Lately, I have been working as a jewellery- and dress-designer for probably the richest doll on the Earth. She is the Barbie I gifted to my daughter last summer, she is named as Elsa (after the Disney princess, of course). Ever since then, I have been hard at making dresses suitable for her station in life.
Lately, my daughter requested my help for making jewellery for Lady Elsa based on her original designs.
Within a couple of hours, we had seven new sets of necklaces and earrings, along with a tiara, made out of buttons, fake pearls from my junk jewellery and metal wire, held together with a lot of love (because love is a magic and only magic can hold these fragile things together). That, of course, excludes the four previous jewellery sets that had been lost in the previous month.
My payment was ten-kisses-a-piece, which I consider quite generous.
It is rather nice working for those rich in love. :D
Author’s note: I think the context of the post is very Indian because it directly relates to the weather and culture here.
Lately, I have been down on posts so much, I wonder if I have the right to own a WP account. My entire family has been ill (me included)–viral fever relapsing every week. My daughter had been on anti-biotics until day before yesterday.
We were worried that it was something sinister and got tested but nothing!
And then, my daughter’s doctor diagnosed the real cause–Air Conditioning (AC) at school! In India during changing weather of September, the difference between day and night temperature can be 16-17 degrees but this change is gradual and happens over the course of day. Then, imagine walking to school at 30C only to sit in a classroom at 16-20C and then walking out again in the afternoon at 35C. Add to that even one infected child in the room–one sneeze and Boom!
So, as soon as my daughter had announced in May that her school was installing AC in all classrooms, my first reaction was “Why?” And now it is “Damn!” (Sorry about swearing but…)
I don’t understand the whole point of having AC in school.
My whole generation had one or two fans among the 50+ classmates and we fared just fine. Infact, it made us more active outdoors since the outside temperature didn’t turn us to ashes. I remember painting one of my school walls during summer afternoon (without sunscreen) for the annual sports event. It was Fun! I also remember cycling and walking back from a couple of my schools in the afternoon sun. It never bothered me. I just needed a handkerchief to wipe off the sweat and a water-bottle with unfiltered school water and a good deal of street-food to deal with the day.
And now, children are travelling with RO water-bottles in AC buses to AC schools and returning to AC homes, jumping directly to mobile phones gaming, cartoons or Netflix! No climbing trees, no building makeshift swings, no stealing mulberries and black plums from neighbours’ gardens, no crazy cycling, no snooping on bird nests, no digging out colourful stones in the garden, no splashing around in water while watering plants, no walking on the low walls to imitate tight-rope walkers, no playing in the rain, no building tombs for dead butterflies…
Sigh! I wonder what kind of world we are building for our children.
Egg-tray daffodils and butterfly and the falling-stars-night background coloured by my 7-year-old “Artist-e-Azam” wonder girl. My role was limited to cutting the flowers and flower arrangement.
Lately, my inner child and actual child have taken over my life.
My daughter turned seven last week. She also worked very hard for her exams last month. Hence, I and my husband have been giving her loads of little treats to make her feel special.
So, we have bought her what she loves the most: toys and colours of different kinds. And then let her colour everything around her to her heart’s content. I have throwing random ideas at her, and she is more than happy to oblige.
This egg-tray daffodils and butterfly is just the tip of the iceberg.
There is a toy dragon cut out of an egg-tray and coloured, and ready to be tied together, while another egg tray shivers awaiting execution. :)
I also created a reusable frame for her constant flow of amazing paintings.
That is why I haven’t been posting as much. I have let life take over…and its fun!
Do you know what all goes into cooking a rainbow cake 🎂?
My daughter is turning seven this month. Also, for the first time, she was dealing with exhausting end-of-year exams (Children her age have been going to school since they were 3 but we homeschooled her due to COVID.) I wanted her to remember these days with fondness rather than dread. So, I built her a 4-inch oven the out of a cardboard box.
She was so excited upon seeing the gift that she decided she will begin using it immediately. That is when it all snow-balled.
It started with a small paper pizza 🍕, complete with mushrooms 🍄, onions 🌰, tomatoes 🍅 and capsicums.
The next day, a 3D cake 🎂 the diameter of my smallest finger and the half the height appeared. It was cute with rainbow colours and seven candles on the top, ready for the big doll party–apparently, my daughter’s doll is ready to celebrate her seventh birthday too.
But of course, it wasn’t enough because it didn’t really have any ingredients, just paper. So, my daughter took it upon herself to create them. You see, the quickest way to get a toy is to build it. So, on the next day, a paper flour bag 🌾appeared, along with a paper milk jug 🥛, a couple of eggs 🥚🥚and a bowl of sugar. Not sure where she found the recipe–I don’t bake. I don’t even have an oven. The items are a little rough around the edges since she is not allowed to use scissors yet. But that never managed to curb her enthusiasm.
The next day, paper icing cones started appearing. Soon, we had strawberry 🍓, orange 🍊, mango 🥭, kiwi 🥝, blue berry, black berry and blackgrapes 🍇 flavours. I thought it should be enough for the cake, so after a lot of ministrations from our little chef, the cake went inside the oven.
