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    1. #21
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      Quote Originally Posted by Bean View Post
      Angane thonnunnundenkil poyi reprt cheyyanam

      SS doesn't deserve it ... ()

    2. #22
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      kurach flash fictions vaaychu. athokke vaychappol ee thrd aanu orma vannath ath kond ivide post cheyunu. chilath one page koodathulum und. ee thrd sheriyallenkil aareyenkilum ividennu delete cheyam. ithil koodthalum light aaya humorous satirical irony okke aane....athinte reethiyil kandal mathi enna oru req. und....esp. Twain's Adam. Twain-te Eve's Diary is fun pakshe ivide idan patilla. athinte neelam kooduthalaanu. Adamnte Diary kurache ullu pakshe Eve-nte Diary vaaychale Adamnte Diary vaykaan oru rasam ullu. ath kond aarkenkilum ath vaykanamenkil netyil search cheythal mathi, kittum.



    3. #23
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      One of These Days
      Gabriel Garcia Marquez

      Monday dawned warm and rainless. Aurelio Escovar, a dentist without a degree, and a very early riser, opened his office at six. He took some false teeth, still mounted in their plaster mold, out of the glass case and put on the table a fistful of instruments which he arranged in size order, as if they were on display. He wore a collarless striped shirt, closed at the neck with a golden stud, and pants held up by suspenders He was erect and skinny, with a look that rarely corresponded to the situation, the way deaf people have of looking.
      When he had things arranged on the table, he pulled the drill toward the dental chair and sat down to polish the false teeth. He seemed not to be thinking about what he was doing, but worked steadily, pumping the drill with his feet, even when he didn’t need it.
      After eight he stopped for a while to look at the sky through the window, and he saw two pensive buzzards who were drying themselves in the sun on the ridgepole of the house next door. He went on working with the idea that before lunch it would rain again. The shrill voice of his eleven-year-old son interrupted his concentration.

      “Papa.”

      “What?”

      “The Mayor wants to know if you’ll pull his tooth.”

      “Tell him I’m not here.”

      He was polishing a gold tooth. He held it at arm’s length, and examined it with his eyes half closed. His son shouted again from the little waiting room.

      “He says you are, too, because he can hear you.”

      The dentist kept examining the tooth. Only when he had put it on the table with the finished work did he say:

      “So much the better.”

      He operated the drill again. He took several pieces of a bridge out of a cardboard box where he kept the things he still had to do and began to polish the gold.

      “Papa.”

      “What?”

      He still hadn’t changed his expression.

      “He says if you don’t take out his tooth, he’ll shoot you.”
      Without hurrying, with an extremely tranquil movement, he stopped pedaling the drill, pushed it away from the chair, and pulled the lower drawer of the table all the way out. There was a revolver. “O.K.,” he said.

      “Tell him to come and shoot me.”

      He rolled the chair over opposite the door, his hand resting on the edge of the drawer. The Mayor appeared at the door. He had shaved the left side of his face, but the other side, swollen and in pain, had a five-day-old beard. The dentist saw many nights of desperation in his dull eyes. He closed the drawer with his fingertips and said softly:

      “Sit down.”

      “Good morning,” said the Mayor.

      “Morning,” said the dentist.

      While the instruments were boiling, the Mayor leaned his skull on the headrest of the chair and felt better. His breath was icy. It was a poor office: an old wooden chair, the pedal drill, a glass case with ceramic bottles. Opposite the chair was a window with a shoulder-high cloth curtain. When he felt the dentist approach, the Mayor braced his heels and opened his mouth.

      Aurelio Escovar turned his head toward the light. After inspecting the infected tooth, he closed the Mayor’s jaw with a cautious pressure of his fingers.

      “It has to be without anesthesia,” he said.

      “Why?”

      “Because you have an abscess.”

      The Mayor looked him in the eye. “All right,” he said, and tried to smile. The dentist did not return the smile. He brought the basin of sterilized instruments to the worktable and took them out of the water with a pair of cold tweezers, still without hurrying. Then he pushed the spittoon with the tip of his shoe, and went to wash his hands in the washbasin. He did all this without looking at the Mayor. But the Mayor didn’t take his eyes off him.

