Thursday, 4 June 2026

The Window seat to a New Destiny - Ramchandra & Ammini - Part 3- The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

 

image by ChatGPT put together  by Latha Warrier


The wedding party stood at the exit of the Guruvayoor bus stand. The two newly married couples, Ramchandra & Ammini and Appukuttan & Shreedevi were newlyweds. All four of them had just been part of exchange marriages that had secured the marriage of one sister of each of the men Appukuttan & Ramchandra. The men were both the breadwinners and the decision makers of their families. Ramchandra had married Ammini, Appukuttan's sister and Appukuttan had married Shreedevi, Ramchandra's sister. It had been a smooth morning with the ceremonies being celebrated at the auspicious moment, decided according to the position of the stars.


Normally the two parties would have gone their separate ways after the marriage, but Ramchandra's mother insisted that Appukuttan and his bride come and spend a couple of days at their home. Appukuttan, who was very practical in nature knew that in this way, he would be able to run a couple of important errands in the area before heading back to his house. So they all started walking to the bus stand to take a bus to Kottarakara.


In Ammini's heart though the wedding had created a distinct break between her old life and her new. She was still a bit intimidated by her older brother Appukuttan but she knew that her focus was now her new family. As she stood with these strangers who had their new shiny labels of family members she suddenly took in the whole experience. Till this morning, the people she'd known would be less of her family than the faces she now looked at. For a minute, she wanted to cry as she remembered her mother, her home, the temple in her home, the pond where she took her bath and the room which she'd called her own. Then she remembered the elation she'd felt hiding in the inner room of her home observing her husband when he had come to see her just six days ago. She suddenly realised that she was now the centre of attention of the group and this made her feel beautiful. She was wearing the best ever saree and even had a gold chain and her 'taali' or symbol of marriage tied to the sacred thread. She felt like a queen for just this one morning of her life. The flowers on her hair had a heady scent and she realised that she was feeling light headed. She reached out and held on to her husband's arm as she felt her body start to buckle over.


Ramchandra responded immediately and arrested the fall. He realised that his new bride was probably exhausted by the activities of the morning. Her mother-in-law and her sister-in-law Subhadra immediately gave her some water to drink. Her mother-in-law cooed her name 'Ammini' in the softest tones. Her husband held a hand towel over her face to block out the heat of the Sun. She realised she'd been transported to another world. Looking at her husband's silhouette with the sun shining above him, she smiled. Everyone nervously smiled back. Her brother and Shreedevi and the rest of her maternal family watched what was happening. Ammini avoided looking at her brother Appukuttan. She didn't want the attention she was being showered to get diluted in any way. When she was better, the group headed once again to a tea stall, insisting that she eat something again. She prayed to the deities back home, remembering their images as she ate a fried lentil ball or a 'parippu vada'  with coconut chutney and sambar. She sipped on the glass of tea and then saw Ramchandra was sitting across her on the simple wooden bench. She smiled at him and lowered her eyes. The others including her young brother-in-law Achutan were busy eating and talking about when the next bus back home was arriving. They knew they would take the bus, but there was not so much of an urgency to reach anywhere. Only once her mother-in-law was satisfied that Ammini seemed strong enough, they made their way to the bus station.


She saw the bus, they were to travel in, arrive. It was written 'Kottarakara' on the front. She immediately started imagining what Kottarakara would look like. She entered the bus with Ramchandra behind her and got a seat by the window. He was close to her and her new and maternal families were scattered in the seats ahead. Shreedevi looked relieved to be sitting not far from her own mother. She had the good luck of having her own mother around and going back to her maternal home for another couple of days. The bus started and the journey began. Before she knew it, Ammini had dozed off, her head nestled on Ramchandra's shoulders. She slept a deep sleep, one like that of a newborn who has had their first feed after the excruciating experience of having been born. Happy, pulled inwards unsure of their new surroundings and exhausted. There were no dreams in her sleep, she was now living her dream.


Like this story? You may not want to miss any new post by 



You may like the first two parts of this story here under if you've missed them.



How my Daddy met my Mummy - Ramchandra & Ammini - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child


and 



or you would maybe appreciate stories from my mother's childhood






or this one about my father and me when I was a teenager


My Daddy Strongest - Landline adventures - Chapter 16 - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child

Wednesday, 3 June 2026

The Hidden Spectrum - fiction

 



RK and Priya had been friends for some months now. They didn't grow up together or go to college together but met at a party that one of their colleagues had thrown. Priya clearly remembered the moment she saw RK for the first time. RK was standing across the room, tall and good looking. In fact, he was particularly well groomed too. The shoes were absolutely perfect, the belt strong and expensive looking with a very striking buckle and his clothes definitely looked upper end.



