I’m a lot of things.
I miss being me.
Tag: Life
Walking the Line
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.
Calling W
My smartphone has a thing against making calls to my husband. Specially, during the pandemic, our connection has gone for a toss.
1. On the first call, I get no dial tone, no caller’s tune–only a woman in her mid-twenties educates me about COVID 19, washing my hands and keeping a six-feet distance. Yup! That’s the standard caller’s tune in India now. I wait for her to end her ranting so I can bug my husband. She speaks non-stop for sixty seconds. Then the call goes dead.
2. I call again. This time, some random guy picks up the phone and we both hello each other without being able to talk. I hang up.
3. I call yet again. The call gives some feeble beeps and goes dead.
4. Desperate to get through to him, I call yet again. The call connects but I can’t hear him. The call disconnects after 8 seconds.
Frustrated, I dump my phone and stomp off to let off my steam.
5. Five seconds later, my husband calls me demanding to know why I had called him four times and never cared to speak. Duh!
Lonely
Three thousand years is a long time to be stuck inside a box, however pretty and expensive. Stuck between this world and the next, it gets rather dark and boring in here. Add these bandages and the temperature in here could become a killer, if I wasn’t already dead. What’s the point of the perfect preservation of body, when I can’t even look in a mirror.
So I had to crack open the Shell, quite like a chick out of an egg, and take a walk outside. If you meet me on the way, please ignore the bandages–they weren’t my idea of fun. I was just lying there, waiting to be buried, but these guys decided that I deserved an eternity…of loneliness.
I wish I wasn’t a king.
Sailor, Ahoy!
I’ve never set foot on a ship, but I know how it feels for a sailor to wipe floorboards after a storm.
-Me
My house has a special feature–water harvesting. When it rains and the wind is in the right direction, which is at least once a year, (this year has been rather generous in this regard) the unique technique used in the windows allows maximum possible amount of water inside.
Since my room is the highest room of the tallest tower in the area, the amount of water it can intake can put a Civil engineer to shame (“Why didn’t I think of this? I could have saved riven Yamuna. I should drown myself in this pool.”) I think the architect who designed the house worked with King Akbar in Agra, since a similar water harvesting technique has been used throughout the Agra fort and Fatehpur Sikari fort. The only mistake he made was to forget creating a tank at the bottom to contain the water it collected–such a waste!
So, whenever it rains and the wind is in the ‘right’ direction, the I play the sailor, while my daughter sitting on the bed squeals with excitement and works as the lookout–“Look Maa! Water from that window too!”
I specially remember this night when my daughter was one and there was a storm. Lights went out, the inverter didn’t work, and we lighted a candle. Then the wind moved in the ‘right’ direction and water came in from all of the five huge windows covering two walls.
Suddenly we were sailors of the old times on His Majesty’s Ship in storm. One of my family members had run upstairs to help and together we bailed (wiped) water out of the room, while the Princess was sound asleep in the King’s arms. After five minutes, when it was clear that no amount of bailing/wiping could help, the King ordered us to abandon ship and we took the nearest escape route to the floor below.
Water came to us from all directions, raining down the stairs that led to the roof. It followed us down the stairs in torrents, trying to drown anyone en route. Wet from the water falling from the stairs above, we made it, somehow, to dry lands of the lower floor, leaving all our belongings to fate.
Three hours later, when the rain stopped for a while and the wind took a break, I returned to our room to find it water-logged. It took me three more hours to put out the beds on the roof to dry, and to clean and dry-up the room and the carpet…and get ready for work. No sleep for me that night!
For many years, we have looked for ways to make our room waterproof without sealing the windows (since sealing them will turn the room into an oven) but to no avail. It doesn’t stop me from loving it though.
I fell in love with those huge fancy castle-like windows the day I entered this home for the first time. They gave me the sense of living in a hotel with a spectacular view…mine is that of trees and a field across the road. Well, beyond that there is a water tank and houses, but it is as good as it can get while still living in a city. And then there are birds that knock on my windows so often…
Some inconveniences are worth it…
Guest Post: Ngozi Awa
I’d like to present a guest post by Ngozi Awa. She is fellow blogger and friend who shares heartfelt pieces of her life and other stories on her blog http://doshelles.com.
The Quiet and Reserved Ones
As an undergraduate, I wasn’t the boldest or the most eloquent in class. However, I knew I wanted to make a difference in the quality of studentship in the department. So, there came the decision to run for one of the supporting leadership positions in the department’s students’ association.
When I indicated interest to run for Treasurer of the Department of English and Literary Studies Students’ Association, I was laughed off. My classmates and seniors described me as withdrawn and shy. I was pained at the low levels of confidence I received from my classmates. I thought they could see past my quiet demeanour.
I didn’t let their disapproval stop me from pursuing my goal. I vied for the position, wrote and delivered a manifesto that sent the crowd to their feet with rounds of applause. I won the position.
