Shooting Star and Colour Red

By
Caleidoscope
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2

Author – Shalini Kotnala

Shooting Star and Colour Red
Image – Pixabay

Mummy, daddy, chocolates, balloons, gifts, beloved fairy dress and yummy delicacies, dressed in their best garnishing, waiting to be gulped down, sitting quietly on the table- remember your childhood?

After leaving the state of infancy a child starts acquiring knowledge in its uncorrupted form. Most of us relate our childhood to images of vivid colours and adulthood to a sense of unrestricted freedom and the burden of responsibility. I, on the other hand, relate it to the images of an unforgiving cruelly shining sun, hurricanes of sand and the favourite shoes of my Abbu- half burnt and half smeared with blood. It was his only belonging that I could take away from the memory of my happy childhood-my memento, my souvenir.

When I was a child, I didn’t get the chance to read about the fight sequence between Captain America and Iron man, I rather saw it happening live. I saw people taking revenge and the revenge of the revenge by massacring hundreds on a daily basis. Barrel bombs, rockets filled with nerve agent Sarin – my story is one in which death offers life and darkness offers light.

My earliest memory is of my Ammi jaan, terrified upon seeing a shooting star. While I closed my eyes to make a wish, she threw me away from her leaving me parched for her tales of Zinns and queen Zenobia. The shooting star and I fell simultaneously with the sound of dhammmmm! One of the fallen ones produced smoke cloud, the other – dust. Bruised, breathless and blinded by tears I geared up my strength, shivering and sobbing, just to be able to look once and for all, backwards. Behind me I saw something which looked like a hand taken over by corrosion – half black, half red. I wished to find Ammi and Abbu but I couldn’t find one full human being. With horror on my face, I realized that I was the only living soul left. My tears started running down. My throat choked and my body was paralyzed. I couldn’t move, speak or even hug the ground.

I don’t know for how long I kept standing there thinking that red is not just the colour of sharbat but blood too, that Islam was not just about Eid and Ramadan but jihad too and that sometimes shooting stars grant death without even making a wish for it. Once again I tried to search for my parents to say goodbye. Every other scorched body looked the same and then I recognised Abbu from his shoes. Those were his new favourites. As soon as this thought hit me I glared at the sky, carried my hands in front of my face to pray for the charcoaled and never to be cremated bodies. I rubbed my face to clean off the shed tears and then went towards life.

I lived in starvation and alienation, deprived of money and education. Encountering all of them in the simple day to day life; I kept my wobbling feet walking…walking towards mercy, kindness and hope. For me to stop believing in love was hard because I didn’t have any other option but to believe in humanity for my survival. To face all the odds is part of a growing up process.

At the end of the day, after body tormenting labour, unrelenting remarks on your lineage and your theft of the living of indigenous people, you choose what you want to see in people – love or hatred, howsoever remote or evident it may seem. When you realise that sacrifice and sufferings are the only two do’s for an adult, you become an adult yourself regardless of the age you are.

Acting Lessons from Inside the Actors Studio

By
Caleidoscope
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0

Author – Annalakshmi

Acting Classes
Image Source

Do you remember watching your first awards ceremony? Your favourite actors and actresses dressed in beautiful clothes, standing on stage holding an award and giving their acceptance speech. Wasn’t it thrilling to see the stars you idolized and wanted to be like? I was no different. I even took drama classes as a child and made my father take me to an agent so that I could be discovered. I playfully pursued it well into my teenage years, going to acting classes and auditions. And like most teenagers, as I got older, I opted out gracefully from my unfulfilled dream of becoming an actress and pursued other avenues for my career. But there are those who are passionate and determined to succeed at becoming superstars so that they too can get on stage and hold their award for best actor/actress.

Advice from Hollywood

I’ve heard countless interviews of famous Hollywood actors who hardly had any money in their pockets before their road to stardom started. Take, for instance, Halle Berry, who stayed in a homeless shelter, during her lowest times, or Jennifer Lopez who slept on the sofa of her dance studio before she got her big break. Even James Bond actor Daniel Craig slept on park benches in London during his struggling days as an actor. But, don’t jump to the conclusion that if you are broke, you will be discovered.

