Writing Prompts: Day 1 - They said it could be done

They said it could be done. However, the soldiers were unaware of the kind of planning and deliberation that went behind rebuilding the nest. Their queen had been through a lot these past few days, no doubt. After the humans had torn down their hill and the cranes had disappeared from their view, chaos had prevailed for hours. There was so little the soldiers could do to defend the colony against the human ‘attack’. Now that the forest was calm again, it was time to rebuild and start from scratch. With the increase in human activity over the last few years, minor disruptions to their nest were not uncommon. But this was the first time they had experienced such a major upheaval, a total tear-down of their home and the loss of so many lives. Things would never be the same again, and rebuilding their lives was not going to be a mean feat.

Hindi Prachar Sabha St.

My grandparents’ house was once majestic- this much I am sure of. However, age had worn down the walls, outside and inside. The mold growing along the outer walls and the creepers winding around the gate increased the antiquated feeling it brought about.

I distinctly remember walking along the cobbled Madras streets a myriad times and looking out for the big black gate that felt like home, despite how foreboding it really was. The gate itself was incredibly difficult to open- it took all the strength that my eight-year-old body could muster to make it move an inch. I remember my grandma resiliently opening it each summer when we came to visit, helping us unload our massive suitcases from the old white Ambassador car that would dutifully come and pick us up from the airport. My granddad would stand by the gate in his all-white attire (hair included) and smile down at us. We would pass the garden that my grandma lovingly tended to and the office space downstairs that I associated so strongly with my granddad and his amazing work ethics. I remember ringing the calling bell, a ten-second long tune that I intensely loved and fiercely hated at the same time.

Summers in this house were a grand event, to say the least. My closest cousins would all assemble here, and we would essentially have the time of our lives and drive our grandma crazy (both were very mutually inclusive events).

The house was every bit as massive as it seemed to be from the outside, and it was home to every kind of hiding place you could imagine. And by hiding place- not only do I mean hiding places for people, but also for food- cookies mainly. My grandma would carefully lock away and ration what I believe to be (to this day) the best cookies I’ve ever eaten in my life. Britannia Jim Jam, they were called. Cookies with white cream and yes, a hole with jam in the center. Unfortunately, they were always locked in ‘the cupboard', with the keys carefully tucked away in the folds of my grandma’s sari. Of course, that hardly stopped us. There was a time when we actually had the courage to sneak up on her at 2am when she was fast asleep. Using a combination of skillful finger work and impressively light feet, we tried to fish out the keys from underneath her blankets. As surprising as this may sound, our mission was a grand success and we were up all night eating cookies and writing ghost stories. The next day was spent with my grandma chasing us around with a broomstick and swearing at us in the choicest of Telugu curse words.

The terrace was my favorite part of the house, and also the most dangerous part. Well, the terrace itself was relatively safe. It was the roof above the terrace that wasn’t. It was where the water tank was carefully tucked away, and access was only possible by climbing a lethal ladder. This may be a good time to mention that we were an adventurous bunch, and our curiosity was extremely piqued ever since our grandma made climbing up that ladder seem completely out of bounds.

So one summer, when we were sure she was busy making goodies for us in the kitchen, we snuck up into this forbidden land. And we loved every bit of the excitement that came with it. Oh and the danger, for one fall and we were definitely doomed. We were quite literally walking on a sloped roof. The fun did not stop here. We climbed up and down every little hole and ledge that we found. Oh wait, the fun did stop here- when one of my cousins got stuck on the last ledge we would ever climb, and we had no idea how to get her back up. It was a moment of panic, and even our combined brainstorming saw no way out but to own up and call our aunt to save my cousin. It is all quite hilarious, thinking back, though in the moment it was a matter of life and death.

This marked the end of our terrace adventures, sadly, until many years later when we were all in the house together again. My grandma was in the kitchen, and we snuck up there to reminisce the good old times. 

How to Not Write and Fall Asleep Instead - A Deep Dive

Struggling for your apartment keys in your whale-sized backpack and failing for a good 3 minutes and 45 seconds is not exactly the best way you want to enter home, especially after an 8 hour work day, a one hour body pump class and what you're sure was a two hour commute out of the city (because who wants to keep track of how much of their life is spent on a train?). It's funnier because you're pretty sure you latched every key chain you own onto your tiny little apartment key for the sole purpose of avoiding this situation of clumsily standing outside your own front door. It's only natural for random passers-by to look at you with mild pity, likely with the thought that this twenty-something year old clearly does not have her life together. Yes, struggling for ones own house keys is the biggest indicator of that, truly.