It is okay to be reserved, quiet, or even withdrawn but you have to step out of your comfort zone once in a while.
Like Master Shifu of The Kung-fu Panda series says “If you do only what you can do, you will never be more than you are now.”
You can read more of her beautiful stories at http://doshelles.com/.
Guest Post: Don Ostertag
I’m pleased and honoured to share a Guest Post from my partner in crime, Don Ostertag. He is one of my favourite blog writers. His stories are straight from the heart and worth your time every single time.
An Introduction to my blog: Don Ostertag: Off Stage
I am in my lower 80s. My legs are in their late 90s. My beautiful Mexican senorita, now senora, Georgina, (Gina), and I have been married over half a century (59 years). We have five sons, four daughters-in-law, and eleven grandchildren. My wife raised five sons and one husband, and now is using her talent to help out with our grandchildren.
I am retired. I have had a great many occupations over the years; but for the last 45 years of working, I had been a union stagehand in the Twin Cities. While stagehands often work into their 80’s, (I knew one in Boston that was over 90), common sense and my aching body told me to get out. I had way, way, too much fun in my youth, getting bucked off horses, getting busted up in football, and getting bounced on the ground at the end of a parachute jump, and so on.
If I outlive my 401K, and my bad luck with Powerball continues, I’ll probably be greeting people as I gave them their shopping carts at the nearby big-box store. But for now, I’m retired.
I never got into trying to hit balls into holes in the grass. Although I lived in the woods and lakes when I was young, hunting and fishing don’t appeal to me anymore. I love fields and flowers, but my knees no longer approve of gardening. TV grows old after you watched the same episode of NCIS for the umpteenth time, and the MN Twins keep losing. I do read and read and read. I always have my Nook within reach.
And I write.
All my life I enjoyed daydreaming, watching people, and writing. More importantly, my body doesn’t mind my remembering and my writing. This blog is a small example of my writings.
I hope you enjoy reading them half as much as I enjoyed writing them. For the most part, they are true stories. Well, as true as I remember. After all, many of them happened a long, long time ago.
OLD HAND – published pieces
STAGE HAND – show biz pieces
NO HANDS – bits & pieces
PS: This Intro was written before the Darkness came to our world. And while prayer may be a great comfort, just remember God helps those who help themselves. So please obey the rules for good health. Be optimistic. And love thy neighbor even if it is at a six-foot distance.
And just keep thinking what the words of that annoying earworm sings, ‘The Sun will come out tomorrow’.
STAY SAFE
For a good laugh and food for thought, visit Don’s blog at https://donostertag.wordpress.com/
Claws
Lions are clawing me inside out!
Okay, I am on a diet–a high protein, low carb, no fat diet–a healthy diet that involves loads of milk, protein shake, fruits and nuts. What it lacks is everything I love–Breads of all kinds, rice, pasta, noodles, patties, pastries, even porridge! Chapattis (Indian bread) with veggies and pulses once a day are its saving grace. You see, I am a foody with a very low hunger threshold. I eat every three hours and I love variety in food. Hence most of my day is spent creating or planning that variety. So, dieting is beyond me.
But my husband could see my love for food was creating tires around my waist, and now these car tires were aspiring to become truck tires soon. Worse part, I was unwell with joint pain and body ache, thanks to the fast reduction and, then, adoption of weight in the past one year, thanks to Hypo-Thyroid and it’s medication’s side-effect. So my husband finally put his foot down.
11th July was the first day of the torture. My diet has been split in 3-hour schedule with smaller portions that provide me with only what I need, which means no fat, low carbs. I could feel lions clawing me inside out–I guess, they had always lived there, eating my food. Now with the famine, they are reminding me of their existence. I was techy, angry and on the verge of crying all day. But nothing would move my stone-hearted husband to give a hungry wife a few morsels of bread (with butter and jam).
Next day, the clawing had mellowed down slightly, at least I wasn’t crying. Or may be, I was too busy with laundry and other household duties to notice them too closely. I survived.
Today has dawned with the old clawing back. While I work on my computer, I can feel the desperation in this clawing. I think they know they are going to die of starvation soon. I hope this entire pride dies soon, for this diet is here to stay for a while.
Please pray for my safe return…
Colin McQueen, earlier you had talked about the hazards of running. I will take that any day as compared to this.
Free photo by Louis Hansel on Unsplash
The Killer Streaks
The story is now a part of a short-story collection available both in print and as an ebook. I will share the links soon.
The Yearning
He reflected over his life with pride as he drove to office: a high ranking job, rich wife, children, vacations in exotic locales…
His eyes drifted towards the side of the road where children dressed in rags played with an old bicycle tire laughing with abandon. He felt a pang of jealousy!
Image by Larm Rmah on Unsplash
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 