I’ve also seen numerous interviews on ‘Inside the Actors Studio’, a TV show, where actors emphasize the importance of acting lessons and how beneficial it was for them. Using real life experiences to draw upon, when you need to do an emotional scene, is a commonality among all successful actors/actresses. Another piece of advice many have imparted is to never give up and to keep trying even during your bleakest moments. Because if you are sincere and passionate about acting then you also need to endure the tough road ahead of you before you find the door to success.

Secret of Indian Actors

In India, you will find similar advice among the superstars, but there is of course a huge difference between the superstars of India and the rest of the world. Rajnikanth, for instance, is idolized and worshiped by many of his fans. He has an international fan following and his movies are released worldwide, even Japan, where he, surprisingly, has a huge fan base. We also have Shah Rukh Khan, from Bollywood, who is loved and admired by thousands.

Many young aspiring actors dream of achieving this kind of success. These two unconventional actors, who are not your typical good looking actors, have made it to superstar status. So, how did they achieve their level of success and gather such a phenomenal fan base? There must be something else, aside from talent and luck to make it to such super stardom levels. What did they have that set them apart from the rest? Aside from your acting skills and professionalism, what you must have is your own style or flair; something that sets you apart from the rest of your colleagues who are also trying to make it big. For example, Rajnikanth became famous for his cigarette flips in his movies. It continued to be his signature move until he quit smoking. But by then he had already reached superstar status.

Advice of Successful People

The advice is the same, no matter what country you come from or what language you speak, hard work and perseverance are the keys to making it in this field. But once you do get that chance, you must have something unique to offer on the screen, which makes the audience fall hopelessly in love with you. Develop or find that special something that will reach out and grab the attention of the people and capture their hearts. This is the reason why many actors and actresses emphasize the importance of acting classes. Study amongst your peers and learn tips and techniques to help each other discover yourselves, your talents, and your potential. Use the several methods available to you in your acting and drama classes, such as the art of improv, acting on stage, street plays and acting for the screen.

Explore every avenue available to you, so that you can unravel your own potential and discover your unique style that will capture the hearts of the nation and perhaps the world. Why not dream big and work towards owning a Filmfare Award, National Award or even an Oscar one day?

Annalakshmi Author Bio: Annalakshmi is a modern “traditional” Tamilian, brought up in Canada, who resides in Pune, India, with her husband. She draws upon her life experiences, when writing, having been exposed to the lifestyle and cultures of both countries. She loves to dance to decompress, but mainly for the joy and bliss she experiences from dancing itself. She is simple, fun-loving and deeply passionate about reaching out, through her writing, and propelling positive changes in people.

Image of Truth: Take Me Back

By
Caleidoscope
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0

Author – Aparna Negi

Short-Story-Contest-Image-of-Truth-Take-Me-Back
Image – Pixabay

The birds they sing so cheerfully. Oh! I love their voice. I am flattered by their mesmerizing voice. But now they do not sing. Where are they? Where have they been?

I love the smell of the rain. I love it when they touch my gentle skin. I love to watch the peacocks dance. But rain no more showers on me and neither do I see the peacocks dancing. Where are they?

I love it when all of my family sit together and have conversations over tea and snacks. But now we don’t. Why don’t we?

I love it when I get lolled in dust while playing and the day just flies away so quickly. But now I no more get dirty. Why don’t I?

I love it when mom puts me to bed and kisses my forehead while singing a lullaby to me. But now she doesn’t. I wonder why?

Where am I? What have I become?

The room is dark and everything is faded. A glittery image I did see!

I went closer and there was an ‘Image of Truth’ mirror there.

Aghast! I see my fully grown body. Hands all black from the hard work. No more are my hands soft. The tension over my forehead has created deep marks. I am no more a ‘child’. Wrinkles are ruling my body now. For the first time today I felt like an adult after seeing the truth of me.

Happy were those early days, when I shined in my angel infancy!

“Be a child again,” a voice cried.  “Be sorry if you have done something wrong, cry for the things you love, be mad, be wild ,flirt, giggle, do all the insane things at once , take a nap, chase the animals, play hide and seek, get punished, cry and then forget it at once.”

It continued, “Where are you? You still do exist. It’s all the shame you’ve stored and the aggression. Don’t be so proud. You’re already dead. The day your curiosity died, you died at that very moment. Just flip through your mind and recall the wrong you’ve done. This wealth is not going to give you anything. Ask your soul what does it long for? Go back to the place where you belong and embrace your memories. Love yourself again and distribute it around. Apologize to those whom you’ve hurt. Apologize to yourself and live your life again. For to become a child you need not turn back time but only live that very moment again. Live it by spreading smiles across the faces of thousands of kids. Spread innocence.”

