Time Loop by Prasant Atluri
55 lines
Issue 8, Summer 2025
My ideal existence is to be stuck in a time loop,
a closed timelike curve in Gödel's rotating universe,
making dosas with my Nainamma.
My 3-year-old hand grips the handle of the ladle,
while Nainamma holds my wrist.
Free of worry, I focus on the motion.
She rotates my forearm, and the batter splashes onto the hot griddle.
We drag the bowl of the ladle,
creating imperfect circles —
larger and larger, thinner and thinner.
Where it breaks, the edges turn brown and crisp.
There is no uncertainty,
only the task of the moment —
creating something savory and nourishing and satisfying
with my Nainamma,
who protects me from the scalding heat.
We switch to a spatula and fold the dosa into messy thirds.
The delicate structure of the crepe tears.
We lay the lumpy dosa onto a plate.
"Do you want to eat now or make one more?" she asks.
"Another one," I say amidst a burst of tachyons, and
I grip the handle of the ladle,
while Nainamma holds my wrist.
We pour the batter onto the griddle.
I drag the ladle with a practiced hand,
and this time the circles are more circular.
Nainamma's touch grows lighter.
Does Nainamma understand
that she is imprisoned in my time loop?
Does she begrudge my need to be protected,
to be loved,
at the cost of her freedom?
My anxiety grows as we fold the dosa into nearly even thirds —
crisp at the edges, soft in the middle, untorn —
and lay it onto a plate.
"Do you want to eat now or make one more?" she asks.
"Another one," I say amidst a burst of tachyons, and
I grip the handle of the ladle,
while Nainamma holds my wrist.
I plop a dollop of batter
onto the griddle and trace a perfect spiral,
thin and unbroken.
Nainamma smiles and withdraws her hand.
I fold the dosa into equal thirds and lay it on the plate,
wondering whether the warmth of the memory would recede with her stewardship.
Is the shared need between my Nainamma and me
the essential element that generates comfort?
Would the task lose meaning,
if no hunger is ever satisfied
by the perfectly formed dosa
made with heat and batter and love,
because I am stuck in a time loop?
Nainamma interrupts my thoughts.
"Do you want to eat now or make one more?" she asks.
"Another one," I say amidst a burst of tachyons.
He has run multiple marathons, survived the Death March in the Grand Canyon, raced a Rickshaw from Chennai to the Southern tip of India, run a 50km “skyrace” in the mountains of Trømso, Norway, given a TED talk on the value of memories, flown an L-39 Albatros fighter jet, and ridden a motorcycle from the Sahara Desert to Marrakesh.
He graduated from the Stanford Continuing Studies Novel Writing Program. He is an Associate Member of the SFWA and a member of the SFPA.
His story “Tea and Jasmine” was published in Tasavvur magazine in 2024.
He is currently working on an anthology of science fiction short stories, exploring the concept of cognitive neurotype switching. He is also working on a novel about a man who must overcome his prideful self-interest to rescue his one true friend, who has vanished in a virtual prison administered by an alien AI and governed by the morality of a beloved childhood comic.