Fiction and other Realities

‘Fiction is inspired by reality’ That is what they say. Yet, I have observed that a few events happen a lot more in fiction than they do in real life or vice versa.

Take sweating for example. Imaginary characters sweat way more than you or I ever would. I understand being in a story is testing since you are always in one difficult situation or another but that amount of sweating isn’t normal. Not even for the fictitious world. A lot of sweat and you run the risk of making your story stink.

Then there is this fact that everything occurs ‘suddenly’ in fiction. I know there are some realistic books where the story takes forever to fold. There are books-classics actually where nothing happens-no story at all! However, the popular opinion usually classifies them as boring. The fiction that sells real fast is often active with numerous suddenly this and suddenly that. I sincerely appreciate the characters’ reluctance to drop dead with ‘sudden’ heart attacks. Some of them do die that way though.

Beautiful Women/Ugly Men. Another thing, all or at least a majority of women in literature are beautiful or at least pretty… no wonder they are not real. 😂 Don’t even get me started on the impossibly humongous boobs! I wonder if that is why cancer is so common in the fiction city. On the other hand, men are usually ugly… at least if they are to be faithful. Handsome men in fiction, that is if they exist at all, are rarely faithful except in Jane Austen novels and even then they have at least one major character flaw. That is kind of realistic though, men are full of flaws and never faithful… okay maybe a 0.000001%!

Let’s take a look at the young adults now. All of them fall in love, which is alright considering their age. My problem is why the triangle is their favorite shape? I want a love circle, you know the protagonist loves nobody but themselves. That would be realistic for sure.

Weather. It is either a dark stormy night or a pleasant clear morning. Why are there no rains during the day and whats up with the fiction moon? Why does it come out on two occasions only? Either when a werewolf is on the lose or when the lovebirds want to do some outdoor rom-rom stuff.

Writers. There are always so many of them. This one actually makes sense to me. A writer writing about writing has to be genuine.
There are various other instances I’d like to point out too but that would be genre specific so next time, maybe. *Yawns*

However, before I end this, here is the final one; deaths or their lack of in the fiction. The mortality rate in fiction is too damn high. Although sadly, we are catching up with that trend. Yet, there are so many novels where characters needed to die but the writers decided to save their precious. I wish God would be that indulgent too.

326845353_7d197c386fImage Source

All GIFs from GIPHY




Toothaches > Heartaches

Tobacco, tomato, timber, and toothache.

Smoke it, hot, don’t burn, in pain.

Please don’t bother for my sake

Because I am pretty insane.


Human, you humane. Heartache!

Didn’t I tell you to refrain?


Nothing to offer, I have, I’m afraid,

Yet my blood, you continue to drain.

When the last few drops fade,

You come and feast on my brain.


My brain, my brain, my brain!

Is empty but frowns in disdain.


Chew your tobacco.

Clone a tomato.

Use the timber, build a canoe.

Sail and drown, deep in blue!


Heartaches, you may sustain

But curing toothaches? In vain!

A Perfect Sphere—WringoInk

“Not another triangle”, her mother scowled. The old woman was trying hard to control her anger but was clearly failing at it.

“It tastes perfectly alright”, Zebo protested in a small voice.

“Perfectly?”, her mother’s tone was extremely sarcastic, “Don’t you dare defend this misshapen piece of bread in front of me.” She exhaled and added somewhat sadly, “Girl you are not going to get married easily.”

Zebo knew there was no point in arguing anymore. Her mother’s honey-brown eyes were flashing with anger. She glanced at the grandfather clock that stood in the kitchen. It was 1:30 P.M. Abba would be here any minute, she thought. She grabbed her dupatta, which was hanging on the knob of the kitchen door, and covered herself. She left for her room as Amma stood up from her favorite chair. She would make a new one for Abba, she thought, it would be a perfect sphere.

Zoobia Shahid was among the brightest students in her class. The 14-year-old had only recently learned that world was elliptical. Copernicus and Galileo had faced quite a handful of troubles before the perfectionists finally came to terms with the fact that their beloved earth was not a perfect circle. She didn’t know what kind of sacrifice she would have to make for her parents to appreciate her truly.

“The girl has exceptional talent with words”, her language teachers would tell her parents on every parent-teacher meeting at school. While her Abba looked proud about it, Amman would only frown.

“Let’s go talk to her Home Economics teacher”, she would tell him. Zebo dreaded that very moment since she knew that teacher Zulaikhan would tell her parents about all her mischiefs.

“She shouldn’t be called a girl”, Ms. Zulaikhan would start. Her Abba would look annoyed about it but her Amma would only nod her head in a gesture of understanding and sympathy.

“She is the perfect definition of the word disaster”, her teacher would resume the chiding, “She had cut herself more times while peeling vegetables in the class than politicians tell lies in their entire lifetimes. Recently, she reached new heights after she accidentally set fire to the tablecloth on which she was working. You have no idea what a nightmare it was!”

Her mother would add snippets of her sins too. “She broke a dozen eggs before coming here…”, “You should see what a mess her room is…” and “One day she was playing with her younger brother. This girl had the nerve of using the cover of my new hot pot as a shield while she pretended to safeguard some imaginary kingdom with the rolling pin…”

“Oh, I can totally imagine the horror”, her teacher would gasp in a dramatic way. After a while, they would get bored of talking about Zebo. Then one of them would comment on some fine stitch on the other’s dress and they would enter a fantasy world of their own.

