Asante sana (thank you very much) Anna for giving us the nanofiction bug. I for one appreciate that it gives me a creative outlet that allows for my crazy schedule until I have time to write the stories I want to write.

55 to follow

So much work, decisions, so little time. Pressures of now and this moment pressing on her, she marched, one foot in front of another. Suddenly, her shoulders hunched from the weight of her fears and what-ifs shifted—today was Friday. So in two days . . .

She straightened. New day. New year. Clean slate of renewed hope.

We look back on 2005, wondering what new horrors await us in the year ahead.

Someone said “Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.”
Another proclaimed “Man proposes, God disposes.”

I say “Himmat-e-Mardan, Madhat-e-Khuda*, let us never lose hope”
Victory must always belong to the righteous, whether it takes years or centuries.

*Himmat-e-Mardan, Madhat-e-Khuda
"With the courage of Man and the Grace of God"

Since I lack the verbal dexterity and hate the mental calisthenics of paraphrasing the conflicts raging within me into 55 words; trust me, I have tried..I reach back into childhood memories to quote my all time favorite poem. Hope everyone has a great year ahead!

Where The Mind is Without Fear

Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments by narrow
domestic walls;
Where words come out from the depth of truth;
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection;
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way into the
dreary desert sand of dead habit;
Where the mind is led forward by thee into ever-widening thought
and action--
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.

-- Rabindranath Tagore

As the days became hours, and the hours became seconds, he began wishing that time would just stop. The celebrations around him only served to emphasize the prolonged breaking of his heart.

All he knew was that a slate – more so, his soul - cannot simply be wiped clean by the turning of a day.

The seconds were ticking by…as she awaited the change…anticipating great surprises her way this new year… will it bring hope, travels, love, and laughter? The simple turn of the clock bringing in the joys of a new beginning was enough for her to smile and turn toward the crowd and smile in glee and happiness.

Her heart was beating loudly against her chest. She stole a glance and saw his hand, limp against the remote.
The pills had worked.

The clock chimed twelve just as she slipped outside. It was a new start to her life. Her feet were light and her heart was open.

She was alive again.

On this stretch of beach one year ago, he lay on his face, praying that the waters would return and take him as well. They never came. My, God why have you forsaken me? He was left to go on without wife and children. How and why, he hoped this new year would show him.

The clock announced the approaching midnight hour. A pumpkin and mice stood in front replacing the stagecoach and horses. She started to run with one slipper on. Then the realization struck her that it was New Year’s day.

She turned around and went back in. Time to drink some champagne and kiss a wonderful prince.

badmash - nice one, man.

if you come to my table
as i wish you would,

you’ll find my okra in rich gumbo
my saag expressed with collards

my fish wrapped in tortillas
with my chilies

for channa
black eyed peas, creole auguries

of fortune

if you come to my table
as i wish you would

on new year’s day.

I just wanted to wish the Mutiny a Happy New Year from the desh!

:-)

An Inappropriate New Years Greeting

We will sing in twenty oh-six
And bid goodbye to oh-five
With bubbly, cheese and Chex-mix.
If I get truly pickled,
I might even try to jive.

We will ring in twenty oh-six,
Wish it works out just fine-y.
Sure there'll be messes to fix -
But problems tend to bounce away
Like quarters off your heinie.

Thanks Siddhartha! Yours was great!

Fasting than the speed of light she's flying..... This comes in three parts.

I. I remember that New Year's Eve: Maurizio and I saw a play in Old Town. Theater filled with men and women in good coats. Ancient types with thinning, falling strands of hair, gray on black cloth. It seemed crazy that anyone would age, we were young and the New Year was ours. We owned it.

II. I had dinner with Massimo and his wife in Chicago the following New Year's eve. I wore shoes that were too tight and my head ached from fake-smiling at the other party-goers. The clock turned, glasses clinked, champagne was drunk, and finally, I left after a quick kiss good-bye. In the cold, I walked.

III. New Year's Eve (later): I had dinner with Maurizio and friends. We had mussels in garlic. China cups held black shells. We argued. A woman from Germany said, "his love life is his own." Her vehemence startled, I couldn't care less. Maurizio caught my eye and winked. Startled, I thought, this is an interesting development.

part III should read (three years later) but then it messes up the word count :)

Her middle finger hovered insistently at his lips, waiting for them to part. His tongue slid over it confidently, surprisingly adept, unnerving her. A vicious jab to his throat. He gagged and her finger slipped out unscathed. She turned and walked out of the year with him in a smouldering rustle of sunset Maheshwari silk.

okay, I finally had time to read the other 55's: very nice :) Jai Singh, as usual, your contribution is clever. Nice work siddharth m! DesiDudeinAustin - cheeky! (sorry). aranyi - I like the detail about the silk. badmash, that's some serious stuff!

More 55 (sorry for the length ANNA :) )

A Desi New Year among the cornfields, circa 1982. A Fictionalized Account in multiple 55 word parts.

I. Polly is married to Prem. Every New Year's Eve they have a party in the party room - a paneled rec room in the basement. Women in saris sit in a row on the davenport, across the room on folding chairs sit a group of men in suits, ties loosened. Music plays from a cassette player.

II. Polly gets up, crosses the room, asks one of the male guests to dance. He declines, with a little embarrassed smile. Defeated, she returns to her side of the room, adjusting her sari. Prem smiles at her across the room and she smiles back, mollified. Prem gets up, crosses the room, and asks his wife to dance.

III. Upstairs, the children (aged 4 to 14) are playing in the living room. The teenagers, aged 12 and 14, sit and watch Dick Clark on television. The 14-year-old has brown fuzz on his upper lip and wears ripped jeans. He's a rock star, at least to the 12 year old, who adores him.

IV. Outside, a car refuses to start. The air is frigid and empty corn-fields lay silent and snow-covered. Ranch-style houses are arrayed on either side of a street that is straight as a ruler. All the houses have colored lights and Christmas trees in the windows, save one: the house with the party.

Ah! MD, that was beautiful - very Jhumpa Lahiri (I mean that as a compliment). Kudos for your "in-parts" innovation - I must try this next week!

MD -- Thanks for the compliment, your contributions this week have been very good too. I agree with Badmash in that it reminds me of another author's style of writing, although I can't quite remember who. Splitting it into parts is a good option too -- I had to do the same thing with my last James Bond story during the "Red" theme a couple of weeks ago, because my "full" version ended up being too long to fit the word limit ;)

Kenyandesi -- What happened to your 55 ? By the way -- I meant to include your name in the list of "shout-outs" I mentioned in my message on the "Season's Greetings" thread last week -- Happy New Year to you. I knew I'd forgotten someone, dammit ;)