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Short stories

Sunday evening

5:30 PM, Sunday

I remember the much younger version of me sitting on the armrest of my grandfather’s rocking chair, trying to smell mother’s Sunday delicacy while we listened to the radio. Mahesh Menon in his charismatic voice would welcome everyone for a brand new episode of ‘Meghadootam’. The show where people could send messages without their identity being revealed, blurt out things they couldn’t say in person and hope that the message reaches the right person. The messages were always interesting and heartfelt.

One Sunday, it was about someone who wanted to give up his tedious and demanding job. The other Sunday it was about a guy who fell in love with his teacher. The show gave a platform for people to pour their hearts out- From lovers torn from each other due to the distance to old people in the twilight of their lives reminiscing about their past.

Pappy on his chair with his eyes half closed and his hand resting on my shoulder used to listen to it quite attentively. Not willing to disturb him, I never asked him the words I didn’t understand and kept the doubts to myself, thinking that I will ask them after the show ended, only to forget it later. I always wondered why he did so. What good will it do to him peeking into the lives of strangers? Or was he waiting for a message? I never asked and now, I cannot.

Written by: Nair Anandha Lekshmi

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