Today, I want to shine the spotlight on Aparna Jagannath, a dear WordPress friend who lives in Chennai, India. Her passion for reading and writing is unsurpassed. She is a prolific reader with an M.A. in English Literature. She possesses impressive knowledge about writers from various cultures. She also writes wonderful poems and stories that will knock your socks off with their profound wisdom, wicked humor, and keen insight into the human condition. She does not mince words but gets right to the heart of the matter. Aparna is also a strong advocate for women’s rights in India and around the world. Right now, two of her books are available on Amazon.com:
This collection of stories offers valuable life lessons for children and teenagers alike. Aparna covers many topics: cheating on exams, rude behavior towards family, making healthy decisions, coping with harmful friends, bullying, indifference to school, kindness to animals, and others. My favorite story is “Trapped inside a Smartphone” because it is clever, well-written, and thought-provoking. If your child enjoys reading books about other countries and cultures, he or she will find this book highly enjoyable.
Excerpt:
“A maze of wires surrounded him from all the sides. He was lying beside a giant motherboard. The place was air-conditioned. He almost started shivering. He looked around for his family, but couldn’t spot anyone. ‘Can you hear me, mom? Where are you, daddy?’ he screamed his lungs out, panicking. . .”
Aparna writes from the heart in this fine collection of poems. With honesty and openness, she speaks about the loss of friends, her father, and honor and compassion in the world. She fiercely advocates for herself, her daughter, and all women around the world in their struggle for freedom, dignity, and respect. Her hopes and dreams form the foundation of her writing. In spite of the crushing injustices she sees around her, she conveys a spirit of hope that the world can be a better place.
“Is it my dream? Are you really visible to my eyes?
Thirty long years have passed since we met each other.
Now we are chatting over a video call.
What a wonderful surprise! . . .”
~
“Why should women observe silence?
Why shouldn’t they raise voice against domestic violence?
Why should they submit to male chauvinism?
Why shouldn’t they protect their feminism? . . .”
~
“I thank you, Mother Nature, for supporting all forms of life.
You tolerate our misdeeds with a smile while we are busy with the knife.
I thank you, Mother Earth, for enabling us to live.
We have hurt you in many ways; yet, you always forgive . . .”
~
“Let’s tread carefully on this dangerous path of life forever.
These roads are sometimes narrow and slippery.
Let’s try not to lose our balance to their treachery . . .”
I want to thank Terveen Gill for publishing my story, You Can Have Her, today on Masticadores India. Terveen is very supportive of writers, and I encourage you to submit your poems and stories to her. Please visit Masticadores India to read the whole story.
You Can have Her
by Dawn Pisturino
The call came in on his office landline.
“Tony Blackwell? We want two million dollars in small bills, or your wife eats a bullet.”
Tony laughed. “She’s a whore. I don’t give a damn about her. Do you know how many times she’s cheated on me?”
“Hey, man, I’m sorry, but she’s still your wife. You must have some feelings for her.”
“Not at all,” Tony scoffed, and hung up the phone.
A few minutes later, the phone rang again.
“Mr. Blackwell, I repeat: we want two million dollars in small bills, or your wife dies. And don’t even think about calling the police.”
“Why would I call the police? I told you, I don’t care about the bitch.”
The voice on the other end became more insistent. “We’re not playing around, Tony. You either agree to fork over the money,
or your wife dies. I don’t care how many men she’s screwed.”
I would be humbled and pleased if you would visit Masticadores India to read the rest. If you like it, please hit the “Like” button.
Thank you so much!
Dawn Pisturino
December 1, 2022
Copyright 2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.
I’m pleased to announce that two of my stories have been published today – my flash fiction story, “Coffee,” is live now on Gobblers & Masticadores. My short story, “A Big Job,” is live now on Masticadores India. I want to thank J. Re Crivello, Manuela Timofte, and Terveen Gill for their support.
Coffee
“Coffee, please — a large macchiato with a double shot of expresso.”
The owner of the coffee bar shuddered and made a face. “I detest the stuff, myself, but . . . shhh,” she said, holding her finger to her lips,” don’t tell anybody. After all, I make my living selling the stuff.”