      It was a lower wisdom tooth. The dentist spread his feet and grasped the tooth with the hot forceps. The Mayor seized the arms of the chair, braced his feet with all his strength, and felt an icy void in his kidneys, but didn’t make a sound. The dentist moved only his wrist. Without rancor, rather with a bitter tenderness, he said:

      “Now you’ll pay for our twenty dead men.”

      The Mayor felt the crunch of bones in his jaw, and his eyes filled with tears. But he didn’t breathe until he felt the tooth come out. Then he saw it through his tears. It seemed so foreign to his pain that he failed to understand his torture of the five previous nights.

      Bent over the spittoon, sweating, panting, he unbuttoned his tunic and reached for the handkerchief in his pants pocket. The dentist gave him a clean cloth.

      “Dry your tears,” he said.

      The Mayor did. He was trembling. While the dentist washed his hands, he saw the crumbling ceiling and a dusty spider web with spider’s eggs and dead insects. The dentist returned, drying his hands. “Go to bed,” he said, “and gargle with salt water.” The Mayor stood up, said goodbye with a casual military salute, and walked toward the door, stretching his legs, without buttoning up his tunic.

      “Send the bill,” he said.

      “To you or the town?”

      The Mayor didn’t look at him. He closed the door and said through the screen:

      “It’s the same damn thing.”



    4. #24
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      A Monument to Adam
      Mark Twain

      Some one has revealed to the Tribune that I once suggested to Rev. Thomas K. Beecher, of Elmira, New York, that we get up a monument to Adam, and that Mr. Beecher favored the project. There is more to it than that. The matter started as a joke, but it came somewhat near to materializing.

      It is long ago--thirty years. Mr. Darwin's Descent of Man has been in print five or six years, and the storm of indignation raised by it was still raging in pulpits and periodicals. In tracing the genesis of the human race back to its sources, Mr. Darwin had left Adam out altogether. We had monkeys, and "missing links," and plenty of other kinds of ancestors, but no Adam. Jesting with Mr. Beecher and other friends in Elmira, I said there seemed to be a likelihood that the world would discard Adam and accept the monkey, and that in the course of time Adam's very name would be forgotten in the earth; therefore this calamity ought to be averted; a monument would accomplish this, and Elmira ought not to waste this honorable opportunity to do Adam a favor and herself a credit.

      Then the unexpected happened. Two bankers came forward and took hold of the matter--not for fun, not for sentiment, but because they saw in the monument certain commercial advantages for the town. The project had seemed gently humorous before--it was more than that now, with this stern business gravity injected into it. The bankers discussed the monument with me. We met several times. They proposed an indestructible memorial, to cost twenty-five thousand dollars. The insane oddity of a monument set up in a village to preserve a name that would outlast the hills and the rocks without any such help, would advertise Elmira to the ends of the earth --and draw custom. It would be the only monument on the planet to Adam, and in the matter of interest and impressiveness could never have a rival until somebody should set up a monument to the Milky Way.

      People would come from every corner of the globe and stop off to look at it, no tour of the world would be complete that left out Adam's monument. Elmira would be a Mecca; there would be pilgrim ships at pilgrim rates, pilgrim specials on the continent's railways; libraries would be written about the monument, every tourist would kodak it, models of it would be for sale everywhere in the earth, its form would become as familiar as the figure of Napoleon.

      One of the bankers subscribed five thousand dollars, and I think the other one subscribed half as much, but I do not remember with certainty now whether that was the figure or not. We got designs made --some of them came from Paris.

      In the beginning--as a detail of the project when it was yet a joke --I had framed a humble and beseeching and perfervid petition to Congress begging the government to built the monument, as a testimony of the Great Republic's gratitude to the Father of the Human Race and as a token of her loyalty to him in this dark day of humiliation when his older children were doubting and deserting him. It seemed to me that this petition ought to be presented, now--it would be widely and feelingly abused and ridiculed and cursed, and would advertise our scheme and make our ground-floor stock go off briskly. So I sent it to General Joseph R. Hawley, who was then in the House, and he said he would present it. But he did not do it. I think he explained that when he came to read it he was afraid of it: it was too serious, to gushy, too sentimental--the House might take it for earnest.

