The Silver Coloured Pouch

“Thieeeeeeefff! Stop him! Thief!” hollering at the top of her voice Remya ran behind the man, huffing and puffing, but desperate to catch up with him.

Thud!

Thanks to the Cochin corporation who does not believe in covering the open drains, the hooligan was trapped in one of the infamous sewage drains that like veins ran through the entire city. By the time she caught up with the thief, who was now stuck in the drain, a few people had gathered and they were helping him get out. No sooner than he came out, they started beating him black and blue. She ran and snatched her bag out of his hands and pored through the contents to ensure that there was nothing amiss.

It was then that she saw that the little silver coloured pouch she treasured was missing. The pouch was not with the thief, she had him double checked by the public that had gathered over there.

It was her birthday and she had got the gift from a special person. She could not wait to reach home and try on the pendant that was in the silver pouch.

A few months back she had joined St. Pauls’ College as an English lecturer and she totally loved her job. The students were in awe of her and the ones who were notorious for constantly bunking classes too were seen enjoying her classes. She even had senior teachers asking her suggestions on how to handle classes and tips to make sure that the students enjoyed their classes.

The new economics professor was a typical Malayalee in all the senses. He was dark skinned, wore a mundu to college and kept a moustache and a beard. At one glance, you could be deceived into thinking that he was a poet or an artist who was still in the struggling stages and trying to make a name for himself in the world. The truth however was far from this. He was a die-hard communist, an ardent reader and followed politics closely, he was loved by his students and he loved them in return. He was the entire package – intelligence, looks, you say it he has it. He was the kind of guy you could be in a relationship with, yet your father would not disapprove of him. He was the kind of guy who could make any girl dream. Even Remya.

Yes, he was the one who had given her the green pendant and she had lost it, before wearing it even once!

And while you are here, do check out my guest post over at Precarious Me’s blog. 

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Bhavya

Writing to me is therapy, it frightens and comforts at the same time. Liberates like nothing else. A book in my own name is a dream, but a bigger dream would be to write something that haunts the reader even after the last page is turned and the book is shut. I enjoy reading and music, spending time with family whilst battling my social awkwardness.

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