The man in front of the counter looked at her in dismay. “Not like coffee! Who doesn’t like coffee?” He turned toward the other customers in the shop. Waving his hand at the barista he said, “Have you ever heard of such nonsense? She says she hates coffee!”
As Dmitri untied the rope around Dr. Morgan’s neck, his cellphone suddenly buzzed in his pocket. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out the annoying thing. It always interrupted him at the most inopportune time.
“Daddy, you promised to come to my play. Where are you?”
Shit, Dmitri thought. He had forgotten all about it. He smiled into the phone. “No worries, my precious girl. Daddy’s on his way.”
[NOTE: I’ve been sick with a sinus infection for the last couple of days so I’m behind on responding to comments and visiting people’s sites. Thank you for your patience.]
Dawn Pisturino
August 5, 2022
Copyright 2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.
I submitted two short stories to Masticadores India, and I’m waiting to hear back on publication dates.
I submitted another poem to Masticadores USA, and I’m waiting to hear back.
I submitted a poem to the Arizona Authors Association Literary Contest. I will find out later in the year the results of that submission.
I submitted a poem to Spillwords Press, the first time I have done so. I had technical trouble trying to submit it, but after several attempts, it finally sent.
I submitted a poem to David ben Alexander’s The Skeptical Kaddish Poetry Partners.
I’m waiting for the Wounds I Healed: The Poetry of Strong Women anthology to be released.
I have several short stories to finish and novels that I’m working on. There aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything!
~
A few months ago, I finished reading 1,000 pages of the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe. It took me forever to read because a lot of it was rather boring. I got the bright idea to read the complete works of H.P. Lovecraft. Two thousand pages later, I can honestly say I have read all of his works. I finished last night, and boy, was I happy! I love his ability to create a dark mood, but a lot of it was redundant. Truthfully, in both the case of Poe and Lovecraft, only a few well-written stories and poems really stand out.
I bought a bunch of mysteries at Barnes & Noble when I was in California, so I am moving on to those. My brain needs a break from the dark and heavy stuff.
~
On Paramount+, my husband and I are watching The Offer and Joe Pickett. He watches all the Star Trek/Star Wars stuff. I’m waiting for the next season of Evil to start. I like my British and Scandinavian detective shows on Acorn, BritBox, and PBS Masterpiece. Recently, I have found some French detective shows that incorporate paranormal overtones and which have turned out to be pretty absorbing.
~
I’m updating and improving my author resume website at http://www.dawnpisturino.org (please check it out!) and all of my social media sites.
~
I’m working on losing the weight I gained in California (too much restaurant food – Armenian, American, Italian, and Japanese), taking walks, exercising, and doing other healthy self-care stuff. I like to sit on the front porch every evening with the dog and read and watch the wildlife. It’s very relaxing.
~
And, I’ve been listening to one of my favorite classic rock bands: The Doors. Listening to them puts me in an altered state of consciousness.
(“The End” by The Doors – Warning: contains references to violence)
“All the children are insane.” Sound familiar? The violence happening now is a culmination of several decades of post-World War II social dysfunction.
It was Jim Morrison who famously said: “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m going to get my kicks before the whole sh*thouse goes up in flames” – referring to nuclear war, which still remains the ultimate existential threat to humanity.
May the Muses tickle your brain today. May you write, compose, photograph, dance, sing, and paint like there’s no tomorrow!
Dawn Pisturino
June 2, 2022
Copyright 2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.
The next part of the assignment for my children’s literature writing class was to write a children’s story based on the child I had observed. (See previous post.)
Children’s Story: “Caitlin II”
by Dawn Pisturino
I wasn’t surprised when Jenny told me that her parents are getting a divorce. It seems like every kid I know comes from a broken home. Jenny’s parents fight a lot, and I’ve seen her break down and cry in the girls’ restroom because of it. Don’t parents understand how unhappy they make their kids?
She hopes they’ll make it up and stay together, and I hope they do, too. Jenny is a nice girl with a bright future, and I hate to see her so unhappy.
Why do families have to split up? Why can’t they just love each other and stay together?
