The night is alive.
I shut my eyes tight
against the stubborn dreams
that refuse to leave.
The night is alive.
I shut my eyes tight
against the stubborn dreams
that refuse to leave.
Lonely in a crowd,
The journey of writing a story book,
One heart, many lives.
I’m a lot of things.
I miss being me.
Listen intently,
And you’ll hear it–
The sound of dreams you shattered.
I walk the thin line
between yesterday and tomorrow.
It is all too easy to cross over.
I try to be present
’cause that is where I am.
Being polite never hurts, and it is good for business too.
Day 2 Writing Prompt! I think I’m getting the hang of this!
My initial thought with this prompt was some deep social commentary on how we must need more words in our language, because we’re all talking but no one seems to be understanding each other, but…this was more fun. So, here is my unintended homage to O’Henry’s “Ransom of Red Chief.”
“We don’t have enough words,” she sighed, flipping through the stack of mangled magazines in front of her. She had spent hours poring over that wrinkled piece of paper, scissors in one hand, an Elmer’s glue stick in the other.
“Good god, woman! It’s a ransom note not a novel,” I griped, fanning myself against the stifling Louisiana heat. The AC had conked out hours ago, and our only relief was a small metal fan creaking in the motel room window.
“That’s no reason not to be polite,”…
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Long ago there was a girl who lived in a small town that constantly lived in the fear of bandits…this story is not about her.
This story is about my daughter who has a bandit-fetish. Note that we live in a pretty peaceful town…well, as peaceful as an Indian small town in Uttar Pradesh could be, considering the population density of 828 people per square km area. And there are certainly no bandits.
It all began when my daughter watched a cartoon where her favourite character Masha played Robin Hood and asked me who Robin Hood was. I told him he was a bandit who stole from the rich and gave to poor. I was trying to invoke her respect for Robin for helping the poor. But my daughter’s perspective came from the side of the rich he looted.
Ever since, she began asking questions…
Do bandits come during the day? Do they come during the night? Why would they come to our house?
I assured her that they do not come to our town, and we weren’t rich enough and they would certainly never visit us. From my side, the topic was closed, but from her side, it was hardly the case.
First day, she began worrying about her favourite toys, urging that I hide them away somewhere safe at night. I assured her bandits do not play with toys. But then she countered, what if they take it for their baby? It took a lot of assurance to leave the toys in their regular place.
Next she urged I hide away all her favourite dresses too. I told her bandits own their own clothes, and would hardly be interested in such a small size. But she countered, what if they have a baby. A truly valid point… I had to hide her dresses in iron safe.
Lately, she told me to hide away her one rupee coin (1 pence) that I hid in my work drawer and her kebab that is hiding in fridge, while her biscuits, pasta and noodles are in a danger of becoming bandit-food.
You can’t watch everything!
3 November 2031
Yelin (13 years, Slovenia) texts Omega (13 years, Mexico)
Y: Hey girl, you won’t believe what I found today? 🤓
O: 🙄
Y: I found mum’s childhood pics…with a lot of people… 🤶🥇🚪
O: “Who were not family? Coz family’s allowed…”
Y: “No, definitely not family.”
O: “😱 What was her excuse?”
Y: “She said it was from her ‘School’, a place where she went to learn new things along with nearly 500 others! 🤓”
O: Liar! 🤥
Y: No! She showed me old pictures of this ‘School’ on internet. It does exist. 🙂
O: Was it open air? Cave-man style? 🙉🙊🙈
Y: Proper buildings. There were rooms with enough desks to house fifty people at a time. 🏢
O: 50 kids in the same room? It is downright dangerous! Didn’t they know it spreads germs? 😨
Y: She said it was before the germs took over our lives. Her friends played with her in places called parks. And she went on ‘real dates’– 🚗 long drive, dancing💃🕺 in disco and 🍷🍸🍹 drinking together in pubs…
O: Yuk! So much exposure! Seriously! She must be reading too much fantasy to come up with stories like that.
I own a Weather app on my mobile phone. It seems that weather has a love-hate relation with this app. If it predicts 10% chances of rainfall, it will rain by the bucket load. But at 90% chances, not a cloud shows up. It reminds me of this excerpt from Three Men in a Boat (1889) by Jerome K. Jerome.
I do think that, of all the silly, irritating tomfoolishness by which we are plagued, this “weather-forecast” fraud is about the most aggravating. It “forecasts” precisely what happened yesterday or a the day before, and precisely the opposite of what is going to happen to-day.
I remember a holiday of mine being completely ruined one late autumn by our paying attention to the weather report of the local newspaper. “Heavy showers, with thunderstorms, may be expected to-day,” it would say on Monday, and so we would give up our picnic, and stop indoors all day, waiting for the rain. And people would pass the house, going off in wagonettes and coaches as jolly and merry as could be, the sun shining out, and not a cloud to be seen.
“Ah!” we said, as we stood looking out at them through the window, “won’t they come home soaked!”
And we chuckled to think how wet they were going to get, and came back and stirred the fire, and got our books, and arranged our specimens of seaweed and cockle shells. By twelve o’clock, with the sun pouring into the room, the heat became quite oppressive, and we wondered when those heavy showers and occasional thunderstorms were going to begin.
“Ah! they’ll come in the afternoon, you’ll find,” we said to each other. “Oh, WON’T those people get wet. What a lark!”
At one o’clock, the landlady would come in to ask if we weren’t going out, as it seemed such a lovely day.
“No, no,” we replied, with a knowing chuckle, “not we. WE don’t mean to get wet – no, no.”
And when the afternoon was nearly gone, and still there was no sign of rain, we tried to cheer ourselves up with the idea that it would come down all at once, just as the people had started for home, and were out of the reach of any shelter, and that they would thus get more drenched than ever. But not a drop ever fell, and it finished a grand day, and a lovely night after it.
The next morning we would read that it was going to be a “warm, fine to set-fair day; much heat;” and we would dress ourselves in flimsy things, and go out, and, half-an-hour after we had started, it would commence to rain hard, and a bitterly cold wind would spring up, and both would keep on steadily for the whole day, and we would come home with colds and rheumatism all over us, and go to bed.
Blogger’s note: Weird how even after 130 years, satellite imaging and newest technology, the Weatherman is just as clueless as ever.
Another Blogger’s note: You may think why I quote from this book so often, but this book is my personal antidote for all kinds of depression, sadness and ‘general disinclination to work‘.
Hi Folks,
If you think my posts have been too short lately, even by my own standard, or that I haven’t been visiting your blog, you are right! I’m working on a book, my first–a compilation of short stories. It takes all the time that I can spare from part-time job and full-time motherhood. So, if you’ve been missing me, or there’s something you would like me to see/read, please post a comment on any of my posts. I do check my comments section daily.
And I miss you all too. The temptation to throw in the towel and just sit back and read all your wonderful posts is too great, sometimes making it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. But this book is a dream that I want to realise before the end of the year. Not sure if I’d be successful in the given timeline, but I’m trying. Wish me luck!
With love
Shaily