Further Friday Film Club

Valentine's is fast approaching... (it's in Hindi, but with good subtitles).

Trees Aflame

"What is it my lovely, why the tear?"

"Oh mother, look at the trees over there by the water.  The sun just now upon those petals causes them to look like flames!"

"That is true, but are you trying to put the fire out with your eyes then?"

Ginny laughed sweetly.  "No, silly, I was only caught by the beauty.  Somehow it moved me.  Can't really tell you why."

Her mother watched Ginny's face for a moment then turned away into the hotel room.  They had come to Mumbai at her daughter's insistence but she wasn't sure why she had agreed.  It was just another city as far as she could see.  All cities had their charms but heaven alone knew what this one was going to present.

Ginny burst into movement suddenly and grabbing her bag and sun-specs, then her mother by the arm, they set off into the hot and humid day.  The hotel had arranged a day-hire vehicle with driver for them and it was waiting downstairs.  The driver was Aravind and Ginny was organised ,giving him due instruction.

First, to the old city.  From there, they wound their way back up the peninsula, visiting places of interesting architecture and good views.  At this stage Ginny didn't want to go inside museums and galleries.  That would come, but first the idea was to get orientated.

Wherever they travelled, this is what she did.  Mother went along with it all because she had no particular preference herself.  Father had been the organiser and mother had learned early in marriage that it was not worth arguing the point.  After a few years she really didn't worry and this made life very easy indeed.   So when her only daughter turned out to be more like father, the relationship managed well - especially after his passing.  Ginny became protective of her and sacrificed many a social connection to ensure her mother's wellbeing and companionship.

She was proud of her girl, a successful physician in a large Sydney practice, but she did worry that perhaps she was a tad overworked.  Could it be that she was avoiding the dating game? Mother never brought the subject up.  That happened only once and a lesson was learned!  "Besides", Ginny had said, "I'll know him when I see him."

For this romantic notion, father had to be blamed.  He doted on his daughter and had always said to her that when she met her man, she'd know it directly.  She was special and needed someone strong yet yielding.

The evening after this first outing, having refreshed, they decided to take a walk down by the waterside under the trees of flame.  Ginny was besotted with them, thought mother.  It was one thing to enjoy nature's gifts, but there was something about these trees that had completely entranced the girl.  There was a newish path laid along the shoreline, which made walking easier.   As many of the red and orange petals as Ginny could find, she gathered up into a plastic bag she had brought with her.

"Are those for tonight's puja?"  

The deep, smooth voice startled them.  The man must have been following them.  Mother instinctively clutched her handbag. The altogether too-good-looking fellow observed this and continued, "Oh forgive me, that was much too abrupt and I had no intention to scare you, amma."  His English was impeccable, with minimal accent, and his clothes were of the smart-casual, Western style.  It was a bit confusing and she looked over at Ginny for guidance.  Her daughter, though, seemed dumbstruck.  There was a look in her eye that mother had never thought to see… oh good Lord, not him!!!  Clearly Ginny was, for once, without voice, so mother found hers.

"That's okay young man, but a bit rude without introduction."

"I agree.  My name is Kunal Singhania.  I am staying in the hotel and had not intended to follow you as such, but we were on the same trail it seems."  His smile was electric.  Even mother could appreciate that.

Ginny came back into the moment.  "I'm Virginia Belton and this is my mother, Alicia…. What's puja?"  Mother shuddered inside.  That was Ginny's style.  In with both feet.

"Personal worship of the Lord - in whichever form you care to view him.  Hmm, am I correct in picking an Australian accent?"

"You are."

"That's incredible.  I just arrived from Sydney yesterday myself.  I am a veterinarian and have come to promote a drive for neutering street dogs here in Mumbai."

Mother's eyes rolled sideways to the water.  After medicine, Ginny's other great love was animals - especially dogs.  Sure enough, Ginny became energized and the two young folk proceeded to walk the path, apparently forgetting mother.  A few moments later, Ginny looked round and asked "aren't you coming mum?"  Mother shrugged and followed, keeping a yard or two behind.  Listening to their light yet meaningful conversation, even mother had to admit they seemed to 'click' - wasn't that what  the younger generation called it?  Kunal then surprised them further by offering to buy them dinner and introduce them to Mumbai society, rather than the tourist viewing they would otherwise do.