My Aunt Lucy and Uncle Tommy got a divorce. I never see Uncle Tommy anymore. He moved to the East Coast and got a new job. Aunt Lucy cried a lot, and my cousin Jeremy got into trouble for stealing money from the neighbor next door. After his father left, he was angry for a long time. I haven’t seen him since last Christmas, but Mom told me that he ran away from home one night and got beat up by a local gang. I’m afraid that someday something really bad will happen to him, and I’ll never see him again.
I love my father, and if he ever left, I think I would die. Just the thought makes me want to cry.
It scared me when my little brother got real sick. His face was red, and his skin was hot, and he slept a lot. Mom rushed him to the emergency room, and he had to stay in the hospital until he got better. I didn’t see Mom for a few days because she stayed in the hospital with him.
Dad and I took care of each other, though. We made dinner together every night, and one night, we went out for pizza. I told him all about my classes in school, the new girl who moved in down the street, and the cute boy I met at the library. I was embarrassed to talk about the cute boy, but Dad just laughed and didn’t tease me at all. I really loved him for that.
~
Sunday, May 8, 2022, is Mother’s Day. HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!
Dawn Pisturino
July 8, 2008; May 6, 2022
Copyright 2008-2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.
On the morning of her tenth birthday, Jennifer received the strangest gift she had ever seen – a large glass jar.
It looks like a mayonnaise jar, Jennifer thought. But why did someone – or something – send it to her?
When she unscrewed the lid and peered inside, she saw nothing at all. Sniffing it produced no odor. The inside of the jar was perfectly dry. She shook it, rolled it, and turned it upside-down. Nothing happened.
All in all, it was an ordinary glass jar with no label on the front or printing on the lid. So, she decided to use it.
“I’ll fill it with water and add blue food coloring,” Jennifer said. “Some plastic fish would look nice. I’ll make an aquarium!”
But when she tried to pour water into the jar, the water wouldn’t go in! It spilled all over the countertop. She used a whole roll of paper towels cleaning it up. And the jar was still empty.
“I’ll fill it with marbles,” Jennifer decided.
She found her brother’s big bag of marbles and tried to pour them into the jar. But the marbles wouldn’t go in! They scattered all over the kitchen floor. It took twenty minutes to find all those marbles and refill the marble bag. And the jar was still empty.
“Oh, well,” Jennifer sighed. “Bobby would probably be mad anyway.”
Sand! How about sand?
For Christmas, Jennifer had received a craft kit filled with different types of colored sand. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to use it.
Using one of her mother’s kitchen funnels, she tried to pour pink sand into the jar. But the sand wouldn’t go in! It spilled, like pink sugar, all over the countertop. She cleaned it up with a wet dishcloth. And the jar was still empty.
Frustrated, Jennifer threw the dishcloth into the sink. “What am I going to do with an empty glass jar that won’t fill? I may as well throw it away.”
She tossed it into the trashcan, but lo and behold, here it came, bouncing out of the trashcan and into her hands again!
Terrified, Jennifer threw the jar onto the floor, smashing it into a million pieces.
A loud belching noise filled the air, and a small cloud of stinky black smoke rose up from the pieces of glass. “Ugh! Smells like a big fart!” Jennifer cried, pinching her nose. “Smells like Sissy’s poopy diapers! No wonder the jar wouldn’t fill!” As the cloud rose, it grew larger and larger until it was nearly as big as Jennifer herself.
“I’m out of here!” Jennifer yelled as she ran for the front door. But the big, stinky, black cloud followed her. She raced into the front yard, where a gust of wind caught the big, black cloud and spirited it away.
Relieved, Jennifer returned to the kitchen just in time to hear her mother say, “Jennifer, you’re in big trouble this time!”
Dawn Pisturino
2012; May 4, 2022
Copyright 2012-2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.
Brother Bear groaned. “I don’t wanna baby-sit! Sister Bear always gets me into trouble!”
“Now, now,” said Mama Bear. “I have to take Baby Bear to the doctor. I’m counting on you to take care of Sister Bear.”
“Can we make chocolate chip cookies when you get home?” Brother Bear asked.
Mother Bear laughed. “We’ll see,” she said.