The voice faded away.

At once, all of my questions were answered. I longed to go back. Why did I ever wish to become an adult? A child is all I want to be today. Take all of my wealth. Take all of it but …

Please take me back.

This story submitted as part of our Short Story Contest

Change of Game; Let’s Play James Bond

By
Caleidoscope
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0

Author – Lakshmy Das

Short-Story-Contest-Change-of-Game
image – Pixabay

Amma went back to the house we were staying in; the workers had asked for more drinking water. The construction works of the new house was progressing well. The roof was yet to be done, but the structure stood awe-inspiring already. The house would be gigantic on completion, a symbol of Appa’s legacy- years of sacrifice made into a fine piece of building; to be remembered, by us.
The masons were on the other side of the building as I and my brother play hide-and-seek in the unfinished rooms. They couldn’t hear our giggles, not even our screams.
***
He gets bored very easily. And hide-and-seek could entertain his twelve year old soul only for half an hour.
“Change of game; let’s play James Bond,” he declared.
That was his favourite detective game. Me, the forever obedient one, agreed as usual. We found a safety pin from the scrap, the item to be detected upon one of us hiding it. It was a small one; a bit rusted. Surely, it was one Amma had lost.
As always, I was the first to seek. And by some faint luck I found it under a torn carpet. Next, it was my turn to hide the pin. I had hidden it safely, but as always he found it in a few seconds. Now it was again my turn to seek the rusted pin, which, by then, I had named Rusty.
He had hidden it well. It was nowhere to be found with my naked eyes. Before my slow brain started working, Amma came in with her usual announcement.
“That’s enough! Go, take your baths both of you. It’s time for tea.”
We nodded in agreement. And she nodded approving of our agreement. Amma left, as was the usual custom.
My humble brain slowly detected a signal from the bathroom of the building. I ran. And he ran behind me. But like always, he didn’t push me out of the way to prevent him from losing the game. The way he stood there calmed me a bit. I was searching, full-fledged and vigorously; and he stood there, observing the smallness of the space. The bathroom was small and clearly private in a bedroom like that.
“Munnu, here is your clue,” he says, “it is nowhere below.”
Eyebrows raised and half-smiling, he stood by the door. I hunt every brick hole, every small corner and to reach the ventilation hole, I even hopped onto a brick beside the wall. I was desperate to find Rusty.

His being near was never a thing to be sensed; he was always near. But his hands, the slow unusual movement of them heading towards my ‘not-to-be-touched-by-others’ part of the body was something I could sense. And that was an unexpected thing. No one had ever taught a ten year old how to stop her brother from clearing his doubts on how the other gender’s body felt like. No one!
***
As it felt then, even today’s shower feels painful. Now I cry, for I allowed the man I love to feel the woman in me, letting him know the wound I bear. I cry, for I finally let it go. I am washing away a lot of things.
I bath twice, or he would sense the change. The smell of this skin is way too familiar to him, my brother by blood.
***
In a week, it is his marriage and that too with the girl of his dreams. Fearless, bold, daring – the manly attributes that made a woman more beautiful; Neeta was all of it. And on every note of comparison he makes, I scream within, “It is you who shattered the faith I had in this world.” His mocks bring spit to my mouth, for it was he who instilled this kind of a fear in me, rendering me incapable. Sometimes I can’t help but smile, wondering about the meaning of life. He could have been forgiven if it was a mistake and it was never repeated! But he deserves punishment. And I know, he will be punished somewhere.
***
A week after the wedding ceremony, my sister-in-law enquired, “What does he like the most?”
“Leg!” I reply and in a second I add, “of lamb.”
And I smiled.
An adult I have become, burying inside a thousand secrets that shall die with me!
***

This story submitted as part of our Short Story Contest

Caught in the Paradox of Growing Up

By
Caleidoscope
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0

Author – Arunima Arun

Short-Story-Contest-Paradox-of-Growing-Up
Image – Flickr/Rakesh JV

Whenever I cavorted in mirth to serendipities gifted by strangers, my mother used to scold me to grow up and realise the world.

Whenever I asked to clear my doubt on advertisements of sanitary napkins and its use, my elder sister used to scold me to grow up and understand by my own.