Priya on the other hand never spent too much money on clothes. Now in her mid-thirties she was forced to be extra careful about what she wore because the sedentary lifestyle and heavy work schedules had pushed her health out of the window. Nevertheless, she knew she was a good-looking woman.


They both ended up spending a fair bit of the evening talking to each other. Priya thought RK was very funny and well spoken. He also seemed to have a sensibility that was missing in most men she met. How was this possible? All this in one person seemed a bit far-fetched. Most men would have tried to ask her for my phone number by now, she thought. But RK didn't. Priya however knew that they would meet in the next party because she'd heard him mention that to someone sitting next to them. She was also invited to that party and realised that she was looking forward to seeing RK again.


When they met three weeks later, RK made his way to Priya. She gleamed internally elated that RK was showing her more attention this time. They spent a lot of the evening together, sharing office stories, childhood anecdotes and funny incidents. Priya found herself thinking that RK really was someone comfortable to be around. She couldn't believe how fast she had the feeling of having known him for a long period. They exchanged phone numbers later that evening and Priya had a thought cross her mind. Wouldn't they make a great couple?


They sent each other mundane messages over the next few days. They lived in the same area near the Sanjay Gandhi National park, she'd learned, so they started going for a morning walk there together. Each day while walking they would talk about their lives. After some days, one particularly early morning, they started talking about relationships. RK mentioned his past girlfriends and Priya talked about her early arranged marriage that hadn't lasted long. Priya mentioned that she found it difficult to meet the right man due to her busy work schedule and the 'divorcee' tag that she carried. RK stopped while he walked and looked at the nearly tearful Priya. He held her hand and reassured her that she would find the right guy. Priya found herself sniffling and worried about how she looked right then. She nodded and looked at RK. Uneasily realising that their bond was now tending towards a 'friendzone', she changed the topic and started walking again.

 
But she was curious and probed as to why the relationships that RK had had with the ex-girlfriends hadn't worked in the past. RK didn't answer immediately. Finally, after taking his time, RK mentioned that the two girlfriends had wanted different things in life than him. That nothing seemed to be able to repair their differences and that drifting apart had been the only real solution. Priya now looked at RK and felt a surge of attraction to this handsome, sensitive man who seemed to have been sent her way in perfect timing. She was a foot away from him and could see the little hairs on his neck and his Adam’s apple bob up and down. She didn't even think of what she was doing and took a step towards him. She was close enough to him for him to understand what she was hoping he would do.


 
As she waited, RK looked at Priya. He'd been damn attracted to her from the moment he'd seen her at the party. He'd been delighted that they'd seen each other again and again. Living next to her had been a bonus discovery. The comfort he felt around Priya was so refreshing. She had a natural way to lead without seeming bossy and he'd always been attracted to women like her. He knew that he was falling for her and was now standing a foot away from her. He knew he could easily ask her to date him and right now felt that the answer was obvious. He wanted to bend now and kiss that gorgeous face right away. But he knew what was holding him back. He also knew why his relationships to perfectly fine women had ended.


 
However much he tried to hide it, however good the relationship and even the intimacy was between him and his partner, he'd always found himself attracted to men too. Eventually, this reality ate into him and his relationships and he'd not know how to tell his partner the truth.


Neither of his girl friends had been able to handle the news well and the jealousy they had shown towards a 'potential male partner' was intense. It threatened their femininity even more than if he'd admitted to seeing another woman, he realised. Both relationships had just plummeted from that moment on. The years of having built the friendship and the partnership had been replaced by emotions that he'd rather forget forever. With his first girlfriend, it had been after three years that he'd realised that he was bisexual. He was just 22 back then. He didn't even know when those feelings that he'd probably hidden away emerged and reached him. Once awakened, try as he would, he couldn't get over the feelings or his desire. He felt that his sexuality was even more complicated than just being straight or gay. It involved more than one person and so was like walking on a tightrope all the time. Someone was bound to be hurt.


Back to looking at Priya's face perched inches away from him, he found himself taking a couple of steps back and casually looking at his phone. He felt embarrassed by his behaviour, but had no courage to tell someone upfront who he was going to be in a relationship. He knew she wouldn't understand. Very few people ever did.

 
Priya felt angry at being jilted, she awkwardly swallowed the saliva in her mouth and closed it as she tried to hide her flushed cheeks. Shocked and having taken a strong knock to her ego, she started walking again. She felt RK walking with her. They quickly reached the gate of the park and said bye to each other. RK felt sadness envelop him as he walked home. 




This fictional short story is my participation to the Blog Hop Prompt by #BlogchatterBlogHop as indicated in the image attached to the text. It's my attempt at trying to understand one aspect of difficulty for FluidGender people.