      We ought to have carried out our monument scheme; we could have managed it without any great difficulty, and Elmira would now be the most celebrated town in the universe.

      Very recently I began to build a book in which one of the minor characters touches incidentally upon a project for a monument to Adam, and now the Tribune has come upon a trace of the forgotten jest of thirty years ago. Apparently mental telegraphy is still in business. It is odd; but the freaks of mental telegraphy are usually odd.



    5. #25
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      A Telephonic Conversation
      Mark Twain

      Consider that a conversation by telephone--when you are simply siting by and not taking any part in that conversation--is one of the solemnest curiosities of modern life. Yesterday I was writing a deep article on a sublime philosophical subject while such a conversation was going on in the room. I notice that one can always write best when somebody is talking through a telephone close by. Well, the thing began in this way. A member of our household came in and asked me to have our house put into communication with Mr. Bagley's downtown. I have observed, in many cities, that the sex always shrink from calling up the central office themselves. I don't know why, but they do. So I touched the bell, and this talk ensued:

      CENTRAL OFFICE. (gruffy.) Hello!

      I. Is it the Central Office?

      C. O. Of course it is. What do you want?

      I. Will you switch me on to the Bagleys, please?

      C. O. All right. Just keep your ear to the telephone.

      Then I heard k-look, k-look, k'look--klook-klook-klook-look-look! then a horrible "gritting" of teeth, and finally a piping female voice: Y-e-s? (rising inflection.) Did you wish to speak to me?

      Without answering, I handed the telephone to the applicant, and sat down. Then followed that queerest of all the queer things in this world-- a conversation with only one end of it. You hear questions asked; you don't hear the answer. You hear invitations given; you hear no thanks in return. You have listening pauses of dead silence, followed by apparently irrelevant and unjustifiable exclamations of glad surprise or sorrow or dismay. You can't make head or tail of the talk, because you never hear anything that the person at the other end of the wire says. Well, I heard the following remarkable series of observations, all from the one tongue, and all shouted-- for you can't ever persuade the sex to speak gently into a telephone:

      Yes? Why, how did that happen?

      Pause.

      What did you say?

      Pause.

      Oh no, I don't think it was.

      Pause.

      No! Oh no, I didn't mean that. I meant, put it in while it is still boiling--or just before it comes to a boil.

      Pause.

      What?

      Pause.

      I turned it over with a backstitch on the selvage edge.

      Pause.

      Yes, I like that way, too; but I think it's better to baste it on with Valenciennes or bombazine, or something of that sort. It gives it such an air--and attracts so much noise.

      Pause.

      It's forty-ninth Deuteronomy, sixty-forth to ninety-seventh inclusive. I think we ought all to read it often.

      Pause.

      Perhaps so; I generally use a hair pin.

      Pause.

      What did you say? (aside.) Children, do be quiet!

      Pause

      Oh! B flat! Dear me, I thought you said it was the cat!

      Pause.

      Since when?

      Pause.

      Why, I never heard of it.

      Pause.

      You astound me! It seems utterly impossible!

      Pause.

      Who did?

      Pause.

      Good-ness gracious!

      Pause.

      Well, what is this world coming to? Was it right in church?

      Pause.

      And was her mother there?

      Pause.

      Why, Mrs. Bagley, I should have died of humiliation! What did they do?

      Long pause.

      I can't be perfectly sure, because I haven't the notes by me; but I think it goes something like this: te-rolly-loll-loll, loll lolly-loll-loll, O tolly-loll-loll-lee-ly-li-I-do! And then repeat, you know.

      Pause.

      Yes, I think it is very sweet--and very solemn and impressive, if you get the andantino and the pianissimo right.

      Pause.

      Oh, gum-drops, gum-drops! But I never allow them to eat striped candy. And of course they can't, till they get their teeth, anyway.

      Pause.

      What?

      Pause.

      Oh, not in the least--go right on. He's here writing--it doesn't bother him.

      Pause.

      Very well, I'll come if I can. (aside.) Dear me, how it does tire a person's arm to hold this thing up so long! I wish she'd--

      Pause.

      Oh no, not at all; I like to talk--but I'm afraid I'm keeping you from your affairs.

      Pause.

      Visitors?

      Pause.