When I opposed my neighbour for touching my thighs, he told me to grow up and understand the change.

When I got frequently cheated by my sycophantic friends, my companion used to scold me to grow up and understand people.

When I asked my teacher about the concept of contraception, she asked me to grow up and learn sensibility.

When I screamed seeing muliebral specks of puberty on my skirt, my aunt scolded me to grow up and understand my body.

When I fell in love with my best friend, and confessed to him, he scolded me to grow up and understand the value of friendship.

When I found my soul mate and introduced him to my family, my father scolded me to grow up and to be more selective.

When I asked him to breakup and forget, he scolded me to grow up and understand others’ feelings.

When I agreed to marry the person arranged by my family, my friend scolded me to grow up and to learn to make my own decisions.

When I became pregnant and informed him, he scolded to me to grow up and abort the child.

When I found him to be a sadist and questioned him, he scolded me to grow up and quit from his life.

When I gave birth to a girl child and pampered her, my husband scolded me to grow up and abandon my child.

When I threatened him for ogling my child, he scolded me to grow up and accept my fate.

When I hit him with a hammer for molesting my child, nobody scolded me to grow up and understand my fault.

While spending years in imprisonment, I talked to walls to drive away lunacy. My cell mates never asked me to grow up. After I was released from prison, neither my family, nor my society asked me to grow up. When I set up a woman’s cell to help deprived and molested women, nobody asked me to grow up.

When my venture soared as an organisation of woman empowerment, nobody asked me to grow up, because I had been growing from the moment I was asked to grow up and understand.

No one from my mother to my husband ever found me sensible. Actually they should have grown up to know the dos and don’ts. Nobody corrected me, nor did I correct them. I was growing up from the moment I understood that the people around me were not. Growing up is not an age-based criterion, it’s all about sanity and sensibility to understand masked people who pretend that they have grown much.

Even after attaining puberty, they never wanted to call me an adult or a child.

When I enjoyed myself and amused others with my childish pranks, nobody was rapt in my enjoyment; rather they warned me that I’m no more a child.

When I acted serious, and opined in major decisions and discussions, they frowned at me saying it’s not child’s play and asked me to clear-off from the discussion table.

In the middle of the dilemma to decide whether I am a child or an adult, I lost a crazy ride from my childhood to adulthood.

I’ve grown or not? This was more tricky than any maths problem in academics.

In fact, when I understood that I was already grown in the middle of a ‘society not grown’, that was the moment I felt like an adult.

This story submitted as part of our Short Story Contest

Stepping into Adulthood Before Time

By
Caleidoscope
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1

Author – Madalsa Poddar

Short-Story-Contest-Adulthood-before-Time
Image – Flickr/ILO

Growing up in different cities, the boy resisted one day, “How often are we going to change locations Maa? I have to leave my friends every year.”

To which a malnourished old lady, with eyes bulging out responded, “The land owner doesn’t let anyone live in one place longer than that beta.”

Upset but determined the boy promised his mother, “You’ll see Maa, one day I’ll start earning and then we’ll buy a pakka-house.”

On his fourteenth birthday, instead of taking him to the river bank and spending time together, his father told him they would go to a new place.

“Somewhere you’ve always wanted to go, but remember to put on the worst of your clothes,” said his father.

Surprised but excited the boy runs to his mother to tell her that father had finally agreed to show him his workplace. Tears rolled down his mother’s eyes. He thought it was because of happiness but the mother knew the truth beforehand.

At his father’s workplace, the boy got excited on seeing hundreds of kids like him, all his age.

From that day onwards, his father would take him to work every day. But the child managed to finally understand how he was trapped when he was stamped as ‘permanent’. That was when he finally stopped dreaming. He realized that river banks were way more peaceful than construction sites.

Seeing his friends play every morning when he left for work with his father, he learned what it meant to be a labourer’s boy.

“I grew up way too early,” he would think every day on his way to work.

The morning breeze which earlier had put a smile on his face, calling him to play with his friends, would now bring sorrow with them. Physical barriers were broken, but he was getting barricaded by social norms because of the profession into which he was dragged. Those kids playing on the streets, who were earlier his friends, they were now his haters, envious of him since he was supporting his family. Little did they know about him!

He would be repulsed every morning when it was time to go to the site where he was once very eager to go. His mother’s food, which he used to run away from, was now as delicious as anything else.

