Me Movies More

She was sitting in a corner with the manuscript on her lap. It was her dream, since she stepped into the big city, to work under a famous filmmaker. And finally, after five gruelling years of sharing chawls and odd jobs at cafes and stores, she had made it here, today, with the script that she had been working on. Earlier, she had shown some of her scripts to some indie filmmakers. Some of them threw it on her face, some of them smiled and had bid her adieu with a” will get back soon”. But she almost broke down when she saw a YouTube short film that matched her script exactly, even down to the title. And she tracked the maker to be one of those, “will get back soon”. When she tried to contact him to ask for credit, he denied it, saying their meeting had been just a figment of her imagination. But after going through so much betrayal and rejection, she finally found herself at one of the biggest filmmakers’ offices. She was oozing in excitement from within, but the last 5 years of extre...

He was surprised to find it on the table. How had it ended up here? He thought he had left it at his mother's place. Brushing off his thoughts, he picked it up to take a look inside. There were so many pictures of his high school classmates—some he still kept in touch with, but most were strangers to him now. In one photo, he saw himself, all smiles and confidence, as the captain of the school baseball team. His gaze landed on a girl with unruly red hair, severe acne, and a toothy grin that almost made her look like a bunny. He chuckled, remembering how she had been severely bullied and taunted by everyone, who called her "Bugs Bunny." But what was her name? There it was: Sandra Hillock. He read it twice, unable to believe it. Just then, his stunning wife stepped out of the bedroom. "Honey, did you look inside it? Look at me there! You would laugh now—I was called 'Bugs Bunny.' Can you imagine?"   This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

She looked at the cradle with empty eyes and a heavy heart. That was where she had made him sleep every night. A year had passed, but his memory remained fresh, as if his little feet were still running around her. She glanced around the room, where she had kept every piece of clothing and every toy that belonged to him, all intact, as if he would return at any moment. In the corner lay his favourite toy, the one he used to play with all the time. She remembered how fondly he would pick up the two sticks and gently touch the colourful chords—pink, blue, green, yellow. As time passed, his soft touches would gain speed, and the final strikes would come down almost like blows to the chords. He giggled playfully, and she joined in his laughter. Now, she touched the toy and gently picked up the sticks, striking one of the blue chords. A sweet, tinkling sound emerged. She repeated it once, then again, and soon she was playing it. Suddenly, she could hear giggles nearby. As she continued to st...

He was crawling in search of food. Every rib in his frail body was visible, protruding from beneath his skin. He was devoid of any clothing. Unable to withstand the hunger and heat, he paused for a moment. The vultures were waiting nearby, ensuring that their search for food would soon come to an end. His tiny body was brought ashore, as if a gift from the ocean—a stark reminder to humanity of what it is losing in its constant hunger for power. Before his existence could be completely erased from this world, his teary eyes and innocent words warned us that this was only the beginning of the end: “I am gonna tell God everything.” Isn’t that enough? This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026  

I enjoy reading horror stories, and a few have given me sleepless nights.  This post will highlight my top two horror stories that I often revisit. 1. The Horla: I have read the translated English version of "Le Horla," which was originally written by Guy de Maupassant. It is one of his most celebrated short stories, and for me, it is the best horror story I have ever read. The meaning of "Horla" is "Outsider." The narrative explores the protagonist's deteriorating mental state, who feels as though he is being overtaken by an unseen presence. The story is presented in the format of a personal journal, and the gradual decline in the narrator's mental health is haunting. The first-person narration gives it a compelling edge over more traditional narratives. The use of "I" allows readers to fully immerse themselves in the narrator's experience.  What's most striking is that the narrator's decline is not steady; at times, he find...

