoyed, he went to hug him. “Hey hey watch out for the fire, dude! The douche didn’t put me out” said Stub. “Now come on, go! Before someone puts you in the bin too.”

 

Coy smiled and began to leave. In the next few days, he went from door to door and on his way, met many beans that were just like him. Few had even met Stub! They all went on to become a part of something better, something valued and respected. Some went to Barista, some others went to Costa, and Coy, along with two more beans, went to Starbucks! Fortunately, none of them went to Bru. And as for Stub, well, he continued to be a Santa for many a broken soul and change their lives.

 

It is the little acts of kindness and compassion that set Santa apart from the rest of the humanity. We love him because he does something that makes us smile. (Sadly, we need a reason to smile.) And so, anyone, with a heart that beats for others, is a Santa. There’s a Santa in each one of us. Most of us simply fail to see him. And you what’s the best thing about it? It’s never too late to see him. Never.

 

 

 

Book Review : Heirs Of Catriona

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Author : Anusha Subramanian

Genre : Fiction

Rating : 3/5

 

When I first received this book and learnt about its author, I wondered, ‘what could a girl of seventh grade possibly write to be published?!’ Well, I was judging the book by the author’s age. And as I sat down to read the book, Anusha proved me wrong in no time.

The book revolves around the lives of two teenagers, Sara and Crystal, who have been living as orphans until one day their ordinary lives doesn’t remain ordinary anymore. An old man comes to ‘their world’ and informs them they are the ‘Heirs of Catriona’ and that their mothers, Anastasia and Olivia, are alive and are under the clutches of Merissa, the evil witch. Sara and Crystal, with their pet Jasmine, thus set out for a sojourn full of adventure, thrill, sorcery, magic and danger to rescue their mothers, avenge the death of their fathers and save Catriona.

‘Heirs of Catriona’ is the first book in the Catriona Series. The plot is filled with interesting and quite familiar characters from Norse and other mythologies. Although, there were moments when I felt that the author drew tremendous inspiration from Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia. The language is pretty simple and the verbal exchanges, way too simple.

I also found a glitch in one of the chapters. There is a moment when Sara kicks the pot that has been preventing the snake’s venom from falling on Loki’s fore-head. Technically, after the pot has been kicked, the venom should now fall upon Loki’s forehead. But Anusha doesn’t say anything about it.

Nevertheless, Anusha has done a tremendously wonderful job and children can and should certainly add the Catriona Series in their library. Just so you know, Anusha Subramanian is one of the youngest published authors in India. She was only twelve when she wrote this book. She is thus, a budding wordsmith and will definitely turn out to be a virtuoso in her field in the years to come.

 

P.S I would like to thank Mr. Ravi Subramanian, Anusha’s father, for sending me the book.

Untruly Yours

His last words incessantly reverberated in her ears. “You have to move on. Without me.” The holy fire in the hawan-kund reminded her of his funeral pyre. Tears hid in shyness in the eyes of the young bride. She pinched her hand, just in case all of this was a nightmare and the one she loved was still alive. She was about to spend the rest of her life with the man beside her. The ceremony was almost complete. He winked at her and said “I am yours now”. She smiled feebly and said “And I am yours”. Untruly yours.

 

Remember Me

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The rustling of my mates mollified

When the howling gale deafened me,

When it vowed to shake my existence,

They bent a little and supported me.

Like children running towards their mother,

We fought to embrace the first rays of the Sun.

Drops of rain tickled us all, together.

Together we fought against the vagaries of nature.

Together in sorrows, together in delight

We stood by each other, day and night.

But today,

I stand alone, amidst a million memories

Yearning for the unreal, waiting to be wrecked

Departing the world with a hushed whisper,

Remember Me.

P.S  This post is written for BlogAdda’s WOW.

Theme : Write from a point of view of the last tree standing in the forest.

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Within, Without

 

I carried it

Out into

The bright

Sunshine

But the rays

Failed to

Cut

Through the

Coldness.

I sat with it

Beside the

Fireplace

For hours

But the

Warmth

Never

Melted it.

I took it

To the Sauna

And

It came out

Cold & wet

With sweat.

I went from

Door to door

And still

Remained

Utterly cold.

It was only

When you

Held me

That

My soul

Melted in

The warmth

Of your love.

 

Before Sunrise

 

 

Do you look at me

Like I gaze at you?

Sending your way, for hours

An invisible ray of tangled thoughts –

Fading silhouettes of eternal scars

Frozen tears clung to happy reminiscence

Dreams muddled with fears

And yet a fluttering hope

Crowning every disappointment

Travel for miles, Oh Moon!

Lone amongst a million stars

Do you feel the way I do?

Sending my way, for hours,

Your luminous rays, mystic and cold,

(And colder, your substance)

Glorious messengers of your odious seclusion,

Seek companionship in trivial mortals,

Fail and hide in shame, every night

Behind sinister mists and eerie clouds

Continually, before sunrise

And return unsatiated every morn.