He spent every day questioning himself, “Why me? Why is it that the sand with which mother used to stop me from playing is now everywhere around me to the extent that I smell like it? Why is it that my father had to do what my grandfather did? Why do I have to do what my father does? What if all the windows I broke with my flying shots actually meant that I could be a cricketer some day? Why did I grow up into an adult so early in life?”

Another dream died, another dreamer died, another excellent player died. And with that, his promise to his mother to build a ‘pakka-house’ also died.

This story submitted as part of our Short Story Contest

When Life Threw Me a Curveball

By
Caleidoscope
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0

Author – Siddhi Sehgal

Short-Story-Contest-When-Life-Threw-Me-a-Curveball
Image – Pixabay

I enjoy making a meal for my family. The tender green vegetables, the flavoursome spices, and the colourful dishes were my source of excitement in a predictable and normal life. Snacks and sandwiches were too simple a task for me, but when the sound of the lighter rang out, I was sure to hear a call.

“You are not doing that alone,” mom would say.

“Your hand can burn,” dad would worry.

But that day there was no call of care. Mom was on the left and dad on the right.

‘”They have typhoid,” the doctor said. And that day, as I entered the house with them, I entered a new phase of my life.

Should I sit beside them?
Should I go to study?
Or should I shut the door and cry out loud?

A recipe of emotions, feelings, and hard tasks was shoved up in my face, leaving no clue of what to do. However, the thought of reciprocation crept into my little mind; so accepting fate, I did it all.

The sweet, fresh mornings-waking up to mom’s good morning, the light teasing from dad – all were now past memories. The mornings remained the same; the only thing that changed was waking up to the call of birds.

A terrible feeling! How would a young teenage girl handle the lot that had suddenly befallen her?

Morning till night, it was just work. Even though you had domestic help, who could work like a superhuman, one needs to be up all the time; this is how I had seen my mother and this is what I tried to do.

Household work was one thing; the tougher task at hand was proper care of my parents. Healthy food, medicine on time, complete rest, love, and happy surroundings was what would cure them. For some time, I experienced the effort and pain of my parents when I fell sick. Today, we had exchanged places. The pain was on both sides. If I was facing an early responsibility, they had to see their child working all day long, doing work which they never wanted their princess to do.

For a few days I was troubled. There was anger too, and irritation was high. But that one dream, the dream of that fortunate night, changed it all. The situation which I abused for having come to me, I now saw happiness in it.

The following mornings were much brighter. It was not challenges but victory, not sorrows but joy, and not an end but a beginning. I was excited to do all the household chores- cooking, dusting, ironing and everything else, everything that my mom had been doing perfectly for so many years. Definitely, the same perfection was not achieved, but it was close to hers. I was happy to take care of my ‘big babies’, who would be either in bed sleeping or staring at me.

New Picture (1)

The thought of old age disturbs everyone, the fear of loneliness stares at you. It happened to dad and an unstoppable flow of tears followed.

“What would we do when they both go?” Dad would say.

It is no surprise when people say that father and daughter share a strong bond. We are two sisters and we are both our dad’s princesses. Day and night he stood for us, so once if we can be there for him, it would make him happy.

Life had taken a complete turn for me. The satisfaction was that nothing was lost, but only gained. Today, when we all sit together and remember those frightful days, we laugh at those moments of joy in sorrow – whether it was dad’s crying baby face that made us laugh, or my first chapatti (kind of triangular), or the oldie look that my mom wore, or the hard task it was for my sister to cut a fruit.

Now I am out of my teens, ideally an adult now. But it was then that I had become an adult, a mature one, and an unusual confidence had developed in me. I learnt a lot. I got the happiness of seeing my parents back in health and now when they say, “Siddhi made us stand”, there remains no guilt. I have proud parents.

Life gave me a chance to say, “I have grown up early!”

This story submitted as part of our Short Story Contest

It’s Time to Heal the World

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Caleidoscope
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0

Author – Sneha Sampath

Short-Story-Contest-Time-to-Heal-the-World
Image – Pixabay

There are many misconceptions about when a person actually becomes an adult but I will share with you my experience which made me feel that I had truly become an adult.

When I was younger, maybe fifteen or so, I used to care only about what I and the people around me wanted and this included my friends and family. At the time, they were my world and I was ready to do anything for them. I was a teenager who wanted to live my life happily.

