Shadow tale #1

I’m currently writing a book so I won’t be able to post a likewise behemoth of an intricate story here, but I will share facts that make me who I am, so the first story is called

A Bottle of Coke:

It was a hot Mumbai morning when a boy who was barely past the tender age of 4 and his mom travelled the short journey from their building to a nearby vendor who offered cigarettes and other consumable goods that would appeal to the shopper in a hurry and want something light or just a smoker who wants to breathe his/her life away with each puff that they swear is as good as the last, not knowing that it just might be the same.

The boy is young and impressionable and his mom is a free spirit who does whatever comes to her, as they make their way to the vendor and the kid looks at the things that are on offer, his mom asks for a cigarette, the kid sees the object that is craved by both of his parents without realising exactly why.

Nobody tells the kid the messy words as he is too small to understand them, addiction is something that consumes many lives, in many different ways, so the kid just sees his mom’s restless energy and need to clench her fist in a response to the nicotine slowly losing its way into the deeper recesses of her body.

As he glances around, he sees a glass bottle, then another until all he can see are glass bottles kept one on top of the other, reminding him of the building blocks that he used to play with and bringing a smile to his face, he asks his mom if he can have a bottle, to which she agrees, something that his mother did often.

As the boy takes the bottle and his mother warns him to drink it slowly, it wasn’t like water, he like millions of kids in his age group was going to get addicted for life on something that will become second nature to have, like smoking and breathing was for his mother, drinking coke and water would be for him.

His first taste of the fizzy drink was tough to define in his mind, it was fizzy, that’s all that came to his mind, having not mastered the English language nor for that matter Hindi, his native language, the boy just drank his cold drink slowly, savouring every mouthful as his mom was doing with her cigarette.

“Maa don’t you want some” He tried to say in broken English, as he was still learning that better than Hindi, something that his parents loved, his mother simply smiled and told him that she will have one but not his and asked the vendor to give her one too. as mother and son both stood there and drank coke, while the world passed on by, neither didn’t realize the addiction that was going to take hold of the child, the mother was oblivious to her own plight.

I have an eidetic memory so I still remember going down to that vendor pretty often in a week to drink coke, it was something of a calming cycle, me and my mom drinking coke and seeing the world around us, if you’ve been or lived in Bombay you’ll know exactly how fast paced, yet slow the city is, having not been there since the age of 5 and now being 25, I hope to go and stay there one day, just so I can go to a vendor and stand and see the same city passing me by fast, yet slowly.

My coke addiction has subsided in time, now I don’t drink it as much, in the middle it was due to not having enough money to afford the luxury of drinking it, even now the circumstances of being a freelancer writer and not having a solid job are tough but I’m truly happy writing for me, also my book, it keeps me happy and contented, that no coke could ever do.

So that was my first story, I’ll write bigger ones in time and frame them better, having not written a short story in ages, but the premise hopefully was understood by those who deem it worthy of reading.

Addiction is a modern day obsession and necessity.

The End.

 

 

 

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