      No, we never use butter on them.

      Pause.

      Yes, that is a very good way; but all the cook-books say they are very unhealthy when they are out of season. And he doesn't like them, anyway--especially canned.

      Pause.

      Oh, I think that is too high for them; we have never paid over fifty cents a bunch.

      Pause.

      Must you go? Well, good-by.

      Pause.

      Yes, I think so. Good-by.

      Pause.

      Four o'clock, then--I'll be ready. Good-by.

      Pause.

      Thank you ever so much. Good-by.

      Pause.

      Oh, not at all!--just as fresh--which? Oh, I'm glad to hear you say that. Good-by.

      (Hangs up the telephone and says, "Oh, it does tire a person's arm so!")

      A man delivers a single brutal "Good-by," and that is the end of it. Not so with the gentle sex--I say it in their praise; they cannot abide abruptness.



    6. #26
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      Amended Obituaries
      Mark Twain

      TO THE EDITOR:
      Sir,--I am approaching seventy; it is in sight; it is only three years away. Necessarily, I must go soon. It is but matter-of-course wisdom, then, that I should begin to set my worldly house in order now, so that it may be done calmly and with thoroughness, in place of waiting until the last day, when, as we have often seen, the attempt to set both houses in order at the same time has been marred by the necessity for haste and by the confusion and waste of time arising from the inability of the notary and the ecclesiastic to work together harmoniously, taking turn about and giving each other friendly assistance--not perhaps in fielding, which could hardly be expected, but at least in the minor offices of keeping game and umpiring; by consequence of which conflict of interests and absence of harmonious action a draw has frequently resulted where this ill-fortune could not have happened if the houses had been set in order one at a time and hurry avoided by beginning in season, and giving to each the amount of time fairly and justly proper to it.

      In setting my earthly house in order I find it of moment that I should attend in person to one or two matters which men in my position have long had the habit of leaving wholly to others, with consequences often most regrettable. I wish to speak of only one of these matters at this time: Obituaries. Of necessity, an Obituary is a thing which cannot be so judiciously edited by any hand as by that of the subject of it. In such a work it is not the Facts that are of chief importance, but the light which the obituarist shall throw upon them, the meaning which he shall dress them in, the conclusions which he shall draw from them, and the judgments which he shall deliver upon them. The Verdicts, you understand: that is the danger-line.
      In considering this matter, in view of my approaching change, it has seemed to me wise to take such measures as may be feasible, to acquire, by courtesy of the press, access to my standing obituaries, with the privilege--if this is not asking too much--of editing, not their Facts, but their Verdicts. This, not for the present profit, further than as concerns my family, but as a favorable influence usable on the Other Side, where there are some who are not friendly to me.

      With this explanation of my motives, I will now ask you of your courtesy to make an appeal for me to the public press. It is my desire that such journals and periodicals as have obituaries of me lying in their pigeonholes, with a view to sudden use some day, will not wait longer, but will publish them now, and kindly send me a marked copy. My address is simply New York City--I have no other that is permanent and not transient.

      I will correct them--not the Facts, but the Verdicts--striking out such clauses as could have a deleterious influence on the Other Side, and replacing them with clauses of a more judicious character. I should, of course, expect to pay double rates for both the omissions and the substitutions; and I should also expect to pay quadruple rates for all obituaries which proved to be rightly and wisely worded in the originals, thus requiring no emendations at all.
      It is my desire to leave these Amended Obituaries neatly bound behind me as a perennial consolation and entertainment to my family, and as an heirloom which shall have a mournful but definite commercial value for my remote posterity.

      I beg, sir, that you will insert this Advertisement (1t-eow, agate, inside), and send the bill to
      Yours very respectfully.

      Mark Twain.

      P.S.--For the best Obituary--one suitable for me to read in public, and calculated to inspire regret--I desire to offer a Prize, consisting of a Portrait of me done entirely by myself in pen and ink without previous instructions. The ink warranted to be the kind used by the very best artists.



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    8. #28
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      'ഹായ് മായാ... എന്തുപണിയാ കാണിച്ചത്? ഞാന്* എത്രനേരമായെന്നറിയോ ഇവിടെ
      കാത്തിരിക്കുന്നു'
      'ഹലോ മിസ്റ്റര്*, ഇത് മായ അല്ല, താങ്കള്*ക്ക് നമ്പര്* തെറ്റിയെന്ന് തോനുന്നു.'