After Mother Bear left with Baby Bear, Brother Bear turned on the TV so Sister Bear could watch her favorite cartoons.
“I’m hungry,” Sister Bear said. “Can I please have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”
Brother Bear made a face. “Okay – since you said please.”
“You’re the best big brother in the world!” Sister Bear said.
Brother Bear went to the kitchen. He made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and put it on a green plate. He poured a big glass of milk. He carried the green plate and the glass of milk into the living-room for Sister Bear. Sister Bear was gone!
“Sister Bear!” Brother Bear called. But nobody answered.
Brother Bear put the green plate and glass of milk on a table. He ran down the hallway to look for Sister Bear.
First, he looked in Sister Bear’s room. There were lots of dolls on Sister Bear’s pink bed – but no Sister Bear.
Then, he looked in Baby Bear’s room. There were lots of stuffed animals in Baby Bear’s white crib – but no Sister Bear.
Brother Bear knocked on the bathroom door. “Sister Bear, are you in there?”
He heard water running.
Sister Bear squealed with delight. “Wheeeee! I love bubbles! Lots and lots of bubbles!”
Brother Bear groaned. What was he going to do? Mama Bear would be home soon. Brother Bear tried to open the bathroom door. But it was locked.
“Sister Bear, open the door!” Brother Bear yelled.
“I’m taking a bubble bath all by myself,” Sister Bear said. “Wheeeee!”
Brother Bear heard Sister Bear splashing in the water. He heard the water running in the bathtub.
I have to get in there and turn off the water, Brother Bear thought.But how?
The window. Could he climb through the bathroom window? He decided to try.
Brother Bear ran outside and found the bathroom window. It was open. But Brother Bear was not tall enough to climb through the window.
He found an old wooden chair. He placed it under the bathroom window. He stood on top of the chair. Now, he was tall enough to climb through the window.
Sister Bear laughed when she saw Brother Bear climb through the window. She blew bubbles at him with her bubble wand.
The water in the bathtub was beginning to run on the floor. Bubbles floated everywhere!
Brother Bear turned off the water in the bathtub. He was mad.
“Look at the mess you made!” Brother Bear shouted. “Mama Bear’s gonna be mad!”
Sister Bear began to cry.
Brother Bear opened the bathroom door. He heard a noise in the kitchen. Mama Bear was home.
What should he do?
Brother Bear grabbed some towels from the linen closet and threw them on the bathroom floor. He cleaned up all the water with the towels. Then he pulled the plug in the bathtub.
Sister Bear laughed as the water went gurgle-gurgle down the drain. She climbed out of the bathtub. Brother Bear dried her with a towel. He helped her to get dressed.
Brother Bear took Sister Bear to the living-room and put her in a chair.
“Here’s your peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Brother Bear said.
Mama Bear came into the living-room. “How did it go?” she asked.
Sister Bear became excited. “Brother Bear let me take a bubble bath all by myself. And he made the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the world. I love Brother Bear!”
Mama Bear looked happy. “You did a good job, Brother Bear. Let’s go make chocolate chip cookies.”
Dawn Pisturino
May 2008; March 31, 2022
Copyright 2008-2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.
Caitlin finished hosing down the empty dog kennel before turning off the water and removing her grimy work gloves. Her black sneakers felt damp, mud streaked her brand-new jeans, and long strands of corn silk hair had come loose from her ponytail. She was tired and hungry and ready to go home. “I’m finished, Grandma,” she called.
Dr. Rosemary Grant poked her curly gray head out the back door of the animal hospital and smiled. “You’re a good helper, Caitlin. I’ll take you home now.”
As they approached Caitlin’s house, a streak of yellow raced into the street. Her grandma slammed on the brakes, but they both felt the sickening thud.
“Mr. Tibbs!” Caitlin cried, jumping out of the car. She knelt on the asphalt where a yellow mass of fur smeared with blood lay sprawled. The eyes were closed. The chest barely moved.
Caitlin’s grandma knelt to examine the still form. “Get that old blanket from the back of the car,” she instructed without looking up.
Caitlin grabbed the blanket and handed it to her grandmother. “Will he be okay?”
“I don’t know,” she said gravely. “He’s seriously injured. We might have to put him down.”