 This post is a part of Blogchatter Blog Hop https://www.theblogchatter.com/


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You may also like these fictional stories I have written


The Old man in the metro - Fiction - Don't judge a book by its cover


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Yvonne - The Tennis player - short story



or these stories from my childhood 




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or this part fiction and part truth of my parents' first meeting...



How my Daddy met my Mummy - Ramchandra & Ammini - The Chronicles of the Youngest Child



Monday, 1 June 2026

Isabelle et sa maman Cesira - 5e participation pour célébrer 50e newsletter - La maison de ma mère

 

Jeune fille au chat


    

Isabelle et Lilou

Isabelle rédige un beau texte pour sa mère dans le cadre des participations collectives que j'ai sollicitées.

La maison de ma mère.


Elle n’était pas bleue ni adossée à la colline. 

Elle n’était pas dans le Sud de la France, ni quelque part en Italie.

Non, elle se situait plutôt dans ce que j’aime appeler notre « colonne vertébrale », mon bassin sidérurgique, poussiéreux et poétique à la fois, entre ville et presque campagne, pas loin de la Meuse majestueuse.


Elle était petite mais suffisamment grande pour y accueillir mari et enfants : une vie entière.


Cette maison, ma mère en avait eu le projet «seule », grâce à l’aide de son frère qui lui concéda une partie du terrain qu’il avait acheté pour faire construire sa propre maison.

Il faut croire qu’elle a eu le génie de transmettre cela à ses deux filles, qui, dans son sillage, firent pareil bien des années plus tard en investissant dans leurs propres briques, seules.


Il y avait un jardin, une terrasse ajoutée par la suite, et toute notre enfance s’est déroulée autour d’elle. Il y avait une prairie attenante, un terril : un territoire d’aventures sans limites.


C’est simple : cette maison m’a tellement marquée que, depuis longtemps, tous mes rêves s’y déroulent de manière récurrente.
Rêves rassurants parfois. Cauchemars aussi.
Comme si ses murs n’avaient jamais cessé de me contenir.


Lorsqu’il a été temps de quitter le cocon, j’ai toujours refusé de louer. J’ai préféré acheter.

Sans doute, un effet de transmission, ou un instinct de survie (?).


Lors de la construction, si je ne me trompe pas, papa était dans les parages.

Ils se sont mariés. Elle avait environ 33 ans. « Tard » pour une « italienne ».


Il avait de l’allure et faisait office d’amuseur officiel de la petite famille. 

Un « séché », costaud, musclé, un peu abîmé par de rares combats de boxe amateur, un nez italien pur jus.

Nous avions un clown à la maison, doué en imitations et virtuose des surnoms à coucher dehors.


Un mélange - hétéroclite ou complémentaire - entre un clown et une « diva ».

Non, elle ne chantait pas. Mais elle adorait le chant lyrique.

Étonnant pour une « ouvrière » aimant tellement son métier de couturière.


Elle avait des idées et des rêves, des petits voyages réalisés. 

Il me reste d’elle une sensation de « bon goût ».


Finesse, élégance, amour des chats et de l’autodérision.

Pudeur imposée par des parents immigrés et rudes. 

Cette dureté façonnée par la mine et la guerre.


Elle était belle, ma mère. 

Elle avait de l’esprit et cet émerveillement constant dont j’espère avoir hérité aussi.

Elle n’était pas « féministe », tout en accomplissant des prouesses seule.

Elle n’avait guère le temps de penser à ces mots-là.

Son temps, elle l’a consacré à ses enfants.

Depuis sa petite maison, non loin d’une prairie, elle a veillé à ce que ses trois enfants puissent faire des études, ce qu’elle n’avait pas eu le loisir d’accomplir.


La « jeune fille aux chats », comme j’aime l’appeler, était brillante, intelligente, parfois (souvent) trop dans la peur. 

Que m’a-t-elle transmis ? Le respect, l’humilité, la curiosité, la culture, l’amour de l’art et de la cuisine.


La maison de ma mère ne m’a jamais réellement quittée depuis neuf ans.




Qui est Isabelle Belloi ?


Isabelle Belloi est photographe et communicante basée à Liège.

Son parcours en communication, marketing et création de contenus visuels lui permet d'accompagner entreprises, organisations et indépendants dans la mise en valeur de leur activité à travers des images et des contenus authentiques.


Curieuse, créative et engagée, elle aime explorer ce qui relie les idées, les personnes et les images, et s'intéresse particulièrement à la manière dont les récits visuels contribuent à donner du sens à notre environnement.


Vous pouvez voir son travail et la contacter

Web : emulsions.be

FB : @emulsionnel

LinkedIn : https://www.linkedin.com/in/isabellebelloi/



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