As always, mother went with the flow.  Oh and how did it flow!  She was amazed at how alive she felt.  Mumbai certainly had something about it that she had not expected. The people were cultured, kind, colourful.  Yes there was the argy-bargy and the noise and smell and the heat and the dust and….  But the magic of Mumbai grabbed her.

What is more, it grabbed Ginny.  Kunal grabbed Ginny.  Mother could see it .  What was amazing was that she could see the match.  Even more than that, she had no objection to it.  How could she?  Her daughter was glowing, not just from obvious attraction, but from the enjoyment of learning India. 

Then came their final evening.  The three of them stood again beneath the flame trees looking up at the fading sunlight resting upon the glorious petals.  Kunal came up to mother and held her hand earnestly.

"Amma-ji, I think you know how I feel about your daughter.  Could I ask you to meet with my parents in Sydney.  If you are in agreement, it would be my great honour to take her as my wife."

Ginny's eyes popped and her mouth dropped. "Hey you, don't you think you should ask me first?"

"Why?  Are you going to refuse?"  

It was  firmly said, yet with a lightness of intent that might, in the view of her late husband, have been considered yielding.

Mother smiled.  Oh yes.  He would do.

`  © Yamini Ali MacLean   

Menolyrical; Fractured Fryday Hairy Tails!!!

Over at Murphy and Stanley's place it is last Friday of the month story day... click to read more!!!.

Normally I use a photo to prompt my stories and this is no exception; but we are also given a sentence by M&S which we have to highlight in the story... Today's offering is actually a tale I first presented on the TAKE TOO blog, which I am slowly amalgamating into this one. When I saw the prompt for this month's FFHT I immediately remembered and knew I could give the story a bit of revamp!

The story was inspired by TAKE FIFTY SIX.  , which is of Edinburgh's Grassmarket taken from George IV Bridge**, and I found myself making a caption for it - which I have cut and pasted here...
__________________________________________________________________________________
Nan in the Kitchen

Nan sat glaring over at the woman peering through the bridge posts. 'Why doesn't she look at me?' wondered Nan.  She tried waving, but the stranger was unmoved.  With a sigh, she turned and headed for the kitchen, her tail swaying nonchalantly.

Nan, the finely-haired Scottish Fold feline,  headed straight for the spot by the dustbin where her food was always laid out.  Avril (her house slave) was very particular about this.

There had to be the rubber shower matting beneath and a layer of newspaper on top of that; preferably The Edinburgh Evening News or The Scotsman, but if she couldn't get those she'd take The Independent, which wasn't bad for an English-based paper.  Nan wondered why it never occurred to the woman to take one of the other regional Scottish papers.

On top of the paper then would be set, to the left, the water bowl.  Small but sufficient for any cat, "we not being dipsomaniacs like dogs", thought Nan.  To the right was the larger and more interesting bowl.  It was actually an elongated item with two 'cups' in it. One larger and one smaller.  Nan was of the opinion that the smaller one was actually meant for the water which Avril had decided to set separately.  The argument had been that if food somehow got in the water which (let's face it) was a distinct possibility, then it could fester and stink the house out.  Never mind be undrinkable.

Nan considered this to be a fair argument, especially since it resulted in the spare cup being filled each evening, on Avril's return from work, with a treat. Usually something fresh and dainty, like off-cuts from the fishmonger, or finely-diced liver succulence which the downstairs butcher liked to prepare specially for her.

Nan also considered that perhaps the butcher was sweet on Avril.  She didn't think the fellow held any particular regard for herself.  Indeed on the occasion of Avril introducing her to - what was his name?... Wullie? - he had appeared to draw back somewhat and narrowed his eyes. What was wrong with the man? Did he not know this was an invitation to a cat? Lucky for him Nan was in her cage going to visit the doctor, or she'd have been all over him, just to get him riled.

This had become Nan's entertainment, indeed purpose, in life.  To upset all Avril's suitors who came calling.

It was always particularly fun when they were wearing dark clothing.  Nan being a finely-haired Scottish Fold feline with lots of white and buff colouring, she could leave her mark beautifully on a pair of woollen trews or a knitted Arran of the dark navy style so favoured by many of these fellows.  No doubt about it, Avril's taste in men was predictable.

Until last night.