She wore a pink chiffon saree, flaunting a milky-white handbag and a pair of matching white peep-toe kitten heels, exuding a magnetic aura wherever she went. The air around her was filled with a delicate floral fragrance. Pink pearl earrings and a pendant added a touch of elegance to her outfit, making her look like a million dollars. She was well aware of the admiring glances directed her way. Used to the attention, she found it enjoyable. This was her daily routine; today she wore a saree, and tomorrow she would don formal attire, yet she would attract the same level of attention. That was simply who she was—a centre of attraction and a crowd puller—and she was unapologetic about it. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

The boutique was renowned for catering to a selective clientele. Its luxury interiors were adorned in shades of ivory and gold. At the centre of the room hung an exquisite chandelier from the ceiling. Below it, a mirror on the floor reflected a second chandelier. Each day, the colour theme was changed, and today it featured beige and gold. All items displayed for sale were either beige or gold. Fresh red roses were arranged in golden vases near the Accounts section. Two sales associates stood ready to welcome customers, dressed in body-hugging ivory tunics, gelled ponytails, and crimson lipstick. Today’s beige and gold collection had been selected from the New York Fashion Show, and the store manager was anticipating visits from a few celebrities. A woman entered the store, dressed in plain clothing and looking nervous. She certainly didn’t appear to be someone who could afford designer clothing. One of the associates greeted her and offered assistance. Slightly trembling, the woman ha...

  “Hey, what’s up?” His voice was curious and excited as always. Before she could reply, he continued, “Are you getting bored? Why don’t you watch a movie? There’s a good thriller web series on Netflix. Have you watched it? I’m sure you haven’t. Oh, and don’t go out in this heat. Make sure to drink plenty of water. You don’t have to go to the gym every day; practising yoga at home is a great alternative. I’ve been doing that too.” He paused to take a breath and then realized she had disconnected the call. He dialled another number. “Hey Ronit, how are you, dude? I hope I’m not disturbing you. I know I’m not! Let’s chat for a while. Isn’t it too hot these days? I thought about stopping by your place today, but after seeing the weather outside, I decided against it. What can I say? My skin is too sensitive, and I get tanned easily. How about you? Are you okay with tanning, or…” Suddenly, a gentle push from behind interrupted him. He turned around to see Ronit standing there, holding ...

The spring breeze was blowing, and her scarf fluttered alongside it. She walked with grace; her face lit up by a smile. She felt happy, as her morning had begun with a brief conversation with him. She knew her day would be bright, with thoughts of his dazzling smile occasionally drifting into her mind. Deep down, she wished she could see that smile in person someday. For now, that moment seemed impossible, but she was willing to wait for it. As she paused at an ice cream cart to celebrate her small joy, her gaze caught a man standing at a nearby tea stall. Unable to believe her eyes, she continued to watch him as he chatted intimately with another woman, sharing happy moments. Suddenly, the ice cream fell from her hand, and she ran away, overwhelmed by the sudden realization. The man from France, with whom she had been chatting for so many days, dreaming of starting a life together, had been here all along. All her wishes and dreams were shattered as she grappled with the painful truth...

He had been like this since his childhood. Paying no heed to any safety protocols, always up to dangerous stunts, as if he were invincible. He had been almost dead many a time for this attitude, but well, every time it had been just “Almost”. And that had made him more determined and confident, with the idea of achieving an invisible protective shield, a feeling of being a superhero without the cape. From climbing steep cliffs without support to doing dangerous bike stunts on the highway, he had done it all. It was as if he were married to Lady Luck. But that night was different. He was riding his custom-made bike for his comfort, and just as he was about to stand up on the seat, for the first time in his life, he missed the moment and slipped off the bike. The extreme force flew him a few metres away, and he bumped several times on the hard concrete of the highway before a speeding lorry ran over him. Lady Luck divorced him that night. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challe...

The thirty-something superstar dramatically descended the hotel stairs. Dressed in the trendiest outfit, his smile alone sent the media and fans into a frenzy. Aware of his star power, he used every bit of it to charm those around him. With just a wave of his hand and a kiss blown into the air, he gave the crowd exactly what they wanted. He was there for a press conference promoting his latest release. The paparazzi in the lobby quickly gathered around him. In the corner of the lobby, an elderly man in white overalls observed the scene from a distance. He was playing the hero's father in the new film. In his 80s, he still exuded charm and sophistication, maintaining his evergreen persona without drawing attention to himself. He was happy for the new superstar and rose from his seat to head to his car. As he walked, he reminisced about 50 years ago, when all the cameras were on him, just as they are on the younger star today. He also recalled, from that time, another elderly man sit...