And then she realised that it is a party, and she can’t offer just a piece of the rainbow cake to the guests. So, over the next few days, paper cupcakes 🧁,burger 🍔, four varieties of shakes 🥤, a whole lot of other food stuff of unidentifiable variety 🥗🧆🍥 started appearing. It was, of course, done using the milk-jug 🥛, eggs 🥚🥚, icing and flour 🌾 prepared previously.
And then came a whole set of paper fruits 🍓🍒🍎🍑🍊🥭🍍🍋🍌🍇 and serving trays. I reminded her that she had plastic fruits and trays as well, but the suggestion was declined on the premise that everything has to look similar.
Yesterday, after her exams ended, my daughter had the big doll birthday party 🥳 with her friend. Four guest dolls along with four soft toys–a deer, a monkey, a dog and a penguine–were in attendance. The party was a huge hit and everyone nose-dived into the rainbow cake 🎂 since they didn’t have the patience to cut it neatly into pieces (which would have destroyed a real piece of art).
I am glad my daughter’s knowledge of baked items is limited, or else the party would have to be delayed until my daughter had the complete range of baked goods. I hope now the party is over, the bake frenzy would end, or else slow down to one piece a day.
Authors Note: Our dear old delivery guy is grumpier than usual.
I hate these foreigners.
They swoop in, sully our lands, eat our food, and stutter around with their red heads held high as if they own the place. Sometimes I wish I could take them all aside and show them what we do with encroachers. But we have hosted them all our lives. I can’t get on a killing spree…
Not that I am afraid of them! I mean, I know they are bigger and stronger, and their group is too huge, and the raw power they radiate when they descend together on their huge black wings and too long crooked beaks held high is awe-inspiring. And our women “Ooh” and “Aah” as they pass.
Agh! I wish I could take a swing at that massive black one my sweety is pining for. Every time he is around, something comes over her. She has never been clumsy before but when he looks in her direction, she drops whatever fish she is holding and has to brace herself with both legs. You would think we never taught her how to fish.
Sometimes, she stands taller, ruffles her feathers, plumps them up and cleans herself too often, as if vying for his attention; as if this foreigner is going to fall in love with her and stay here forever or take her along with him. He won’t. He is here only for the winters. Come summers and he will fly away leaving her high and dry. Just the thought makes me want to peck him to death.
Not that he is interested in her. For all the attention he gives her back, she could be a mouse in the field. He just flies around showing off, his eyes only for the woman he brought along–never even sparing a second look for my pretty girl. Every time he passes without looking at my sweety, I can see her heart break in the way her face drops, and that too makes me want to break some wings.
I want to peck him to death or, at least, want him to leave the place before my sweety loses it. I wish she would choose a stork who would love her or, better still, stay away from all the storks forever so I don’t have to kill them all…
Sigh! I am not sure anymore what I want anymore. I just wish being a father was easier.
Author’s note: This is my first attempt at first line stories. The first line of the story was suggested by Fraggle. Thank you, FR. I hope it loves up to your expectations.
The death of the goldfish is the last straw.
My tail is twitching with agitation. I want to kill Gilly. I’ve been telling her since day one not to overfeed Goldy but she’s been constantly offering him treats for tricks when she thought I wasn’t looking. And now as I return from work, Goldy floating sideways in water, eyes closed, close to the cove roof while Gilly is looking at me sheepishly from the far corner, waiting for the sharp rebuke that is sure to come. The weight of the life lost is coming down on my shoulders making it difficult to stand.
I can’t always keep an eye on her. I’m a single mother with a job to keep. Apart from my regular job at the Shell and Pearls art shop, I work three nights a week at the Oceans One Disco to pay for Gilly’s tution. So, she’s alone after study hours. I adopted Goldy, hoping he’d give her the much needed company. I hadn’t considered if, without adult supervision, my young daughter would be able to keep him alive…
I sit down heavily on the ancient coral reef seat that once belonged to my great-grandmother. How did my mother manage to raise me and her mother before her, since none of our fathers—the stranded sailors—stayed long enough for us to grow up. They’d rather catch the first ship back home. But in those times, mermaids raised their children together in large schools so there was always someone elderly to take care of the young ones while mothers foraged for food and wannabe mothers foraged for sailors. I remember clearly the hours I had spent hanging around in open ocean with friends and elderly mermaids, learning how to sing, dance and read. I had a happy childhood.
But now, as the city of Atlantis grows to the outskirts and unfamiliar faces become a common sight, it isn’t safe to leave behind our children out in the open. So, schools are limited to a few hours a day with classes held in closed rooms, and children are sent back to empty homes to fend for themselves. Gilly has to spend uncountable hours alone and I had believed a pet would make her happy. He did too as her constant companion and friend. But now, he’s gone, and I’m not sure I’ll risk another life again.
A deep sadness settles in the pit of my stomach. Goldy wasn’t just a fish; he was family. He was my responsibility too—another one I failed at. Should I rebuke Gilly for being a careless owner? But she must also be grieving…
I look at her and am greeted with expectant eyes. I open my arms to Gilly and beckon her to me. She shouts with glee, “Didn’t I tell you, Goldy, she loves me too,” as she swims in my lap, and Goldy rushes forward to join her, leaving the play-dead act behind.
I roll my eyes to show I aren’t affected by their little drama, but my heart throbs happily, beating a steady rhythm against my chest, trying to drive away the memories of ancient pain.
Short Stories 