Last night Alan had come home with Avril.  The silly house slave obviously couldn't see he was totally smitten with her and not in the leering, panting way all others had been.  Avril was unquestionably a fine looking woman, but she appeared to be unable to appreciate that the sleek and suave types she fancied herself were highly unsuitable as long-term relationship prospects.  None of them at all had marriage in their eye.  Nan could see this, so why not Avril?  Thus Nan made a total nuisance of herself to ensure these fickle, narcissistic chaps never made a return visit.

Thankfully, Avril never saw the underhanded trickery of her mistress, Nan the finely-haired Scottish Fold feline.  She had enough sense, at least, to see that if these fellows couldn't like her cat then she wouldn't bother with them either.

Which was just fine with Nan.

Then last night Alan came.  Nan fell drop dead in love with Alan the minute he entered the door.  Firstly, he smelled gorgeous.  Something in his odour reminded her of catnip and all she wanted to do was be on his shoulder and snuggle his neck.  Which made for the second thing.  He loved this!  He even picked her up and put her against his chest then allowed her to climb.  The third thing being, he wore light clothing.  Not white, not buff, but oatmeal and khaki and other lovely neutral tones which matched beautifully with Nan's coat.

Needless to say Avril was astounded.  Alan was a workmate and had only dropped by to collect a pile of folders that she had been working on. They had been working on the same University research team since their graduation.  Nan knew this because she'd heard Avril talking to Alan on the mouthpiece thing many times.

He'd ended up staying for tea and conversation had centred on Nan and how she coped with being an inside cat, then ventured into finding they had common interests.

When Alan had left, Nan could see that Avril was in deep thought. "It was so much better than I could ever have imagined! " thought Nan. "Invite him for dinner...invite him for dinner...invite him for dinner…"  Nan sent out instructions to her house slave.  It normally worked.  Sometimes reinforcement was required, but mostly it worked.

So Nan, the finely-haired Scottish Fold feline, had been watching from the window to see if she could see Avril coming home and whether Alan was with her.  It was getting late and no sign of her. The big bowl was empty of the morning's food and Nan was ready for whichever treat was to arrive for the evening.  Where was that woman?

The sky was dark and rain had begun before Nan heard Avril's key in the door.  She let out a "mmmeeeeoeororrorororo" of indignation and sat in her most disdainful pose as the hall light went on.

Then she smelled it.  The catnip odour of Alan.  She lost all control and majesty and ran straight for him.  He, without hesitation, bent and lifted Nan up to his shoulder.  Today he did have a dark jacket on.  That didn't deter him though.  He cuddled her and stroked her and she lapped up every bit of attention.

"Hey, what about mum?!" moaned the house slave.  Nan let her get off with calling herself mum, as it aided in compliance with regular feeding.  Looking across, she saw that Avril was grinning, despite the apparent complaint.  Nan stuck her nose across to acknowledge 'mum' then snuggled back into Alan.

"Sorry we're late wee lass.  Alan and I had to discuss a point from those files last night so we decided just to do that over a meal.  Now he's come for some tea and we've brought you a very special treat!"  Alan put Nan down on the floor and reached into his left pocket.  He walked towards the kitchen and leaning down to the small cup of the food bowl, poured out of a plastic container some meat and gravy concoction that was clearly left from their meal.  Nan couldn't help it.  The inner motor started. She was highly pleased with the direction things were taking and her body set up a hum and murmur to equal any motor bike.  As she dove into the scrumptious treat, from the corner of her eye she could see Alan and Avril engage in a small snuggle of their own.

"At last", she thought," the slave has brought me someone worth the having".  Nan's purring, became a roar. 

 © Yamini Ali MacLean   2013    

**For the unfamiliar, it is in a cafeteria on George IV Bridge that JK Rowling wrote a certain hairy tale of her own...

Menoxtra - a bit on the side

It's time to make some Goulash with Grandma again!

The couple had called ahead to the pie shop; it was one minute to midnight and their need for snack was urgent beyond patience!

(127 chrx)

As they wandered home in the darkness, she felt warm and safe with him.

Whilst they had been decorating the tree in the lounge earlier, she remembered their Christmas Eve fifty years past. Giles had drawn a little box out of his pocket. Before he could open his mouth she knew what was coming. He had realised this, for, as if it was the most urgent task in the entire world, he had thrust it towards her and yelled “You’ll marry me won’t you???!!!” At which point they both disintegrated into a huddle of giggles.  “Oh that didn’t happen the way I wanted it to!” cried Giles.