I have finished Salini Vineeth's The Tree, the Well & the Drag Queen in one day. No kidding! I had been watching a few movies, and one day I just picked up this book and thought about reading. As a child, I loved to read fantasy stories, like " Thakumar Jhuli" by Dakshinaranjan Mitra Majumdar, in Bengali. This story took me back to those times. I will tell you how. About the book: Nina, a Mumbai-based drag queen who unwillingly returns to their ancestral home to break a curse of a demonic jackfruit tree, enters an almost trans-like world of fantasy, reality, lost identity, trauma, and healing. Through his eyes, we go into an unexplored world of existential crisis, of a woman trapped in a woman's body and the humiliation they have to undergo. About Salini Vineeth: Salini has been a fiction writer and translator since 2019. Her other works include stories such as Lost Edges , Magic Square , and Everyday People , as well as travel guides to Hampi and Badami. Review ...

They carried the sleeping girl on their shoulders. At just nine years old, she was unaware of what awaited her. Another group of men was carrying the body of a very old man who had passed away only a few hours earlier. He had lived a long life and died a natural death at an old age. The little girl’s forehead was smeared with vermilion, as if it had been rubbed by rough hands. The old man's body was placed beside the pyre, and the small girl was called from her sleep. Oblivious to her surroundings, she cried out for her mother, who was nearby but was held back by other women, preventing her from reaching her daughter. Suddenly, a woman on horseback emerged from the darkness near the burning ghats. With her sword drawn in her left hand, she galloped through the crowd, stunning everyone as she snatched the girl from their grasp and rode away as quickly as she could. The little girl was rescued from being burned alongside her deceased husband’s pyre. This post is a part of  Blogchatte...

The golden crown, adorned with a red ruby, gleamed atop her head. The vermilion mark on her forehead accentuated her sharp features. She wore a flowing red silk gown, intricately embroidered with real gold. Gold jewellery studded with precious stones radiated an aura around her. Her crimson lips were pressed into a forced smile, while her kohl-rimmed eyes scanned the surroundings like a vulture watching over its throne. A maid approached her, holding a marble glass filled with milk. She took a sip of the hot milk and immediately gasped, as it was too hot for her taste. Seething with rage, she hurled the milk into the maid's face, scalding her for life. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

The man was playing a small violin. A little girl, perhaps his daughter, was dancing rhythmically to the soulful tune. People gathered around, cheering and clapping. The centre of the square transformed into a carnival atmosphere, with a few couples joining in the dance. Some spectators tossed coins into a box near the performers, adding to the festive mood of the evening. Suddenly, a group of bikers dressed in chains and leather erupted onto the scene, howling like wolves. The cheering crowd, caught off guard, scattered in fear. The violinist and the little girl halted their performance. The bikers circled around, and one of them snatched the violin from the man and threw it aside, shattering it. Another biker kicked the box of coins with all his might, sending coins flying everywhere. After their rampage, the bikers left, still howling. The little girl began to collect the scattered coins. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

The entire venue was adorned with exotic flowers from Bulgaria's gardens. Chandeliers imported from France hung gracefully above. The silk curtains, featuring intricate detailing, were sourced from China. Artisans from Turkey were commissioned to weave a royal blue velvet carpet. The dining table was lavishly decorated with fruits from the finest orchards in the world—grapes from Italian vines, apples from the valleys of Kashmir, and berries from the Scottish mountains. At the centre, roasted ducks, flavourful breads, and honey from Scandinavia were placed. Cream pastries, caviar, and the finest wines were arranged all around. Everyone was busy with the decorations, ensuring the space felt even grander. After all, it was the King's birthday today. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

The past week had been utterly unproductive, with noisy people all around, disrupting her focus. She could not write a single word. All she longed for was a break, to concentrate. She wanted to go somewhere peaceful, and she followed her heart. She took a backpack and, without saying a word to anyone, set off into the unknown. The bus dropped her off in a village she had never heard of before. Acres of green fields all around, a clear blue sky, and the fresh smell of greenery in the air made her happy. She found her location and arranged a week-long stay. Within a day, her mind was afresh, cleared of the noise and pollution, and finally, she was ready to write again. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

He consciously chose to take the bus instead of the train. He knew the train would have been much faster, but he wanted to delay his arrival. What was the use of hurrying? He feared he might come across a deserted house, perhaps even occupied by someone else. A few months ago, when he watched her win the singing reality show on TV—something they were allowed to watch once a week—his excitement about getting out of jail mellowed down. Now, he was returning home filled with hopelessness and uncertainty. After an exhausting eight-hour bus journey, he finally arrived in the village and made his way to his house. People turned to look at him; some even saluted him, to his surprise. As he approached his home, he was stunned to find a neat and charming little house in place of the small mud hut he remembered. There was even a small garden in the front. As soon as he opened the iron gate, someone came running out of the house towards him. It was her, looking beautiful as ever and genuinely hap...

