Waiting for Panav

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Hyderabad, India (Photo: Pixabay)

 

“Can you see him?” Aashi danced on the balls of her feet. “Is he here?”

Her sister slowly passed the binoculars over the crowd.

“Maha!”

Maha sighed and adjusted her sari. She had taken Aashi to the roof because the girl’s incessant buzzing got on Dādī’s nerves. Grandma was anxious enough for Uncle Panav’s arrival without her youngest granddaughter upsetting the chapati.

“He’ll be here soon,” Maha allowed. She didn’t really think she’d be able to spot him. Still she kept the binoculars trained on the market hive below.

Heat rose from the street, stirred by hawkers’ calls and drivers’ horns and the indistinct hubbub of people that had made Hyderabad home.

Aashi’s bangles jangled. Some were Maha’s till this morning.

She touched her nose ring. A gift from Uncle Panav, who will be Chaacha no more. Her chest tightened. Tomorrow, after they wed, she’ll call him Pati.

 

 

Hindi Glossary: Chaacha – uncle; chapati – unleavened Indian bread; Dādī – Grandma; Pati – husband

 

For What Pegman Saw: Hyderabad, India

 

The Gift

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

 

She left him a gift.

She knew he wasn’t likely to acknowledge it. It was possible he wouldn’t know or care where it had come from. It didn’t matter. Or perhaps it did – and terribly – but she could do nothing to change it. Where others sought connection and cultivated relationships, her father’s world revolved around rocks, shells, sticks, pebbles, stones. Those he caressed, inspected, studied, catalogued.

She’d learned to expect nothing. It was the only way to lessen heartbreak.

She left the coral piece on the table. Perhaps if he kept it, it would be as if he saw her.

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

Pink Duo

catching view

Photo: Chagit Moriah-Gibor

 

Come on Sis

Let us peek

Through the slats

On this bridge

At the world

That flows through

Underneath

Me and you.

 

 

For Square in September: Pink

 

The Service


PHOTO PROMPT © Yvette Prior

 

All was set for the service.

Programs lounged on chairs in the next room. The adequately melancholy music played. Discrete tissue boxes rested at either end of the first row.

She waited as heels clicked on marble and black fabrics swished and the somber faces of acquaintances, rearranged for the occasion, nodded at her. She endured the hugs and shoulder pats and too-long handshakes. She breathed through the words.

The room quieted.

She rose and stared at the ornate urn on the dais before turning to face the living.

“You should know,” she began, “that Dad was not a good man.

 

 

For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers

 

 

Worse Off Than A Monk


Image result for Goizueta, Navarra, Spain

Photo: Mapio.net; Goizueta, Navarre

 

“I am not going!”

They cannot send him to that miserable hut where there’s no electricity, no running water, creepy crawlies, and no internet. Even monks have internet. He was going to be worse off than a monk!

His father sighed. “Aitona Antton needs help and Osaba Alesander is still recovering from his motorcycle accident.”

“So I need to lose a leg to get out of this?” Danel grumbled.

His father’s sharp inhale told him he’d gone too far.

He shrugged apology. He was in enough trouble. Ditching school, hanging out “with the wrong crowd.” It was exile or jail.

“He’s your great-grandfather,” his father sounded tired, and not just from spending nights at Uncle Alesander’s bedside. “You used to love visiting him.”

“Before Birramona died …” Danel stopped. The remote homestead was awfully quiet without his great-grandmother. How much more so for Aitona-handia?

He sighed. “At least I like goat-cheese.”

 

 

For What Pegman Saw

(Basque glossaryAitona: Grandfather;  Aitona-handia: Great grandfather;  Birramona: Great grandmother;  Osaba: Uncle)

 

Baby Seated

well seated

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

In the shade

Out of sun

I am still

Having fun.

Even these

Stubborn bubbles

Will stop

Giving me troubles.

I’ll persist

And resume

Turning a chair

To a play room.

 

 

For the Pull Up a Seat Challenge

 

 

Eight Not Ate

ducks SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

Eight brown ducks bobbing by

In the shade, under sky

Waiting for humans’ bread

To fall down on their head.

 

For August photo a day challenge

 

Walk This Way

Ein Pit OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

Walk this way

To the water

Where the goats

Cleared a path.

Walk this way

Where the feet

Of the ancients

Have passed.

Walk this way

Little brother

I will give you

My hand.

Walk this way

And together

Our adventures

Expand.

 

 

For Cee’s Which Way Photo Challenge

 

Lookalike

a walk SmadarHalperinEpshtein

Photo: Smadar Halperin-Epshtein

 

“How to tell them apart?”

Asked some who’d seen them together

In all kinds of weather.

“Why try?”

Those who knew them replied.

“They are two of a kind,

One older in body

The other in mind.

One father, one son,

Always two, never one.

One sighted, one blind,

They live life, intertwined.”

 

 

 

For The Daily Post