“Puzhakkara! The same old small village on the banks of a river. The inhabitants have merged with modern civilization but not so, their village. Small houses surrounded by palm trees. Wonderful”, Revi said to himself, rather sarcastically.
“Did you say something?” Pushpa, his wife asked. “Oh, no. I was just thinking of that beautiful village”.
Revi, like his colleagues got a handsome amount by way of bonus after a gap of three years; and as a special gesture his employer permitted him to go on a week’s leave. Immediately, he thought of going to Ooty or Kodaikanal, the two nearby tourist spots so that Pushpa could be relieved of her loneliness. For their honeymoon trip she preferred Puzhakkara to any other tourist destinations and he was almost sure that she would choose either Ooty or Kodaikanal but to his disappointment she said, “Puzhakkara”. He still remembered that small village and that river but it was not as attractive as places like Ooty or Kodaikanal. Last time when he asked her “why Puzhakkara?” She said that she just wanted to know whether Puzhakkara had undergone any change since she visited the same village years ago when she was a student… The teacher who took the kids to that village told them that the house where an old poet lived was still there.
Now, when Revi sought her preference she said “Puzhakkara”. Of course, Revi got wild. Anyway, he thought of a holiday trip with a view to giving her some relief from her dull routine life and if she is bent upon visiting that village, let her enjoy. He would be spending less than half the amount set apart by him.
And so, it was Puzhakkara again. Pushpa told him that they could stay in a small holiday home attached to an ancient temple in that village. On day one she woke up five O’clock in the morning and told him that she would spend the morning hours in the temple. There was a small restaurant nearby and Revi let her go to the temple.
But Pushpa, instead of going to the temple, went in search of a house, a hut rather, which was not far away from the temple. The villagers were very helpful and she could locate the small house she had come in search of.
This story could be dragged on and on but I must cut it down to the minimum. The said house belonged to Pushpa’s aged mother who was compelled to sell her daughter when she was a child to a childless couple. Pushpa has no idea about her father who abandoned the mother and the child. In fact, Pushpa was totally unaware of her background till a few days before her marriage when a friend of her mother [the one who brought her up] revealed the bitter truth. The purpose was to request Pushpa to see her mother, before she calls it a day. Yes, she met her and naturally there were sentiments… Pushpa gave her some money. The mother begged her not to reveal this fact to anybody… During their honeymoon trip to the very same village, she could not locate the house because Revi was with her wherever she went.
The matter is as simple as that and at the most, the writer can describe the beauty of the village and the river or Pushpa’s anxiety, curiosity etc but some of the award winning short stories are too ambiguous or too lengthy that you feel like abandoning the story mid-way. They may be following a trend but the reader is totally confused.