I rarely read science fiction these days. I remember till school years I used to be glued to Jules Verne and H.G. Wells, like many of us of our times. Somehow, I had lost interest in between. And I was absolutely unaware that Indian authors are also authoring plenty of Science fiction these days. And there should be a "restart" to everything, and this year I had the opportunity to read not one but two science fiction novels, thanks to Blogchatter. All Roads Lead Here  by  Suchita Agarwal  is one of those.  About the Book All Roads Lead Here All Roads Lead Here  is a coming-of-age story that centres on Parth, a 17-year-old. The book explores Parth's gifted powers, friendships, and troubled relationships in a magical world where individuals possess the power of the 5 elements. About the Author Suchita Agarwal   is a Mumbai-based writer with 3 published books to her credit. Other than this one, her other works are a poetry anthology, 23 Letters of Love ,...

He halted the bike at the edge of the cliff. She was filled with joy, yearning to finally hear those three words from him. It would be a moment of double celebration for her today, as she had topped her college exams for the second year in a row. He took her hand and led her to the very edge, where the steepness of the cliff began. The sun was about to set, casting a pinkish-red glow all around and illuminating her angelic face. This was the exact moment he had been waiting for, when she looked the most beautiful. He held her tightly from behind. Trusting him completely, she rested her entire body against him and closed her eyes. Then, he suddenly pushed her with all his strength. She was gone in an instant. He smiled, assured now that he would top the college from next time. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

Her eyes were fixed on him as he leered at her with lustful intent. He approached her at the bar, smiling with his crooked lips, his gold canine tooth on display. Gesturing to the bartender, he signalled for her drink to be refilled. She kept her palm open on the bar, inviting him to ask for something in return. He smiled creepily and revealed two packets of white powder in his open hand. Just as he stealthily moved his left hand up her thigh, she swiftly caught his wrist and handcuffed him. She slid down from her high chair, and from every corner of the bar, police officers disguised in plain clothes rushed to her side. The dreaded smuggler had finally been caught red-handed. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

He was lying on the temple steps, cuddled in a corner, wrapped in a tattered blanket. No one noticed him; those who did turned away in disgust. A rotten stench of flesh emanated from him. One of his legs was wounded and needed urgent care. Flies buzzed around it. He was moaning in pain, but no one heard. She was ascending the stairs of the temple, like every day, spraying sacred water as she went. This was her daily routine, known to all; although annoyed, no one dared to speak against her. The ill man did not escape her sharp sight, and before she could speak, her grandson, who always accompanied her, assured her that such filthy people should be removed from the temple grounds. She did not reply; instead, she looked at him with her bloodshot eyes and, to everyone’s surprise, approached the wounded beggar. She took his head onto her lap and made him drink the holy water. Her grandson, startled, called for an ambulance. A life was saved. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Cha...

Before the sun rose, he slowly got prepared. Clad in a white piece of clothing on his lower half, he walked bare-bodied towards the steps down to the river. The calm river, the beautiful river of the Ganges, where many people had already gathered for their prayers. It was Mahalaya, and everyone was there to pray for their ancestors. He was one amongst them, and he had been practising the same thing every year for the past 20 years. Till last year, he used to accompany his father. Today, his father would be in his prayers, along with his other ancestors. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

They were sitting on the bench, watching the children play in the park. These children reminded them of how all three of them used to play the same way almost 60 years back at the same place. They used to fight over who would bat first. They argued, fought, but again assembled the next day. Now, after decades, every evening, they came here, talked for an hour, and sometimes took a stroll. But they did not miss a single day, just like before. Their topic of discussion varied from politics to theatre, from books to music, from food to families. That was not relevant; what was important was being at the same place, at the same time. It was their only time to relish their earlier days; they had changed, their surroundings had changed too, but what had remained was their bond together- unaltered and unfiltered. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

