The Evening Tea

This flash fiction has also been featured in 'The Leaning House Press'. Click here to read from the site.

There were many flavors: jasmine, lime, apple, ginger. But eyeing the beautiful ladies, wrapped in glittering saris, I wasn’t interested in having tea at the hotel lawn at all. One of them could become my life partner, the pundit had said, and I believed him; I knew his astrological forecasts never failed.

So I waited, waited for that something to happen, looking for it in the swimming pool which reflected the hotel lights and from the sari glitter, the two fighting with each other, suspicious, jealous, looking like competing clusters of fireflies; even the diamonds that sent reflections from the pretty necks clashed with one another, looking venomous, desperate. It all seemed nice, a cool place with umpteen options. And the wait already seemed behind me. And yet the hibernating courage needed to be woken up, to hasten the process, to bring the love of my life, closer, and faster. Just then I heard the inner voice; I had come prepared.

I made a few trips to the toilet to drink my hip-flask whiskey, and woke up next day with an old, bald woman. She smiled, wore her wig, patted my cheek and walked away. Now I wanted tea. The flavors circled in my mind as I dashed into the bathroom.

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