      'ഓ.... സോറി....'

      അവന്* ഫോണ്* ഉടനെ കട്ട് ചെയ്തു

      ഉടനെ അവള്*ക്കൊരു sms ലഭിച്ചു

      'ശരിയാണ്, ഞാന്* ഡയല്* ചെയ്ത ഒരു നമ്പര്* മാറിപ്പോയതാണ്, ഫ്രണ്ടാണെന്ന്
      കരുതിയാണ് സംസാരിച്ചത്. ഞാന്* മോശമായി പെരുമാറിയെങ്കില്* ക്ഷമിക്കുക'

      അവള്* അവന് മറുപടി അയച്ചു.

      'അത് സാരമില്ല, താങ്കള്* മോശമായൊന്നും സംസാരിച്ചിട്ടുമില്ല'

      പിന്നീട് അവളുടെ ഫോണ്* തുടരേ ശബ്ദിക്ക്യാന്* തുടങ്ങി... രാത്രിയെന്നോ പകലെന്നോ
      ഇല്ലാതെ. അവള്* അതിനെ അവഗണിച്ചു...

      ഏകാന്തതയുടെ അലസമായ ഒരു യാമത്തില്* അവള്* ആ ഫോണ്* എടുത്തു.

      അപ്പുറത്തുനിന്നും യുവാവിന്റെ ശബ്ദം.

      'ഹലോ... ഞാന്* എത്രദിവസമായി വിളിയ്ക്കുന്നു. എന്താ ഫോണ്* എടുക്കാത്തേ?'

      'ഒന്നുമില്ല'

      'എന്തുചെയ്യുന്നു? പഠിയ്ക്കുകയാണോ?'

      'അല്ല, ഞാന്* ഹൗസ് വൈഫാണ്'

      'പക്ഷേ നിങ്ങളുടെ ശബ്ദം കേട്ടാല്* ചെറിയ കുട്ടിയാണെന്നേ തോന്നൂ...'

      'എനിക്കത്രമാത്രം പ്രായമൊന്നും ആയിട്ടില്ല, 20 വയസ്സേയുള്ളൂ'

      'അതേയോ... അപ്പോ കല്ല്യാണം കഴിഞ്ഞിട്ട് അധികമൊന്നും ആയിക്കാണില്ലല്ലോ?'

      'ഇല്ല'

      'ആട്ടേ... ഭര്*ത്താവെന്തുചെയ്യുന്നു?'

      'നീ കേള്*ക്കാന്* ആഗ്രഹിക്കുന്നത് തന്നെ, ഗള്*ഫിലാണ്'

      കുറച്ചു സമയം കൂടെ അവര്* സംസാരിച്ചു. പെട്ടെന്നവള്* ചോദിച്ചു

      'എന്താ നിന്റെ ഉദ്ദേശം? സംസാരം മാത്രമാണോ... അതോ?'

      'സംസാരത്തില്* മാത്രം എനിയ്ക്കും താല്*പര്യമില്ല...'

      'നിനക്കിന്ന് വരാമോ?'

      'ഇന്നോ? ഇന്ന്....' ആ ചോദ്യം അവന്* പ്രതീക്ഷിച്ചിരുന്നില്ല.

      'നാളെ പറ്റുമോ?'

      'നാളെ വരാം'

      'ഞാന്* പുറകിലെ വാതില്* തുറന്നിടാം... ഒരു പതിനൊന്ന് മണിയാകുംബോള്* വന്നാല്*
      മതി. വന്നാല്* എനിയ്ക്ക് ഒരു മിസ്സ്ഡ് കോള്* തന്നാല്* മതി, ഞാന്* പുറകിലെ
      വാതിലിനടുത്തോട്ട് വരാം'

      'ശരി'

      അവളവന് വിലാസവും വരേണ്ട രീതിയും പറഞ്ഞുകൊടുത്തു.
      ******

      പതിനൊന്ന്മണി മുഴങ്ങിയതും അവന്റെ കോള്* വന്നു. അവള്* പുറകിലെ വാതില്* തുറന്ന്
      മൊബൈലിന്റെ വെളിച്ചം അവനെ കാണിച്ചു. അവന്* അവളുടെ അടുത്തെത്തി, അവള്* അവന്റെ
      കയ്യില്* പിടിച്ചു, വാതില്* മെല്ലെയടച്ചു. ഇരുട്ടിലൂടെ അവര്* രണ്ടുപേരും മെല്ലെ
      ശബ്ദമുണ്ടാക്കാതെ നീങ്ങി.

