The Way to the Stomach

Mishri placed all the dishes on the table and called her family to lunch. She went to her 80-year-old mother-in-law's Shantha's room and told her that lunch was served. Shantha was reclining, half asleep, listening to music. 

Since turning 80, Shantha's reflexes had slowed down but not her mind. She was still sharp and still made Mishri, who was herself on the verge of becoming a mother-in-law to a beautiful bride, nervous. Having lived in the village all her life, Shantha had only recently moved in with her son and the occasional anxiety of meeting her mother-in-law became a little more permanent now.

When a Thousand Words Say It Better

Mohita opened her balcony door and, as always, her eyes darted to the house across the lane. The curtains were drawn but Mohita could picturise the wall with the framed picture. 

She had just recently moved in from another locality. There, her house had overlooked the road, a boring, lethargic road with little traffic or view. She had loved this house because of its vibrant atmosphere. There were houses around and children played in the common areas. After a week of moving in, one evening she stood in the balcony looking down at the children when the light came on in the house across the narrow lane that separated them. A lady placed some bags on the sofa and sat down beside it, evidently tired.