“No!”
“He’s suffering, Caitlin. Do you want him to suffer?”
“No,” Caitlin sobbed, “but you’re a doctor. You’re supposed to try and save him!”
Very gently, as if wrapping a delicate Christmas ornament in tissue paper, Dr. Grant wrapped the injured cat in the woolen blanket and laid him in Caitlin’s arms. “We’ll take him to the clinic, and I’ll see what I can do. But don’t get your hopes up.”
* * *
Mr. Tibbs lay listlessly in a padded basket, his green eyes glazed over. “Grandma gave him some pain medicine,” Caitlin explained to her parents. She gingerly lifted the wounded yellow cat out of the basket and cradled him in her arms. His left front leg was missing. In its place was a small stump with tiny black stitches. His right front leg was limp, twisted, and useless.
“He’s crippled,” her mother said, wringing her hands. “What are we going to do with him?”
“He’ll never live a normal life again,” her father said. His steel gray eyes appeared grim. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. If he can’t adjust to his disabilities, we’ll have to put him down.”
* * *
Mr. Tibbs sniffed eagerly at the catnip toy in Caitlin’s hand, his green eyes glowing with expectation when she tossed it several inches in front of him on the tile floor. He eyed the toy warily, his tail flicking back and forth. Then, with one big push of his hind legs, he thrust himself forward onto his chin and chest, knocking into the toy and pushing it away. He rested a moment, breathing heavily, and tried again. Now the toy was encircled by his limp front leg. He opened his jaws and picked it up.
Caitlin scratched his furry yellow head. “Good boy, Mr. Tibbs. You did it.” She took the catnip toy from his mouth and offered him a treat, but he turned his head away and closed his eyes.
* * *
“He’s not improving,” Caitlin complained to her grandmother on the phone. “He just lays there. He won’t even try to get up unless I coax him.”
“Give him time, honey. He’s been through a terrible experience, and now his independence is gone. He has to learn how to survive all over again.”
“But if he doesn’t get better soon, Dad will have him put down.”
“It might be better in the long run,” her grandmother said.
Discouraged, Caitlin hung up the phone. Despite all of her best efforts, Mr. Tibbs was barely able to scoot a few feet across the floor. He refused to eat, and he was still unable to use the litter box. “Thank goodness we have tile floors,” her mother kept harping. “I don’t know what we would do if we had carpeting.”
Maybe Dad is right. Maybe it’s better to put him down.
She searched for him in the kitchen and laundry room. Where is he, she thought. But as she walked through the living-room door, she witnessed a remarkable sight: Mr. Tibbs was sitting up on his back haunches like a dog, his useless foreleg hanging limp and twisted in front of him, biting at the air with his powerful jaws and trying to catch a pesky fly that buzzed around his head. The fly flew away, but Mr. Tibbs remained sitting upright on his haunches. Then, with one great effort, he propelled himself onto the sofa with his strong back legs.
Caitlin flew across the room, scooped up the startled cat, and covered his furry head with kisses. “You are the most remarkable cat in the world!”
Later, when Caitlin climbed the stairs to bed, she was surprised to hear a thumping sound behind her on the stairs. She stopped and turned around. Mr. Tibbs was using his muscular back legs to clumsily propel himself up the stairs. “Come on, boy, you can do it,” she said. Slowly, he pushed himself step-by-step up the stairs until he lay exhausted at her feet.
“Dad, come here,” she called excitedly.
The first time he used the litter box, Caitlin beamed with pride. She offered him some bits of tuna fish which he eagerly ate from her hand.
One Saturday afternoon, Caitlin’s father answered the front door. A young man with sandy hair and freckles stood on the front porch with a small notebook in his hand and a camera slung over his shoulder. “Does Mr. Tibbs live here?” he said. “My name is Josh White, reporter with The Somerville Daily Bugle.”
Caitlin’s father chuckled. “Come in, Mr. White.”
Mr. Tibbs sat on his haunches in the middle of the living-room snapping his jaws at a piece of green yarn that Caitlin was dangling over his head.
“Hold that pose,” Mr. White said, flashing his camera.
