A Walk Through Time - By Kobita Kumari Jugnauth
Updated: Aug 18
Written By: Kobita Kumari Jugnauth
Category: Short Story - Fiction
Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026
In "A Walk Through Time," Kobita Kumari Jugnauth invites readers into a vivid world of personal journeys and reflections. Part of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, this short story weaves together themes of nostalgia, aspiration, and the timeless dance of life’s circumstances. Through a narrative that spans generations, the story gracefully captures the essence of human relationships and the enduring pursuit of dreams.
About the Work
Kobita Kumari Jugnauth’s short story is a rich tapestry of contrasting lives and eras, intricately exploring the dynamics of family, love, and ambition. With evocative imagery and a poignant narrative style, the story navigates through the nuances of societal expectations and personal desires. It leaves readers with a resonant message about the power of dreams and the unexpected turns that life often takes.
A Walk Through Time
Original Submission by Kobita Kumari Jugnauth
A WALK THROUGH TIME
Pushpa tilted her head upwards and squinted. The dazzling shaft of sunlight, bursting through the opening in the canopy of the straggly trees, almost blinded her. The position of the sun was presently at its highest point in the sky and the shadows falling on the river bank, were rather short. The 17-year-old winced. It was almost noon. Her mother would be back from the fields. At this time, she would be milking Gomati, their cow and feeding her calves. Pushpa called out to her two friends who were busy giggling and frolicking in the refreshing, clear water of the stream which flowed towards southwards.
“Let’s go now! Ma is surely going to kill me! I was supposed to reach home earlier to cook rice! What excuse am I going to give her now?”
She was late once more and dreaded her mother’s rebukes. If her father reached home before her and lunch was not ready….
“Come on Pushpa! Just tell her I had twice as many clothes to wash today and I’d asked you to help me!” Her best friend and neighbour Kamla chipped in casually.
“You think it’s that easy to convince her? You’ve never been chastised by her, have you?”
Both girls started picking their freshly laundered clothes that had been spread all over the banks to dry. Mala followed suit. As soon as the clothes had been collected and carelessly dumped into their respective metal tubs, the three girls quickly changed into dry clothes. For a few seconds, Pushpa perused the wrinkled skin of her hands and fingers, amazed at the effect that long hours of washing clothes and bathing in the frothy waters of the river, had on her hands. Her skin certainly didn’t look great. The young girl shrugged. In the early 1960s, teenagers from families like Pushpa’s could not be expected to have smooth skin! Aided by Kamla, she pulled the metal tub on top of her head and set out on the muddy track that would lead to the crudely asphalted road.
After trudging for a few hundred metres, the trio reached the end of the track way and hit the main road. Turning towards their right, they now picked up speed in a bid to reach home as fast as they could. After some time, they heard someone clearing his throat behind them. Pushpa’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Her two friends peeked at her, trying hard to muffle their giggles. Pushpa glared at both. She knew all too well who was walking behind them. Jagdish. Her childhood playmate and primary school classmate whose house was a stone’s throw from Pushpa’s. But while Jagdish joined the high school in the neighbouring village, Pushpa dropped out of school. After all, she had four younger brothers and the privilege of going to a high school could never be hers! As she and Jagdish reached adolescence, both started to feel unwittingly awkward in the presence of each other. Later, this weird feeling blossomed into mutual attraction. Right now, with Jagdish following closely behind, Pushpa was acutely self-conscious of every step she was taking. The tub which she had comfortably nestled on top of her head suddenly threatened to spill over and her swaying gait had turned rigid.
As she finally took the dusty path leading to the steps of her house, Pushpa rushed to the open veranda. Gathering all her strength, she lifted her tub off her head and stowed it on the ground. Then, her head freed from the weight, she rushed in, and ran to the window from where she could catch a glimpse of Jagdish moving past her house.
At night, as Pushpa was coming from the outhouse after preparing dinner, she heard something that made her stop dead. It was her grandmother’s warbly voice.
- He’s a good choice for our Pushpa. The boy’s father owns a plot of land…
A year later, Pushpa got married to a youth she’d never seen before.
