My rating: 1 of 5 stars
While I usually enjoy reading about teenagers and their tantrums about,in general, everything in life, I wouldn't like to be made to read the banalities associated with them.It was apparently a failed attempt at doing another Catcher In The Rye.I was unable to finish reading it.
(This post is my entry for the weekly photo prompt writing forThe Magpie Tales)
She lay on her stomach on the edge of the couch. Staring at the wooden floor, the dark crevices between the tiles, the general pattern and the absence of it. The dust on the floor was clearly visible from that angle. May be she should bend down to that level during her weekly cleaning.It was 6 am on a tuesday morning. She heard the church bells from behind her house. She wondered if the bells rang every day.
It was early for anyone, especially someone who didn't have a job to go to. She and 23 others were given one hour to vacate their desks and surrender their id cards on Monday. By 2PM she was back home with 24 days of valid train pass, a 250gm bar of Kit-kat and no job.
She peeled herself from the couch to make coffee.On her way to the kitchen, she stumbled upon the wooden planks the carpenter left behind yesterday. The large walnut wooden book shelf was almost built. She always wanted the one with those zig-zag asymmetrical shelves. The carpenter was confused with her description of the design but had done a good job of it. She couldn't pay him anymore. With no job and a thin chance of finding another one easily, she needed the savings. The carpenter politely accepted her apologies for withdrawing the contract,though he seriously doubted her capacity to wind up the unfinished job.
The last two planks had to be nailed into the rest of the structure. She found herself sitting on the floor, a 5 feet long wooden shelf in front of her, a hammer on one side and a box of nails on the other. From the half-opened box of nails,she absently took out one nail and held it like a cigarette for a while. She then frantically started hammering the nails into the wood before her. After about 12 minutes, she had nailed "IT GOES ON" on the plank.
As the carpenter had suspected, she never completed the book-shelf.
(This post is my entry for the weekly photo prompt writing forThe Magpie Tales)
By 11 A.M , Lisa, 6 , and Adi , 7, had bathed , eaten and were excited to begin work on their camping plans that were hatched in their room last night. Their mother was happy to oblige them with the old double bed sheet they needed to start. Once out of the back door, into the garden , the kids ran to the spot they had in mind. The mother called out loving warnings of "Don't soil yourselves" and "stay in the shade" and went back indoors to enjoy making lunch in the rarely , hopefully for 2 hours, quiet and peaceful house.
Adi had a rough picture in mind. He had only seen people setting up tents on TV and thought the portion of the rope mother uses to hang wash clothes, directly under the mango tree would be an ideal spot to hang their tent. Before that, the clothes already drying had to be pulled and crumpled in one half of the rope so the bed sheet could be spread on the other. Using the maximum stretch of arms and legs that their little bodies allowed, they succeeded in throwing one half of the bed sheet over the rope to catch it on the other side. Their tent now hung on the rope, with its edges making strange patterns in the mud. Lisa dutifully followed Adi's instructions to tie one corner of the tent to the pole, while he tied the second one to the stem of the lemon tree. The third one was tied to the neck of the tap used to water the lawns. They looked around for a fourth something to tie their tent to. Their sweating bodies already longed to sit in the shade but there was work to be done still.
Adi assured Lisa he'll get a heavy stone that they would tie the corner to, to keep their tent from flying. Meanwhile, Lisa made several trips to the tap, to fill her cupped hands with water and sprinkled it on the ground inside the tent to settle the dust. She loved the smell of wet earth and would always find ways to get it. Adi embarked on his hunt in the wild. He looked all around the huge garden , the kitchen garden for a big stone. Without realizing he crossed over the boundary into Mrs.Sharma's lawn. Owing to the friendly relations between the two families, the break in the boundary hedge was not only deliberate, it saw more traffic than the front doors of the two houses. He spotted a dark colored stone across the lawn on approaching which he realized it was a 1 kilogram iron weight. It was cold to touch and covered with wet soil. He dusted it with his hands and cradled it in his arms to his tent. He tied the fourth end of the tent through the loop of the weight and looked at their sky blue colored camp proudly.
Now he hadn't thought of an agenda after this. He just imagined the setting-up part and didn't know what are they going to do with it now. He saw Lisa struggling to drag the second of the three empty terracotta pots into their tent. She pushed back her pigtail from her temple to explain they'd use them as stools and a table for their tent. Adi was pleased at being provided with a vision again. Once the furniture was placed, they both sat on their stools with the third pot in the center. Adi thought of placing something on the their center table, perhaps food.
They ran to the kitchen garden and forayed into the various soil partitions in their hunt for food. Their shoes were sticky with the freshly watered mud and their mother's latest warnings replayed in their minds. They plucked the small and only bottle gourd, 2 reddish green tomatoes and a dark-green lemon. They then plucked a few coriander leaves, Adi wasn't sure what its called but knew mother used it to make chutney served with poppadoms. Back in their tent, on top of their table, they made a bed of coriander leaves and placed the bottle gourd, the lemon and the tomatoes on top. They looked at the otherwise pleasant sight in dismay. None of their food, they figured could be eaten raw. It was all a failure they thought. None of them said it aloud but in their bored and tired hearts, they both vowed not to mention this camping game for the rest of their summer vacation.
