Three Micro Stories
Birthday Gift

My old Diesel was noisy and emitted black fumes. Still it was my pride and joy because it reminded me of my prosperous days. Its silver anniversary was a week before my wife’s birthday. I invited a few friends to celebrate the occasion well aware of her opinion that I was risking my health every moment I spent in it.
Just as we raised our beer mugs to “She is a jolly good fellow” a brand new silver car rolled into the driveway. My wife got out and handed me the key, “This is a gift for you on my birthday. As for the old clunker, I have a buyer who will pick it up tomorrow.” Any offense at my faithful servant of a quarter century being called an old clunker disappeared the moment my ears and nose did not protest when I turned the key in the new car.


Family Reunion

Having unwittingly separated from my party in a deep forest three days earlier, I walked on slippery rough ground in heavy rain during day light and slept on wet ground under dripping trees at nights. I had not eaten since a sandwich on the first day and drank from the polluted streams. It was midnight, cold and moonless, when I found the familiar logging road. Suddenly headlights of a car blinded me as it came to a screeching halt. I heard the joyous sound, “It is Daddy.” My wife and three daughters, who had been meditating on how to console each other on the loss of a loved father and husband, jumped out and we hugged each other while shedding tears of relief.

The family reunion in deep forest of British Columbia on a dark night was the happiest we could hope; still not wish it on our worst enemy.


An Unfortunate Accident

Swami Dharyananda has built his retreat on two pillars: need of atheists for confirmation in their beliefs and his uncanny ability to relax the disciples when they are stressed close to the breaking point. In only five years Atheists' Ashram has grown to cater to almost a hundred devotees a day, thanks to Swami who worked tirelessly, sixteen hours a day, seven days a week since the moment he conceived the idea of the Ashram. Work is his recreation and constant communion with disciples is all the entertainment he needs. He does have another passion which only a few of his disciples are aware of. He is an avid collector of rare first editions of medieval manuscripts. On his lecture tours he always finds time to visit better antique book shops in town.

Imagine the surprise of everyone in the resort one morning when Swamini, Swami’s wife, took over the dawn service. To calm the anxious disciples she informed them that there was nothing seriously wrong with the revered Swami; only a sprain in the back he got the previous night while loading a cup in the dishwasher. There were murmurs of disapproval; what kind of wife would let a saint enter the kitchen, let alone do the menial chores like loading the dishwasher. Swamini had too much dignity to give any indication that she heard such silly talk.

I do hope that the faithful don’t consider me presumptuous if I claim that I have an inkling of the real cause of injury. If I am right I may even be unwittingly responsible and it seems to me only natural that Swamini is too embarrassed to disclose it. However, I will not be specific if only because I have no way of being certain. All I will disclose is that I presented Swami earlier in the week a very well preserved ancient manuscript which was in possession of my family for several generations, pictorial version of Kama Sutra.