Preeti eagerly ran her hand over Chaya’s Sony Walkman WM-FX251 Radio & Cassette player. Then, with utmost care, she placed the headphone on top of her head and adjusted the grey foams over her ears. She pressed the Play Button and the most popular Bollywood song of the year from the movie Maine Pyar Kiya started playing. It was almost divine, the purity of the sound and clear vocals of the singers were amazingly better than the sound blaring from her mediocre Fm/Am Radio Player. Hailing from a middle-class family, Preeti had never touched a walkman before. Thankfully, her good academic performance at primary level had earned her a place in this prestigious college which had among its student population, a significant number of teenagers coming from elite families. Chaya was from the upper class community, her father being a surgeon and her mother owning two boutiques selling expensive Indian wear. Initially, Preeti and Chaya hardly talked to each other. Chaya did not consciously exhibit an ostentatiously wealthy lifestyle. But conversing with her made Preeti sadly aware of all those privileges the latter could not even dream of. Now, after having been classmates for more than five years, the two girls had developed a mutual appreciation. Though hailing from a lower middle class family, Preeti was among the top students in her class and others flocked to her, not to be her friend but because they needed help with their assignments. And Preeti always obliged them. Chaya too relied heavily on Preeti specially to solve complex mathematical problems. With time, the latter had grown really fond of this simple and straightforward girl. Then one day, she even allowed the latter to borrow her new walkman and keep it overnight.
After having listened to all the songs on the A side of the cassette, Preeti reluctantly put it down. Her mother had been calling her to help with dinner and it was Preeti’s task to cook ‘faratas’. Not that she liked it much, but each had been assigned tasks: her brother had to help with outdoor tasks while her younger sister was assigned the dreadful chore of ironing! While crossing the living room, Preeti paused for one minute to watch the peppy Like a Virgin blaring from the family’s 20-inch Toshiba television. The song reminded her of Chaya’s account of a Madonna concert she had attended in London. Preeti felt a pang of envy mixed with contempt for Chaya. How could God be so unfair? In fact, the real reason why Chaya had been to England - Preeti realised much later - was not to attend the concert, but rather to gather information on University Selection Process and Entrance modalities. Her parents had also arranged visits to various university grounds and campuses so that it would be easier for their beloved daughter to make her final choice. Preeti, on the other hand, knew that British universities were out of bounds to her. She had tried to talk her parents into taking a loan. But she was wise enough to know that they would not be able to repay the monthly instalments. Yet, she still had one hope. If she performed exceptionally well, she could become eligible for a scholarship abroad.
And it was this only ray of hope that kept her uplifted, and spurred her on. She would burn the midnight oil, cramming as much as she could throughout the year, even during school holidays while some in her class were on trips abroad and others were spending heavenly weekends in five-star hotels the average Mauritian of the 90s could never afford.
But God was unfair. Preeti’s dreams of studying in a British university could not be fulfilled. Instead, she graduated from the local university with a First Class in hand.
Deeshan eased himself behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. The engine sprang to life. He basked in the familiar scent. Three years before, his dad had bought this brand new Audi A5 and a whiff of fresh leather still floated around. Dad sure knew how to take proper care of his belongings. The twelve-hour flight from Melbourne had left Deeshan a bit light-headed.
“You sure you want to drive? You know what the traffic will be like at this time!” His father gently reminded him, knowing well beforehand what the answer would be.
“Come on, Dad!”
Deeshan rolled his eyes and shifted gears before taking the exit lane.
His father had wisely taken a back seat, allowing his wife to sit in front, so that his son could fill her in, on the past three years. The live-in relationship with the Australian girlfriend would definitely come up during the conversation. So what? Given her influencer status, her life was boldly splashed on major social media platforms. Anyway, the relationship seemed to have reached a dead end.
Deeshan had decided some years ago to enrol for a degree in Information Systems and he had clearly expressed his intention to try greener pastures away from his motherland. His dream was to position himself in the growing world of digital business and to create efficient information systems that would integrate cutting-edge emerging technologies to business processes. No amount of convincing, not even the brand new car would tempt him to stay back. His parents already knew their only child would leave the family nest as soon as he completed his secondary education. And yet, an unexpected by-pass surgery at the age of fifty-two, followed by other health complications had left his father reeling and shaken by what awaited him next. The poor man subtly tried to hold his son back, buying him a brand new classy car. But Deeshan had always had his way, he would follow only his heart, would do only what his mind prompted him. After all, it was his life. So he moved to Australia with the firm intention never to come back. But the pandemic had forced him to revamp his life. His final year had been extremely chaotic, with lockdowns, interruption in courses and delayed examination schedules. At times, Deeshan wondered when and how he would complete the remaining semester. Would he ever complete his course?
