This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 51; the fifty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. In association with Red Ink Publishers and “Curse Of The Red Soil” by Durgesh Shastri. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.
Her eyebrows arched like rainbows as her innocent eyes fixated upon my clone. She extended her open tiffin box towards him and asked, “Aloo curry?” The aroma of authentic-desi, homemade aloo curry filled my entire being.
Joy bubbling through me quickly turned into anxiety; my clone began sweating. I slapped a palm over my face. My clone began shivering. I thought: You should be given a Nobel for being the Best Loser in history.
I knew that I had only a few — I cast my glance upon her: Deep blue eyes; Box-shape face; Dimpled cheeks; Fair complexion; Pony… — seconds left. My clone got up and bolted away from the dining table at school.
All these bad dreams! I slapped a palm over my face again. I thought: At least, take your tiffin with you!
My eight-year clone showed every sign of being the Best Loser in history. I mean, c’mon, such a sweet girl comes over and shares her tiffin with him. And what does he do? Bolt away! Best loser in history, innit?
Yet, there was no reprimanding him. At least, he allowed me to catch enough features of the girl.
Now, all I had to do was wait for my clone to fall asleep and drift away.
That’s when he becomes me. In other words, I take control of our existence.
And I, well, to be modest, should be given a Nobel for being the Best Winner in history.
Thri.L Mantra: Laugh, Love, Live.
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