The dark office was now magically illuminated. The dusty table, which had suddenly become clean, was covered with papers, files, and pens—all perfectly organised. The foul smell of dead rats, dust, and cobwebs transformed into an intense musk reminiscent of how it smelled five years ago. The broken chair was somehow fixed, and someone was sitting there with their back to him. A lit cigar rested between their fingers, revealing two exotic rings—the very ones he had come here for. Was it an illusion? How could this be happening? Just a few minutes ago, he entered a deserted office. He wasn’t drunk; he had only come to dig up the wall where he had buried the body, hoping to retrieve those rings to pay off his debt. The goons were after him, and this was his last resort. The figure rose from the chair and turned to face him. He recognised him—the same man he had seen five years ago, when he shot him in the chest, piercing his heart. He could still see the wound where the heart should have ...

  A trip to Rajasthan We enjoyed our trip to Rajasthan. We reached the airport in the morning. We boarded the flight, but sadly, the plane was delayed. I sneakily took my mother’s phone and played the “Dino Game”. So basically, you click the screen to make the Dino jump. I played it the whole flight, because the game can be played offline. Jodhpur We landed in a very hot place (there were ACs, so do not worry). I was literally sweating, but I still wore my jacket (because I wanted to look cool). After a lot of time, we reached the hotel. The first thing I generally do is go and occupy the washroom before my parents. But this time I was too lazy to do it. I just changed my clothes and fell asleep. Then, when we woke up, we went and explored the most unique places in Jodhpur. The first places we went to were Mehrangarh Fort and Umaid Bhavan.                      We went back to our hotel. My mother and I went to buy some...

The house had a peculiar shape. She had never encountered anything like it before. From the outside, it looked like a dome, but inside, it had various corners that confused her. The rooms were arranged like layers, one inside another. She kept entering room after room. In the first room, she saw a newborn baby in a cradle, crying. She didn't stop to look. The next room contained a little girl—a toddler—giggling playfully. Again, she did not stop. As she moved into the next room, she found a girl around six or seven years old, strikingly similar to the toddler from the previous room. She paused for a moment, as the child looked oddly familiar, but she brushed off the thought and proceeded to the following room. In that room, she encountered a teenager writing in a notebook. Her unkempt hair was tousled across her face, but when she looked up, the girl bore a shocking resemblance to her own teenage self. Feeling scared and confused, she hurried to the next room, where she was confron...

He sent away all his servants before sunset. His eyes had already begun to burn, and his entire body was turning pale. The moon was about to rise at any moment. The sky was clear that day, and he was waiting for the little clouds to drift away so that the full moon could reveal its glory. Finally, it appeared. His skin began to tear open, his backbone shifted, and his whole body started to grow coarse hair. A dark, furry coat covered him completely. His teeth transformed into those of a dog, and his hands morphed into forelegs. He stepped out of the house and headed toward the forest. The entire area echoed with his howl. This transformation happened once a month; it was painful, yet it was also the time when he gained his power. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

Their hands brushed against each other, evoking memories of earlier times. The sea, with its enormous waves, stirred up thoughts of the past. They used to spend long, lazy evenings at this very spot, lost in conversation for hours. However, the weight of their responsibilities gradually diminished these outings until, one day, they came to a complete stop. They didn’t even realise when it happened; it just did. But today, with their children away at a picnic, they finally had a chance to be alone together after more than a decade, even if only for a few hours. This was their moment, an opportunity to focus on nothing but each other. This post is a part of  BlogchatterA2Z Challenge 2026

Cry Baby The cry of a baby, I can hear, Is it hungry? Or, it's just fear? Should I just hear, or go near? My thoughts are all over, but I get clear. I search for the baby, here and there, There is no baby, only a chair, Again. I look for the baby, it is nowhere. What about the cry? Coming from where? Soon I see from behind the toy deer, A cute, tiny, pink face appear The cry has been coming from here, It's just a baby doll, I am fooled my dear!! This post was created for the  Blogaberry Creative (Monthly) Challenge  with theme word baby