But as years progressed, things changed in me. I started to become more humble and also expanded the small circle of people that I cared about. I wanted to do something for society and bring a smile to someone’s face. Eventually, I got the chance to do that.

I had gone out with my friends to a popular restaurant for lunch. We had a lovely time, and the food was out of this world. After having a hearty lunch, we headed out to our bikes to go home. That was when I spotted a boy, who was maybe seven or eight years old, selling colouring books.

He came up to me and said in the native language, “Please buy this book sister, I am hungry and haven’t eaten anything from morning.” I felt a thousand needles pierce my heart at that moment. Here I was, just heading out after having a sumptuous lunch and this boy hadn’t even eaten anything the entire day.

In an instant, I realized that it was time not only to take but to give as well. I wanted this little boy to experience joy just like I did. I bought four colouring books worth sixty rupees from him. His face instantly lit up with a smile and that made me smile as well.

I felt that was not enough. So I bought an ice cream for him from a nearby vendor. The expression that I saw on his face that day was priceless and I still remember that smile. He thanked me and settled down on the pavement to have his ice cream. I was nineteen when all this happened.

After that incident, I realized that I was slowly becoming an adult. I think I finally reached adulthood when I contributed a part of my first salary to the orphanage. This was just five months back and I am twenty-two now.

Adulthood is something that does not come with age or physical maturity. Everybody ages, everybody matures. But it is the deeds you do that sets you apart from everyone else. I think adulthood comes the moment when you realize that you want to make this world a better place, or at the time when you realize that you want to spread joy, or at the time when the meaning of humanity and forgiveness finally dawns on you.

To put it in simple words, it is at that moment when you truly understand the magic and meaning that Michael Jackson tried to convey through his song ‘Heal the World’ that you become an adult.

This story submitted as part of our Short Story Contest

Show Some Chutzpah!

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Caleidoscope
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2

Author – Remitha Alphonsa John

Short Story-Remitha-Alphonsa-John
Image – Remitha

I walk away quietly, holding back my tears. I am hurt. My eyes have welled up, my vision is blurry. Even when I hear it now, having heard it many times, it hurts deep inside. Only if I had a son and not a daughter, these words keep ringing in my ears.

Everyone calls me Ria. My digital signature is ‘Ria-lity’ because the reality is that my papa always wanted a son and not a daughter.

April 14, 2003.

It was the days of the state level competitions being held at Ernakulam. I was among the top three finalists for the extempore event. Every single thought of going up to the stage gave me jitters, my knees felt weak, and I had a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Two hours and fifty-two minutes felt like decades. It could have been a concern about disappointment if I did not win, or it could have been a worry of what my papa would feel if I did not go back home with the medal.

I hurriedly walked closer to the stage before my allotted number was even announced. I stood in front of the eager judges and the anxious crowd, my heart beating to the rhythm of the drums at the adjacent competition. I kept a convincingly confident look on my face, while breathing deeply to calm my nerves. ‘Equality for women in our society’,was the topic of my speech. I began with a rather bold introduction. More than the time, the next 3 minutes were about my frozen palms, the sweat on my upper lip and forehead, and my lungs gasping for air. At the end of my speech, I exhaled as a rather static emotion. The applause and cheers that followed were but mere noise to my ears.

My head was hanging low and my eyes gazing at the dry sand and cracked earth. I stared, one last time, at the other girl who had won the extempore competition. There was only one thing left for me to do, call papa. Continually fidgeting, I reached into my bag for my phone. I could barely see the alphabets because of my teary eyes. The phone rang, although secretly I hoped that the line would not go through. I tried to mumble because I did not even want him to hear the disappointing result. There was a long pause and then a deep sigh like papa had been holding his breath for too long.

“Now, come back home,” he said.

“If only I had a son,” though feeble, I heard him spill it out as he kept the receiver down.

September 20, 2007.

Uncle Jacob and Aunt Kiran had come home to invite our family for their son’s wedding. I stepped into the living room in my casuals. Papa gave me the look, although by now, I had learned to ignore his accusing stares.

“So tell me Ria, what are your plans after finishing your 12th grade,” inquired Jacob uncle.

“I am going to be a journalist,” was my quick answer.

Their wide-eyed looks made it obvious that they found my ambition quite impressive. Yet, I am sure Jacob uncle noticed the awkward silence and papa’s cold expression after I revealed my plan.

