Blue Moon Stories


A pensive 20-year-old girl sits at the window of a bedroom, her head resting against the glass. There are two empty beds in the room. It is early evening. No lights are switched on. A 15-year-old enters the room and watches her. She comes and sits next to her and calls to her softly-

“Dee Dee..”

There is no response. DeeDee’s hand, holding one of the window rods, slides down limply. The 15-year-old persists…

“I want to tell you something.”

DeeDee’s eyes blink and a tear rolls down her cheek. The 15-year-old continues quietly…

“Love is the most wonderful feeling in the world, yet this us what it does…

DeeDee won’t move.

“Please let go no DeeDee. Didn’t you say that memories are just past? You still have your present… I want to tell you something, but you have to pay attention to me…”

The 15-year-old glances at the pillow and we see a small edge of a diary peeping from under it.


At this moment, DeeDee faintly stirs, looks dazedly around the room, and slowly comes and sits on the bed.

The 15-year-old starts smiling to herself. DeeDee looks at the other bed and notices the diary. She immediately picks it up and lifts out the bookmark to go to the last written page.

“Dear Diary,

It was the stupidest day at college today. I hate that teacher. I broke my favorite bracelet also and lost it somewhere. I tried calling DeeDee to speak to her about it and I suddenly realized I had run out of balance. There are these moments that I simply HAVE to talk to her and no one else! And then suddenly, she called! She said she had this urge to call me right away and find out how I was doing. Can you believe it! I was soooo happyyy!!

This happens so many times with us. It’s so awesome. It’s like our souls are connected forever. We don’t need the phone! Hell, we don’t even need the words!! We don’t need anything. We are connected forever. ”

DeeDee breaks down sobbing, still holding the diary. The 15-year-old has disappeared.

Next to DeeDee is photo frame on the table. It has a picture of two little girls holding hands, grinning widely.

Blue Moon Stories


The beautiful rain went away

Leaving behind clouds grey

I ran and ran and ran and ran…

Abandoning your memories far away.

Until I reached a cliff tall

And I could run no more

All that was left for me was to plunge

And let rest my feet sore.

Suddenly I was flying!

The wind dried away my tears

My eyes began to see clearly again

And the clouds began to disappear.

I looked down and saw you

I understood that you wished to see me fly

And even though it’s your threads that are stuck in my wings

I am at least going to try.

Blue Moon Stories

A Leaf Out of Her Life

I woke up with a start. It was 3 a.m. I couldn’t remember the dream or the nightmare, try as I might. There was some sound coming from outside.  I walked into the living room and pulled the window blinds.

It was raining heavily. The clothes we had hung only today morning had left the clothesline and fallen to the ground, soiled. My mother’s mango tree was swaying to the wind like an old lady dancing to jazz. Suddenly a strong gust of wind blew a rather big mango leaf towards me and it landed at my window sill, wet and quivering. 

I glanced back at Puru in our bed. He was fast asleep. I walked over to the fridge absently. A sip of water? I opened the fridge and there was nothing. Nothing. No water bottles, no leftover food, no fruits or vegetables. Empty fridge. Like new. This was absurd. My fridge never looked like this. We always had to struggle to wiggle in the leftovers every night. Was I still in a dream? 

I brought my hand to my face and touched my cheek. It felt cold and stiff. Real. I blinked a few times. I removed my slippers and touched the cold marble floor. Felt the stone. No. Not a dream.

I walked over to the other bedroom where mother was asleep. She never closed her bedroom door. She had her her back to me. I tiptoed in. She stirred. I stopped. 

She turned around and without even opening her eyes, said-


“Ma… You aren’t asleep?”

“I was. You woke me up.”

“But I didn’t even make any noise.”

“You didn’t have to.”

She opened her eyes and smiled at me. Her voice came out hoarse. 

“Can’t sleep?”

“Uh-huh. Sorry to have woken you up.”

“It’s okay. I like it when you wake me up.”

I smiled at her, my fragile, dear mother. 

“I always love you. You know that right?”

“Thank you.”

Our eyes met. I suddenly had a memory of when I was only 4 or 5 years old. And on a particular day, I had angrily stomped my feet and told her my friend Sharu’s mother was ‘much, much, much better than her’. I didn’t remember why I had said that, but it had brought about a glint of tear in her eyes. She had quickly turned away and hid it. But I had seen it. I had said sorry, but what was said had been said. I couldn’t take it back. I just remembered it. And just like that, in this moment tonight, she read it in my eyes, how sorry I was and how I loved her deeply. There were no more words needed. She really understood.

She touched my hand lightly. 

“I will go back to sleep now”, she said.


I walked back to my room, got in my bed and was fast asleep in no time.

Next morning, Puru woke me up. It was already 9. I had overslept. 

“You seemed so peaceful in your sleep, I didn’t feel like waking you up sooner.”

I sat up and stretched leisurely. I did feel well-rested. Puru went to the kitchen and called out.

“I am making you a strong coffee and a nice egg-toast.” 

“Thank you! Is Mamma up?” I shouted back. 

Puru came back in immediately. 

“Did you say Mamma? Are you missing her, Anya?”

Puru sat next to me and looked at the picture of Mamma next to my bedside. It came to me. Mamma was no more. She had died 3 months ago. 

“Sorry, I guess I dreamt about her…”  

But I was not convinced. It had not felt like a dream. I walked out to the living room and saw Puru take eggs out of the fridge. The same fridge that had been empty last night. Okay, fine. 

“So there was no rain last night too, right?” I said looking at the drawn curtains.

“It’s sunny and a 39 degrees.” Puru replied, looking a little worried. 

I pulled the window blinds. Everything outside was bone-dry. All our clothes were fresh and dried, still hung neatly on the clothesline. No sign of a drizzle, let alone heavy rain.

“It was a dream.” I murmured to myself.

I was about to close the curtains when something caught my eye.

A mango leaf was on my window sill. Stuck to the paint. Still wet. As if it had landed there only last night.