They wanted to go indoors, but having put in so much commitment in the project, none of them took the lead. Just then, they heard the front door bell ring followed by their mother's voice calling them inside. This was their father, home for lunch. The next thing, they were both running towards the back door, never more pleased at being called indoors. Just at the entrance, Lisa stopped and said "Can we ask Mommy to cook something out of our camp food?". They knew then they are going to be back inside the tent tomorrow.
That night, when mother tucked both of them in bed, the lights switched off, Adi wondered if he should have asked Mrs.Sharma before taking the 1 kilo weight from her garden.
Like every Thursday evening, Chloe came out rejuvenated from her yoga class. She bade goodnight to her colleague and the usual promise to see her at work tomorrow.
As she walked towards her car in the parking lot, she was suddenly stuck with a jab of that familiar fragrance. The woody , spicy fragrance she could never forget. She rested her palm on the bonnet of the nearest car for support. The fragrance pierced through her heart. The smell and the associated memories always left her in need of support. For those few moments, wherever she was, the smell blocked her from the world and invoked the familiar dark , cold pain in her chest. She waited for it to pass. Although she was used to it, it always stunned her. She took a few deep breaths trying to gather herself. She could still smell the perfume. Gosh, how popular had this one become.
As she slowly started walking towards her car, she stopped suddenly. It was something about the car she was resting against. She couldn't point out what.She turned to face the car looking for something. Her body still but her eyes frantically scanning the car. Then she saw the matchbox on the dashboard. She inched closer to confirm. Her car keys slipped out of her hand and dropped on the floor with a light jangle. She was sweating and shivering. Thousands of thoughts ran through her mind. It was his car, she knew that much. The perfume that had stuck her was not anyone's but his. The matchbox was his.She recognized it. He always used that matchbox to light his cigarettes and left the half-lit match on top of it. Oh yes, she knew it, she knew him. What she didn't know was what was he doing there, in her city, in the same Mall. The sight left her dazed.
They last met one and a half years ago in Bratislava, where they shared the hotel room for a week. It was a well thought separation. Although, he didn't agree with parting, he knew Chloe was right. They shared between them love , respect, joy and all that two hearts can possibly share. But that was all. Their lives had nothing in common. He dreamt of being a business tycoon one day, his aspirations treading into the unlawful areas. She was sure he would someday charm his way into the heart of the social and business circuit. She was a simple girl with simple aspirations. In the two years that they spent together, she knew all along this was not meant to be but she never got around peeling herself away from him and his life. It was way too painful. She didn't wait for him to kiss her goodbye. She knew she couldn't do it. In the middle of the night, she dressed and slipped out of the room. She flew home, left a note for her flatmate with no details and a lot of money for the rent, and caught the first flight to Paris.
That was it. They never saw or heard from each other again. Standing in the Mall in front of his car, she drew a deep breath and concluded that he still didn't know where she was. They both were in Paris. And in the same Mall, with his car parked 10 meters from hers. All this was only a coincidence.
She walked with heavy steps to her car. Got in, started the engine and took the exit. She knew she wouldn't get any sleep that night. She hunted out the matchbox from her bag, lit her cigarette and left the matchbox on the dashboard. And smiled to herself.
(This post is my entry for the weekly photo prompt writing for The Magpie Tales .)
He was sat on his rocking chair with an open book pressed against his chest. His face couldn't be seen.It was turned the other side, towards the window, the only source of light at that dusky hour.His chair wasn't rocking. Not anymore.
Tina's grandfather was 81 that day when he breathed his last. He was 32 when he with his entire family had to leave everything behind to catch the last train to some place far away from their home. Some place really far away from their riot-inflicted homeland. They never got the chance to collect valuables or farewells. 2 years later, it was still too dangerous to even attempt the return. The tensions had surged and their home was now
in another country.
Tina grew up listening to the stories of her country's 60-year long freedom struggle against the rule of the Raj, and how her grandfather fought in it. All these years,he kept in touch with his friends from the struggle through postcards. Thoughts and memories confined in those 3.5"X 5" pieces of paper.
One such postcard was used as a bookmark in that book he was reading that day on his rocking chair. The postcard talked about a trophy he and his friends won as an arduous victory over a fierce opponent. About how after all these years, whilst the victorious spirit still floats high, the trophy is now corroding. The shine is lost on the withering leaves of memories.
The postcard had arrived 2 days before his chair stopped rocking.
This post is my entry for the weekly photo prompt writing for The Magpie Tales .
I was delighted to have stumbled upon Willow's Blog and her new idea of Magpie Tales which is dedicated to the craft of musing and writing. She would post a photo prompt each week, inspired by which, people can post pieces of fiction , poetry on their own blogs. I have signed up and hope to be able to produce something each week. The first one comes tomorrow , 16th of February, 2010.
To dare every day to be irreverent and bold. To dare to preserve the randomness of mind which in children produces strange and wonderful new thoughts and forms. To continually scramble the familiar and bring the old into new juxtaposition.
—Gordon Webber
I enjoy knitting stories through writing and photography is my latest infatuation. Exasperatingly crabby,indulgent,bewildered, random.Gradually metamorphosing into who I love being, lustful about books, perfumes, cakes and travel. Expect to stumble upon some short stories and book-reviews here.
Apples by Richard Milward
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