“I am sure papa is very proud of you Ria. You are after all his only heir,” Jacob uncle said in an attempt to break the silence.

“Oh, I am not his heir, uncle. I am his spare,” I quipped and immediately walked back to my room.

After Jacob uncle and his family left, I could hear papa from the other room. He said he would give anything to get a son like Jacob uncle’s boy.

July 27, 2013.

After exhaustive training and exams I passed out with flying colours in Journalism from a reputed college. My family and even Jacob uncle’s family had come for the passing-out ceremony of my batch. I walked up to papa and the others expecting loads of wishes and praises. Yet, the only words I heard were from papa.

“She is never going to make it as a war reporter. Now, that is a man’s job,” he added.

I walked away quietly because no more can personal feelings hurt me. I scuffled to the washroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes, though of a 23 year old girl, seemed to have the experience, pain and grief of an old woman.

While stomping back I overheard Jacob uncle.

“She looks all grown-up,” he said while pointing at me.

“That’s because I know the inevitable is coming,” I retorted with a bold and pleasant smile and walked back to the group with my head held high.

This story submitted as part of our Short Story Contest

The Epiphany of ‘Realized’ Existence

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Caleidoscope
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1

Author – Archana Sood

Short-Story-Contest-Awakening
Image – Pixabay

One fine day,
you realise that you cannot always be puerile
you grow, you learn
and move away from the state juvenile.

The beauty of life lies in the fact that it is unpredictable. You never know when blossoms of flowers would turn into clouds of gloom nor can you ever tell to what extent apparently petty occurrences of your life can dramatically transform the progression of your life.

From childhood to early adulthood, such petty occurrences have tarnished the canvas of my life. Presently, I’m an individual with a strong sense of responsibility and dignity; however, I have not always been like this and my entrance to this epiphanic state of existence, what I consider as my ‘adulthood’ has an interesting tale behind it.

Not with an unnerving immediacy, but with a gradual progression of life events did I become a mature person and an adult. Born in a nuclear family with two doting elder sisters and effusively amiable parents, I have always been the pampered daughter of my family. Having no obligations, no concerns and no responsibilities whatsoever, I did not really have a chance to comprehend what the external, ‘real’ world is all about! Like a caterpillar in the cocoon, I have always been sheltered from all the atrocities and harsh realities of life by my overtly protective family, blanketing me with their love and care.

However, time passed and took away with it the maidenhood of my two elder sisters. Initially, I felt like a princess, or rather, a queen, having the entire palace to myself! But, as the days kept on unfolding themselves, the loneliness began to engulf me. The realization struck – I am like a king without a kingdom! It’s not just about the ennui and the suffocating void that I suddenly came to confront; for the first time in my life, the thought of being a mature and productive member of my family originated in my mind. Since everything from the petty society’s affairs to the maintenance of our company’s website was taken care of by my two elder sisters, I never entertained the thought that I would be bothering myself with these significant concerns one fine day.

And, that ‘fine day’ reflected itself in every single day post my sisters’ marriages!

Both of my parents being, by and large, technologically challenged, I had to keep check on all sorts of bills and our company’s virtual promotion. As I have already shared, my elder sisters were alternatively taking care of all these concerns; I have never bothered myself by being accountable for something as significant as monetary transactions and business correspondence. When, in accord with the demand of the time, I had to take a front seat in the car driven by the fuel of family affairs, it dawned on me that I have grown, that the days of laughing carelessly and being ‘busily inactive’ are gone forever and I am now an adult member of my family. Gradually, I began to have a say in the pivotal matters of the family and society, my parents began to take me more and more seriously. From their naughty doll, I have, as if miraculously, transformed into a solemn person- an individual who has the rationality and acumen to take decisive steps. I was precisely 19 years and 4 months old when I took the charge of regulating our company’s website on a regular basis. I smile when I think that though adulthood ideally knocks when one enters the 18th year of one’s life, the effects and the glimpses of ‘maturity’ reflect themselves in fragmentary, unpredictable moments.

Those were the days of my ‘awakening’, for I strongly believe that the most critical turn of events in our lives take place, not in a dramatically abrupt fashion. Slowly and steadily, life exposes its multifarious facets and as we encounter, battle and eventually conquer them, we become our true selves. That’s how the human race proceeds, that’s how I confronted and ultimately embraced my adulthood.

This story submitted as part of our Short Story Contest

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