Thankfully, he had been able to graduate. But the harsh economic conditions in the wake of the pandemic, and the challenges that emerged in the job market in the years that followed, had forced him to return to Mauritius. Deeshan had packed his luggage for the one way trip back to Mauritius with a heavy heart. His dreams of making it big in the digital business world and creating a hub that would attract emerging technologies, had been mercilessly crushed by fate.
For the next seven months, Deeshan remained unemployed mostly steeped into pathological thoughts about how useless his whole life seemed. Then he was finally employed by an IT security company. His parents would gently remind him time and again how fortunate he was to be employed in such a respectable company. But this job was too mundane for Deeshan. The latter was an adventurer at heart and loved taking risks. His job offered him a safe but not exactly thrilling future.
Preeti’s smile widened into a grin. The Seine river cruise and the most prestigious monuments of Paris, all decked with a thousand scintillating lights, were having a magical effect on her. The gourmet 3-course dinner aboard the private lounge of the Bateaux Mouches coupled with exquisite wine and the live entertainment was more than she could ask for. She was soaking up the views of the riverside attractions now that she had drafted a mental list of all the formalities she needed to complete before flying back home the next day. Three years back she had been promoted as senior corporate trainer at the major company which employed her. Her job now required her to travel once or twice a year. A mature, confident woman who could hop from one destination to another, to update and share her expertise, at the same time enthusiastically taking in everything that the host country had to offer to her. Wasn’t this a version of the perfect life she had dreamed of as a teenager?
Twenty-four hours later, Preeti climbed into the Audi and relaxed into her seat as her son drove her from the airport.
“Can we stop for a few minutes to see Nani? You know, her glaucoma’s becoming worse. I won’t be long. Promise!” She enthused.
Deeshan grunted and almost scowled at her. Even his father, who had been quietly musing on the backseat, protested. But to his mother’s surprise, at the next round-about, Deeshan embarked on the road leading to Rose-Belle. Preeti felt a sense of overwhelming gratitude. Not only her son was growing more accommodating, but he was now surfing on the wings of success. Deeshan had left his previous job and embarked upon crypto currency investment, a business which was proving to have an irreversible trend on the web. The world was finally at his feet with the endless trading opportunities that the crypto currency market offered. Within a few months he had secured successful speculative contracts and ventured into buying and selling those contracts at the most opportune moment. Very soon, he became a seasoned licensed Bitcoin broker and heavier flows of cash started to pour into his bank account. For Deeshan, it was heavens redeemed. His dreams would now materialise.
Fifteen minutes later, Deeshan pulled over in front of an old, quaint little house with a garden where overgrown ferns and seasonal flowers seemed to compete for a place in the sunshine. As Preeti knocked hard at the metal French door, Deeshan and his father remained seated in the car, to avoid the light drizzle that had just started. The door opened and an almost toothless, wizened yet hearty Pushpa stuck out her face. As her eyes gradually grew accustomed to the glare, Pushpa recognised her daughter and grinned. She opened her arms to hug her daughter.
Preeti was pleased to see her mother beaming and happy. Upon her daughter in law’s request, Pushpa had joined the local Association for Old People and had made many friends. Preeti assumed that the previous week’s outing was the reason why Pushpa seemed so content. And she was partly right. But what she did not know was that Pushpa’s first love, Jagdish’ widow had come to live in the same locality and had knitted a beautiful bond with Pushpa. Jagdish had left his earthly abode three years ago, yet a part of him continued to live through his wife. Subhaotee had been overwhelmed to know that Jagdish and Pushpa had been childhood friends. (Of course, she did not know about the romantic part of their relationship!) Each time they’d meet, she would go on a rampage about her life with her beloved husband and their children and grand-children and the great grand-child that was soon to be born. Strangely, Pushpa did not feel any resentment for this woman. Instead, Subhaotee’s rambles made her feel like having Jagdish back into her life, this woman being the bridge between her real love and herself! It was a beautiful feeling that she would carry till she died and one that she was so thankful for! Happiness and good health…What else did a woman of her age need?
About the Competition
The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious platform celebrating the diverse expressions of writers and poets worldwide. The competition seeks to uncover unique voices and showcase the profound artistry found in poetry and creative writing.
We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Kobita Kumari Jugnauth for sharing "A Walk Through Time" with us. This remarkable narrative is a testament to the enduring power of storytelling and its ability to connect us across time and generations. We are honored to feature this work in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026.
About Hashtag Kalakar
Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.
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