Rita pulled herself together and grabbing both his arms, pulling him towards her she said, “As urgently as you asked, as am I to accept.”

(132 wds)

MenoFiction; Random Tales

As stated on Monday, you will now be subjected to the occasional foray into the imagination. I do not read romantic fiction; however, the rose kept pricking me and this is what appeared. Certainly romance is a popular market... but I'm afraid I just could not face more than one page of this at a time! 


Friday's Flowers

Erith stood and stared at the vase of decaying roses.

Here she was on a Sunday night, trying to get herself together -yet again - in preparation for work tomorrow.  It was the same thing every weekend.  Until this moment though, she hadn't got it into her head that it was her own fault.

Hardy was just, so…  gorgeous!  An Adonis.  Action Man personified.  There he was at her door every Friday evening, red roses in hand, a bottle of bubbly and a plan for some wilderness adventure that would  also involve a lot of frisky physical exploration.  It was an adrenaline boost on all levels and she was hooked.  The man seemed to have no end to his energy.

Then it would all be over.  He'd drop her back at the flat by six o'clock Sunday evening, rarely more than five minutes adrift.  She could only recall one event that caused this scheduling of Hardy's to become unstuck.  A flat tyre is a flat tyre and every car will get one at some stage.

Hardy, though, was beside himself.  Not only the timetable became unstable that day.

Erith shuddered as she remembered the dark cloud that seemed to descend.  As this had occurred only a few weeks into the romance, she had never dared to test out the possibilities that she would have liked, such as "Do you think, Hardy, that we might extend until seven this evening?" or the giant leap of "Hardy, would you stay over at my place on Sunday?".  Something always held her back from this. 

It was now six months into the relationship and no variation at all.  Was it even a relationship?  This thought sprung upon her during the course of today and she blamed Peter for setting this doubt in her mind.

Peter "Plumply" as she liked to tease her co-worker and not-so-secret admirer. Not that he was actually that plump.  Well, not at all really.  He had a pleasantly round face which tended to give that effect.  Not the chiseled tautness of Hardy's.

Peter had, for eighteen months, been bringing Erith a single Gerbera every Monday morning to put on her desk.  He would bring a bag of chocolates to share with all others in the office, but only the one flower arrived.  He would tease her about Hardy at first.  Why she even told him about her boyfriend, she wasn't sure.  She and Peter certainly had an easy rapport with each other during office hours, and during parties or outside events they were equally at ease.  She knew he was soft on her, but he never pressed the issue or made a fool of himself - or her.

It was the latter thing which started to bring a thorn into their contact.  Peter had begun, a few weeks prior, to get more vocal about Hardy, claiming that she was, in fact, making an idiot of herself.  Finally, a month back, he let fly at her.

"Can't you see Erith?  The bloke brings you end-of-week store-bought roses that don't last two days, takes you out of your environment, uses you to his full satisfaction and drops you like a dead petal before racing back to whatever life he has elsewhere.  Do you even know what he actually does?  Then here you are on Monday, exhausted, out of sorts and living only for Friday again, sending messages he never returns.  He's some kind of pathetic automaton and you…!  You're no different from those Friday flowers, stuck in the same old vase and left to wilt!"  

Erith had been aghast.  Then, when no more gerberas came her way, she felt a stabbing inside that she could not understand.

The weekly,  home grown gerbera, brought to her on Monday and still standing by Friday.  The weekly, lovingly tended  gerbera, which was then taken back by the giver to be added to the compost, there to nurture more of its kind.  She missed those gerberas.  She missed her supportive, caring, concerned Peter and hated that he now kept his back to her. 

To hide his own pain, she realised, as her heart shriveled within her.

"Ooohhh!" Erith cried out loud.  Grabbing her telephone, she left one last message for Hardy, then wiped his number from the speed-dial.  Next she grabbed the Friday flowers and put them into an old metal tray, setting light to them.  They burned well and the ashes fitted neatly into a matchbox.  She wrapped this up in white paper and wrote 'sorry' across the top, dropping this into her handbag before going to bed.

On the way to work in the morning, she stopped to buy some gerbera seedlings.

Inspired by TAKE TWENTY FOUR    ©2013 Yamini Ali MacLean