Skip to main content

Mr. Murthy

Sharad stood defiantly in the corner of the classroom with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, eyes spewing venom, and his bloodied lip muttering silent curses at his teacher, Mr. Murthy, who had punished him for snatching the snack-box and subsequently getting into a full-blown hand-and-fist war with a classmate during lunch.

As the 10 year old walked nervously into the make-shift counseling -cum-teacher’s room in the small village school, Mr. Murthy sized up the insecure boy who now looked less fierce in his yellow-tinted shirt, hastily patched together at the seam on one side, and worn shabbily over faded under-sized shorts.

Mr. Murthy felt like the wheels of his own life had been reversed as his kind but perceptive questions revealed the unfair, love-shorn childhood of Sharad who having lost his parents to disease was living a difficult life with his uncle’s family; a story uncannily similar to his.

If not for his benevolent foster parents who re-instilled in him the hope and purpose to lead a respectful, honest and principled life, Mr. Murthy could well imagine himself leading a wastrel’s or worse a criminal’s life and for that he was immensely grateful to them.

Years later, Mr. Murthy saw the same gleam of gratitude in the youth's eyes as Sharad sought his Appa’s blessings to start a new life, in his crisp white naval uniform.  

http://bit.ly/1yppZED

________________
Five sentence fiction written in response to the prompt: Wheels at LillieMcferrinWrites


Write Tribe

Comments

  1. Nice, it does take people with empathy and not sympathy to make a difference in these cases...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Indeed, Jairam..thanks for the read :-)

      Delete
  2. Extending a support in such times can make such a big difference than you would have thought it would. Very well-put.

    ReplyDelete
  3. This made me smile. Good people exist....atleast you made me feel so.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Really wonderful, Uma..
    I have nominated you for the Leibster award, Uma. Please accept the award. Check out the link for details. http://vinithadileep.wordpress.com/2014/09/24/thank-you-liebster-awards/

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks a bunch, Vinitha..humbled to have been nominated!

      Delete
  5. Good people do exist , don't they? This post makes me hopeful and happy

    Random Thoughts Naba..It Cost more than One Life..

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I want to believe they do exist, Naba :-)

      Delete
  6. How nice for the boy that he was led away from being led astray. Love the hope in this post, Uma. Very much!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I felt good for the boy too, Shailaja and thank you so much :-)

      Delete

Post a Comment

Would love to hear from you :-)
Also, please click the subscribe by Email link below the comment form to get follow-up comments to your inbox..

Popular posts from this blog

Cross over- Micro-prose in 50 words

Tread on gently.

It's tough to say goodbye. Even when you know it's desirable. Explain, if you must, but keep it short. Do not mock the tears that might flow out. Don't utter words that you'd regret.

A schism has been formed, but there's no need to burn the bridge.

_______

Caffeinated attraction

Words jostled inside Anusha's head as she snaked her way between the tables to her favourite spot in the cozy cafe. She slid her laptop out, rested the bag beside her on the silver grey cushioned sofa and called for her favourite cappuccino. They made it just the way she preferred: the right amount of milk and coffee, the closest alternative to the filter kaapi her mom made.

Gazing out of the glass window, she sipped her beverage, letting the bitter-sweet taste linger, weighing her thoughts before her fingers could fly on the keyboard to give shape to them. The white fluffs of clouds against the clear blue skies floated gently with the summer breeze and they seemed, to the writer in her, like mischevious sheep that had strayed off the flock.

Oh, well, it's my mind that's straying now. Need to get my act right for my next submission. Anusha willed herself back to the present.

The cafe was Anusha's muse, the mecca she haunted during the weekends for the past three months…

Rotting humanity

Doc, there's an emergency!

The breaking news flashes the brutal carnage. Images and voices float in my mind as I drive in manic speed to the hospital.

Of sirens blazing. Of toys and limbs lying scattered on a carpet of red and brown.

Oxygen! I scream. Pump, harder.

Doc, there's no pulse.

Shoulders slump.

I witness grief fuse into flames that rise up collectively at the mass funeral. The ashes fall lightly on me.

Will the stench of hate ever recede?

*** Written for a prompt at