“Women”, Zebo and her father would sigh simultaneously.

Then there was the Rishta parade. Zebo was 100% successful in crushing yet another dream of her mother. The girl had effectively been rejected by a dozen rishrawalas. She deserved bonus points for being rejected for different reasons every single time. Her most popular tactics included revealing to the guests that the amazingly delicious delicacies were not prepared by her as opposed to the claims made by her Amman, sitting improperly, laughing too loudly, and bragging that she could twist her left thumb into an abnormal position. Once she had even told the potential groom’s mother that she might be at the risk of developing breast cancer because of family history. Her Amman had only one breast.

“What’s in the other cup then”, the aunty had asked her jokingly. Zebo had looked at her mother who was glaring at her from the adjacent sofa. “Probably some weapon of mass destruction to destroy my existence”, she had replied.

“There is no way to domesticate this wildflower”, her mother would often say and smile. Apparently, she was wrong because her death did the trick. Her Amman’s other breast had cancerous cells too. However, they were incurable being at the last stage.

Zebo is now a mother of two. You would never find a sphere more perfect in the world than the Rotis she cooks.

Originally published on Medium

Category ‘Young Adult’, Story 2

Also like our Facebook page for other interesting tales by 5 different and extremely talented writers.

When a Cat Calls

This happened a year ago.
We were in the third month of our marriage and life was grand. I loved her to bits and surprisingly, she doted on me too. When I said surprisingly, it is not just my low self-esteem screaming for some kind of validation but an undeniable truth. The thing is my wife is what you would call perfection–she is tall and beautiful without being vain or contemptuous! As if that is not enough, she is extremely intelligent as well. The only time I had doubted her thinking capacities was when she’d agreed to marry me. By the way, I am an average looking guy and fate has not left me with an attractive inheritance from a dead relative to make for what I lack in looks. So our marriage is a mystery to me!
Now as she was a permanent resident of the space that for the purpose of ease, I would like to call ‘way out of my league’ I had often imagined that at some point in life, I will have a competitor. However, it was a shocker when my rival came in the form of an animal–a cat!
It had happened so fast that there was nothing I could do to prevent it. One day, she had gone for shopping and when she returned, the monster was perched in her lap.
“Darling, what is this?”, I had asked my voice turning meek, as I dreaded the answer.
“He is Tiger–our cat”, she had answered in a very matter-of-fact tone.
I observed the beast–gray fur coated numerous layers of fat. Then I made the mistake of looking at his face. Slowly, he opened his green eyes and I could see all my nightmares coming to life.
I must clear a fact here. When I was a little kid, a stray cat had bitten me. Instead of turning into a superhero, I had developed a never-ending fear of all things feline.
“Dear, could we not do this?”, I tried making an attempt at rectifying the damage. Two pairs of glaring eyes answered me and I gave in.
As I had known all along, the new addition to the family didn’t work out for me. Apart from the obvious bone of contention chewed with equal force at either side by both parties, I had to endure sleepless nights as well. The cat had literally come in between me and my wife (he slept on our bed). Everyday, I would wake up on the carpet with scratches on my back, while Tiger enjoyed my spot on the soft bed. All I could get from my wife after relating his atrocities was, “Aw, our Tiger is so intelligent.”
I had to take naps at work to make up for my lack of sleep at home. Life couldn’t get any worse.
Or so I thought, for one day, my wife announced that she was going out, leaving the monster with me. Alone!
“Promise me you will be nice to him”, she said. I just nodded and she left.
Now, here I was with my worst nightmare settled on the carpet. I was lying on the couch pretending to watch television while all my attention was directed towards the monster, who was silently matching my hatred for him.
We kept at it for a while but then the sheer amount of negative energy floating inside the room forced me to move. So, I went to fetch something to eat from the kitchen.
When I returned, Tiger was resting on the couch wearing an ‘I own this place’ expression. I checked the time–it was 4:00 P.M. My wife was to return by 6:00 P.M. I realised that I had 2 hours to achieve eternal happiness by eliminating this hideous villain from our lives. I put my food on the side table, rolled the sleeves of my sweater, took a deep breath, and lunged for him.
What happened after that includes sharp claws and a lot of meows embarrassingly from both parties. After that, I lost consciousness.
“What in the world are you doing on the door mat?”
I heard an angelic voice. I must be dead, I thought, or rather hoped.
Deep down I knew I couldn’t be that lucky. It was my wife with her numerous shopping bags.
“It is the cat”, I began, ready to articulate in the most eloquent terms all the injustices done to me but I checked myself just in time. I knew it would be of no use.
“What has Tiger got to do with your sudden desire to explore the wonders of our door mat?”, she asked, sounding on the verge of losing her temper.
My 6th, as well as several other senses, informed me to refrain from telling her the truth. I used the first intelligent thought that came into my mind.
“I wanted to relate to Tiger on a deeper level”, said I, and when she continued to look suspicious I added, “You know in a ‘walk in his shoes or lay on his spot’ way.”
“Aww, this is so silly yet so thoughtful of you”, she burst into a warm smile.
This was the second time I had had doubts about her intelligence.
We went inside. The cat was sitting there like he owned the place. I accepted my defeat by offering him a foolish smile and he acknowledged it with a swish of his obnoxious tail.
A year has passed since, and I have stopped trying to get rid of him. It took me long enough to realise that a cat sits above us all!