Amrutash Misra: Ravi and the Rubber Band

One of the best things about the Duckbill Workshops is the aftermath–where we get to share stories by wonderfully talented writers. This is the first in the series of stories from the workshop in Chennai. Enjoy it–and read the rest over the coming days!

“I must admit–it is very nice. Very pretty,” said Rahul, without envy. Rahul was admiring Ravi’s trophy. Ravi had just been to London as a member of the London Olympics crew. He wasn’t playing in the Olympics! He was one of the ball boys selected for the tennis event–nothing to be jealous about.

“May I hold it?” asked Rahul. As soon as he held it, as if on cue, one of the Olympic rings came off, fell down, and rolled into the underworld that is the sewage drain.

Pause. Long Pause.

Ravi’s face turned red. His fists clenched. Steam escaped his ears. He turned to Rahul.

Rahul panicked, opened his bag, took out the green rubber band that bound his lunch box together, held it out to Rahul, and said, “It looks the same. We can fix it.”

Understandably, Ravi punched Rahul. Dishum.


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