The photo appeared the next day on the front page of The Somerville Daily Bugle above the story about a remarkable cat that was rescued from a terrible accident by a skilled veterinarian and saved from a life of helplessness by a dedicated twelve-year-old girl. Caitlin kept the newspaper clipping in her special drawer and read it every night before going to sleep.
Purring loudly, Mr. Tibbs stretched out his long body on the bed and yawned, one tired and contented cat.
* * *
Incredibly, Remarkable Mr. Tibbs is based on a true story. British naturalist Philip Brown owned a cat named Uncle Whiskers that survived a terrible car accident. Just like Mr. Tibbs, his left front leg was amputated and his right front leg was paralyzed. This amazing cat adapted so well to his disabilities, he was able to catch moths, rats, and even rabbits. Mr. Brown was so astounded, he wrote a book entitled Uncle Whiskers which is still avidly read by cat lovers today.
I wrote this for the Binnacle 2008 Ultra-Short Writing Challenge, which asked for a 150-word story:
As the train pulled away from the station, Carrie looked through the window at her father standing lost and forlorn on the wooden platform. “I’ll be back,” she had said, hugging him tightly and kissing him warmly on the cheek. But as the train chugged slowly down the track, she knew in her heart that she would never come back. With tears in her eyes, she waved at him one last time, painfully aware of the worried expression in his tired blue eyes, the stooped shoulders, the crumpled old sweater. Who will take care of him now, she wondered. But as the train moved faster down the track, so did her thoughts, leaping ahead to the eager young man waiting anxiously for her at the end of the line and the new life they would begin together. She closed her eyes, remembering his gentle words of love, and cried. (149 words)
Dawn Pisturino
January 2008; March 29, 2022
Copyright 2008-2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.
The poem popped into Katie’s head as she stood on the front porch, eyes closed, arms wide open, daring the Sun to kill her. Kill me, she urged, like you spoiled our farm, drove away my father, and wasted my mother. Go ahead. Do it!
The Sun swallowed her whole, dissolving her in his fiery belly.
Now that she was part of the Sun, Katie could ride through the heavens and visualize everything that happened down below.
She saw the grim black hearse pull up to the farm, and wept, as two men in plain black suits carried her mother away on a gurney. She sailed freely over the dusty brown fields that no longer yielded crops. She mourned the beds of sunflowers whose heads sagged, like dying children, out by the barn. And she said good-bye to the rusty old truck that sat, without tires, in a patch of yellow weeds.
Soon, the Pacific Ocean sparkled down below. Dolphins leaped among the waves. Throngs of people crowded the streets of Beijing, scurrying around like busy mice. Katie soared above the icy peaks of the Himalayas and swooped down to burn the white sands of Arabia. She waved at the Statue of Liberty, rejoicing that she finally got to see it.
And then she was home again, viewing the crumbling barn in pinkish light that gradually turned to yellow. She counted the shingles missing from the roof of the old house and peeked through the windows of her shabby bedroom.
And the journey repeated itself as the earth slowly turned, like a giant spit — repeated itself, day after day, until Katie cried with weariness and pain.
Now, she hovered over the old farm, shining brightly against a piece of broken glass lying in the withered grass, until one small yellow flame burst forth, catching the grass on fire. A passing breeze nudged the fire toward the house. The splintered wood burned brightly, throwing sparks into the sky. The old barn caught the sparks and exploded, fueled by old cans of paint. Showers of burning wood and straw ignited the patch of weeds. The ripped out upholstery in the old truck burst into flame. The oil pan smoldered, sending black smoke into the sky. And finally, with one burst of energy, the fuel tank exploded.
With grim satisfaction Katie cried, “I’ve killed it! I’ve killed my past life!” She snuggled up to the Sun, melting deeper into his fiery depths . . . while down below, a tiny piece of the world disappeared forever.
Dawn Pisturino
November 14, 2012
Copyright 2012-2022 Dawn Pisturino. All Rights Reserved.
Cosmic Health Blog
Entertaining and informative articles about health and wellness, yoga, meditation, nutrition, stress management, exercise and more, written by a licensed Registered Nurse.
Summer Eden Poetry center
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Dawn Pisturino's Blog 