      പെട്ടെന്നാണ് ഡൈനിങ്ങ് ഹാളില്* വെളിച്ചം വന്നത്

      ' വാ.. വാ.. ഇരിയ്ക്ക്... ഞങ്ങള്* നിന്നെ കാത്തിരിക്കുകയായിരുന്നു.'
      തീന്മേശയ്ക്ക് ചുറ്റിലുമിരിക്കുന്ന യുവാക്കളില്* ഒരാള്* പറഞ്ഞു.

      അവന്* ആകെ ഭയപരവശനായി... തിരിച്ചോടാന്* ശ്രമിച്ചപ്പോഴേക്കും യുവാക്കള്* അവനെ
      പിടികൂടിയിരുന്നു.

      ' അങ്ങനങ്ങ് പോയാലോ അളിയാ... നല്ല അയക്കൂറ ബിരിയാണിയും കോഴിപൊരിച്ചതും
      ഒക്കെയുണ്ട്. നിനക്കായി പ്രത്യേകം ഉണ്ടാക്കിയതാ. നീ ഇന്നത്തെ നമ്മുടെ
      അഥിതിയല്ലേ...'

      കൂട്ടത്തില്* ഒരാള്* അവനെ പിടിച്ചിരുത്തി, ബിരിയാണി വിളമ്പികൊടുത്ത്,
      കോഴിപൊരിച്ചത് പ്ലേറ്റില്* ഇട്ടുകൊടുത്തുകൊണ്ട് പറഞ്ഞു

      'നീ ലൈനടിക്കാന്* നോക്കിയ പെണ്ണിന്റെ ഗള്*ഫിലുള്ള ഭര്*ത്താവാടാ ഞാന്*, നീ വെറും
      പൊട്ടനായിപ്പോയല്ലോടാ... ഒരു പെണ്ണ് വിളിച്ചപ്പോഴേക്കും ഓടിവന്നിരിക്കുന്നു.
      ഇതൊക്കെ ഒരു പ്ലാനിംഗ് അല്ലേ... അത് മനസ്സിലായില്ലല്ലേ...? കഴിക്ക്
      കഴിക്ക്...*'

      അവന് ആ ബിരിയാണി കഴിക്കുക എന്നത് മുള്ളാണി ചവച്ചിറക്കുന്നതിനേക്കാള്*
      ബുദ്ധിമുട്ടുള്ളതായി കണ്ടു.

      'നിനക്കറിയുമോ... നിങ്ങള്* ഞരമ്പ് രോഗികള്* കാരണം എത്ര കുടുംബങ്ങള്*
      തകര്*ന്നിട്ടുണ്ടെന്ന്? നിങ്ങള്* കിട്ടുന്ന നമ്പറുകളിലെല്ലാം
      വിളിച്ചുകൊണ്ടേയിരിക്കും, ഈ സമയം അവരുടെ ഗള്*ഫില്*നിന്നും വിളിക്കുന്ന
      ഭര്*ത്താവ് കാണുന്നത് ഫോണ്* ബിസി. അവിടെ സംശയം വളരും. തലതിരിഞ്ഞുപോയ
      സ്ത്രീകളില്* പെട്ട ചെറിയൊരു ശതമാനം ഗള്*ഫ് ഭാര്യമാരില്* അവര്* തങ്ങളുടെ
      ഭാര്യമാരേയും ഉള്*പ്പെടുത്തും. പരസ്പരം മസസ്സിലാക്കുക പോയിട്ട് ശരിക്കൊന്ന്
      ഉള്ളുതുറന്ന് സംസാരിച്ചുകാണില്ല അവര്*. അത്രയും സമയമേ അവര്*ക്ക് ഒരുമിച്ച്
      കിട്ടിയിട്ടുണ്ടാവൂ... സത്യത്തില്* ഒരു തെറ്റും ചെയ്യാതെ തന്നെ അവര്* പിരിയും.
      നിന്റെ കുടുംബത്തിലാണ് ഇങ്ങനെ സംഭവിക്കുന്നതെങ്കില്* നീയെങ്ങനെ പ്രതികരിക്കും?'
      അവന്റെ കണ്ണുകള്* നിറഞ്ഞൊഴുകി... 'ഇല്ല ചേട്ടാ... ഞാന്* ഇനി അങ്ങനെയൊന്നും
      ചെയ്യില്ല... അത്രയൊന്നും ഞാന്* ഇന്നുവരെ ചിന്തിച്ചിട്ടില്ല.. ചേച്ചീ നിങ്ങളും
      എന്നോട് ക്ഷമിക്കണം'

