Pragya Suman

Dr Pragya Suman is a doctor by profession, from Bihar, India. She has done specialisation in ophthalmology and pathology.Writing is her passion which she inherited from her father. Her Father late Triveni prasad yadav was a civil engineer by profession who always kept his library up to date. Her mother was a housewife and a real motivator. Her husband Dr Bisheswar Kumar is also a doctor. She is the mother of a single daughter named Vatsalya.

Her poetries, reviews and fiction have been published in many magazines and anthologies. She has achieved a certificate of excellence from many literary forums and Gujrat Sahitya Academy.

Her poems are weekly broadcast from universal vision radio Mexico.

She won the Gideon poetry award of summer 2020.

Her favourite writers are Franz Kafka, WB Yeats, Robert Frost and David Thanne Cornell.

She also writes short stories and reviews which have been published in many magazines and anthologies.

Surrealism, prose poetry,avant garde and free verse are her favourite genres.

Her poetry mentor is David Thanne Cornell, for whom she has high regards.

Her debut poetry book “Lost Mother” published in 2020. Her second book Photonic Postcard is a collection of prose poems which is published by Ukiyoto Publishing, Ontario, Canada.

She is founding editor of Arc Magazine, India.

Look ! Grapes are sour

“Grapes are sour” is one of the most heard stories uptill now, perhaps the most familiar one also. So familiar that it’s title is converted into a piercing proverb. A fable which in anthropomorphic disguise has pervaded Mink everywhere. Grapes are a tool with many faces ! With sarcastic scorn it descends whenever I compromise in a genial gesture. Grapes in the air, hanging out of the twigs and tentacles.

“Look ! grapes are sour.”

Everything effaces out in three words. Sour grapes are actually a bleach of strong flavour which can rub off deep dug words.

On the little desk board Mink was sitting, her little hands were standstill on the elbow hinge fixed upon a rectangular table which was sloping forward, facing the torso of  Mink. Lower horizontal brim was upto lower line of her chest, beneath the desk Mink could hide her little fingers smeared with sweat whenever assumption of next question was in probability of towards her. Tremor of hands beneath the desk could be hidden but the face was unmasked. They were within the perceptive circle of prying eyes of the teacher. The Entire duration of nursery class was “fight for hide” for little Mink.

A game of “hide and seek” in the playground of learning ! Hide from piercing eyes in search of a secure nook

Scanning eyes rolled in radius !

Teacher was flesy, fat, rotund one with chubby cheeks dotted with a dig of smallpox scars. Her dove skin heightened it much like polka dots upon the smooth, silky graceful italian fabric.

“I would be caught” this apprehension would get away, even the answers, she would have replied but fear stole witty words!

Stolen words made the heart sink, much turmoil to little one.

 “I would have answered”

But the answer wavered away like her tiny paper boat !

 ‘’Look ! grapes are sour !”

Teacher was staring at her, after a brief moment the teacher raised her hand in the air, the last four fingers aligned side by side, leaving thumb in alienation.

 A solid slap was in the air.

“Look, just get yourself immersed in study instead of going round and round, otherwise you are going to be nothing but totally a waste one” the teacher rebuked.

“Mother dumps waste in the dustbin,” Mink began to recall.

“filthy thing” !irksome to an insular little one !

Alienated thumb descended deep in her.

“ What would they think? My classmates, loving daddy and mummy…!”

 Futility and big talks of existentialism would catch the little one.

“ Look, you would be a doctor, my little angel.”

Father loves her, reminds her and always makes a hug. But nowadays his hug seems tightened, making her gasping at the verge of asthma.

Clouds were hovering above like black stallions. As riders run, rain happens, water descends in solid sheets. Mink was thinking about the palm swaying in the air to slap. Heavy rain came to her rescue. Parents gave permission for being absent in school that day.

Today is the Hindi examination. Mink is tense ! She doesn’t want to go to school. Eerie feeling of examination has not spread her tentacles upto subconscious mind, only the conscious one is wriggling in a dilemma about how to be absent today. In the dry cold month of December it doesn”t rain, little one’s tiny brain has started to percept.

Raining is one of the commonest excuses for school bunk.

“I have no pencil, how will I write the exam” ?

“Totally lame excuse ! I know this is your daily chorus ! This has got stale, you should have invented a newer one, tiny tot !”mother scolded and ordered Ardali to send her to school. Ardali smuggled little mink upon his shoulders. Her whimper ascended to crescendo in screech. Mother did not understand that really Mink did not have a pencil, that was not an excuse but a true statement, but truth lost in presumption of daily excuses.

Examination hall

9. 30 AM

Teacher is moving between parallel columns, a long row of examinees, her prying eyes piercing every one, lest anyone turn sideways.

Mint wants to borrow a pencil, but nobody has brought an extra one, pencils are running around except upon her sheet.

Black clouds refused to rain, the prying eyes of the teacher refused to get blunt, and even the mother was dejected. she was not making excuses but that was in vain , mother did not heed. A great burden descended upon her and she wobbled.

“Get up my dear ! It’s sundowning. you are late cutie pie, my tiny angle, look chirping birds are calling you ”

Mink awakens with wide eyes.

Father was looming upon her and stamped a deep kiss !

Great relief ! It was a dream. A pink ray filtered out of gaudy sun and peeped in a tiny hole in the bedroom .

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