      'നീ കരയേണ്ട... നിനക്ക് കാര്യങ്ങള്* പറഞ്ഞ് മനസ്സിലക്കിതരുക എന്നതായിരുന്നു
      ഞങ്ങളുടെ ഉദ്ദേശം. അത് നിനക്ക് മനസ്സിലായെന്ന് തോനുന്നു'

      'അതെ.. മനസ്സിലായി ചേട്ടാ... നിങ്ങള്* എന്നെ തല്ലുമോ എന്ന് ഞാന്*
      ഭയപ്പെട്ടിരുന്നു, ഇപ്പോ എനിക്കാ പേടിയില്ല. നിങ്ങളെന്നെ തല്ലിയാലും
      സന്തോഷത്തോടെ ഞാന്* കൊള്ളും'

      'നിന്നെ തല്ലാനൊന്നും പോണില്ല, പക്ഷേ ചെറിയ ഒരു ശിക്ഷ തരാതെ നിന്നെ വിടുന്നതും
      ശരിയല്ല... ഉമ്മാ... ആ ജ്യൂസിങ്ങ് കൊണ്ടുവരൂ...'

      ഉമ്മയുടെ കയ്യില്*നിന്നും ജ്യൂസ് വാങ്ങി നീട്ടിയിട്ട് പറഞ്ഞൂ...

      ' ഇത് നല്ല ഒന്നാന്തരം ജ്യൂസാണ്, ആട്ടിന്* പാലില്* കാന്താരിമുളകും ആടലോടകവും
      അരച്ച് ചേര്*ത്തത്... ഒറ്റവലിക്കങ്ങ് കുടിച്ചേ... ഇതാണ് മോനേ നിനക്കുള്ള പണി,
      ആട്ടിന്* പാലില്*'

      'ഇതിലും ഭേതം എന്റെ കയ്യോ കാലോ ഒടിച്ചിടുന്നതായിരുന്നു ചേട്ടാ...'

      എന്ന് പറഞ്ഞ് അവനാ ഗ്ലാസ്സ് വാങ്ങി ഒറ്റവലിക്ക് കുടിച്ച് തീര്*ത്തു.... കൂടെ
      കുറേ വെള്ളവും കുടിച്ചു...

      എല്ലാവരും ചിരിച്ച മുഖത്തോടെ അവനെ നോക്കിയിരിക്കുകയായിരുന്നു...

      'ചേട്ടാ... ഒരു കാര്യം ചോദിച്ചോട്ടേ...?'

      'ചോദിക്ക്'

      'ഇവിടുത്തെ ബാത്ത്റും എവിടെയാ?'

      'എടീ... ഇങ്ങോട്ട് കൊണ്ടുവന്ന പോലെ കൈ പിടിച്ച് ആ ബാത്ത്റൂമില്* കൊണ്ടാക്ക്...
      കൈ അധികം അമര്*ത്തിപിടിക്കല്ലേ... അവന്* അവിടെയൊക്കെ നാശമാക്കും.

    9. #29
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      TONYude swantham anubavam
      Pulimurugathandavam, Drishyavisphodanam, PriyanodOppam

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      Quote Originally Posted by lalistheonlySuperStar View Post
      TONYude swantham anubavam
      swantham anubhavam kandappo litosinu pettennu manasilayi

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