Once you finally manage to stumble into your apartment, you realize that it's summer, and yes, your apartment does not have even the lowliest form of an air conditioner. Being as broke as you are for three-quarters of the month, buying a functional air conditioner is simply not an option.

Time to peel off your gym wear, which at this stage should not by so tight, given the amount of time spent in said gym wear each week. Clearly, that's not how life works. The black workout pants are as tight as they ever were, and the weighing scale shows no promise either.

For a second you almost forget that adulthood comes with having to make your own dinner on most days. 'Make' being 'find', truthfully. On days that you're lucky enough to have edible ingredients, you toss in all the contents of your refrigerator into the non-stick pan that your mom so thoughtfully bought for you with the hope that you will one day become a master chef and make delicious South Indian curries to impress future in-laws. Little does she know that your cooking entails tossing and adding oil, salt and pepper to your motley amalgam of vegetables. Oh and ketchup, because let's be real, anything tastes good with a little lots of ketchup.

Anyhow, it's the middle of the week and whatever groceries you had stocked up have somehow disappeared from the meager collection of items on your shelf. Magic does exist, it seems. In the form of disappearing groceries. Driving out to Whole Foods is the only remaining option, aside from starving, of course, which you've definitely done on occasion.

After another relatively minor struggle to find your car keys (you've dealt with worse), you triumphantly leave your apartment. Well not really- you shuffle in and out a couple of times because you forgot your wallet the first time, and your reuseable bag the next (might as well save the planet in the process, right?). And your sunglasses. But then you realize that it's 10 pm. Right.

Miraculously, you manage to maneuver your car out of your complex, dodging a couple of aunties clad in salwar kameez and white Nike running shoes, staying so faithful to the typical Indian middle- aged woman clothing stereotype. Like many other things that you are blessed with, a bad sense of direction is one. You hastily enter Whole Foods' address on Google maps, despite the million and one times you have traveled there these past few months.

Entering the Whole Foods parking lot, the moment of truth slowly creeps upon you. Parking time. With the number of parking disasters you've had in your less than six months of driving, it's hard to not be extra cautious. No matter how far it is from the store entrance, you find a spot that has empty lots on BOTH sides. You even circle around for a few minutes just to find this perfect spot, believing it to be almost fool proof in terms of preventing potential, probable calamities.

By the time you disparately pull together some basic groceries and lug everything back to your car, the two empty spots the were sandwiching your car have been taken (need I even say this), and one car is parked inches from yours. I mean, of course, how would they know what a struggle it is for you to back up your car without ramming into the ones next to you. You make a mental note to stick a sign to the back of your car next time.

By now, all your hopes of writing a glorious article or chapter of what's undoubtedly going to be a future best-seller (high hopes) have disappeared into thin air and sleep is calling. Your final thoughts before falling into a blissful slumber are 'You're never going to be a writer at this rate'.

//end 

Normal

Normal is a word that I've always struggled to grapple on to. 'Normal' size font, says Blogspot as I type. Heart rate, normal. Normal solution, said my chemistry textbooks. Math said a normal line is a right angle- right being ninety degrees but right also meaning true, correct, and what should be, right?

I think most of us are guilty of trying to be normal and falling in the category of people who do what's expected of them. I know I'm guilty of trying that- trying and failing miserably but trying nonetheless. What is normal, though, and why is there so much pressure to be normal? Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken was probably one of the most read poems growing up, part of the content of almost every English textbook. I remember loving and appreciating that poem. I was so sure that the poem was written for me and that I would never conform to the crazy workings of the world. And here I am today, quite caught between what society expects of me and what I really want to do with my life. I want to say that despite the conflicts and confusion, I've got everything sorted, but I would be lying to myself. I can say that it's a good life, and perhaps the uncertainty makes it all the more interesting. But getting things sorted will make life a little more richer.

For now, I'm learning how to embrace the confusion- because we're all a little crazy anyway, right? It's normal, right? :D

Paradise Found - 2

It was the second time he had brought her here, to this magical land, this other world. All with just one simple touch. She couldn't help but be as overwhelmed as she was the last time. The sun shining on each blade of grass, the beauty of the place radiating in every molecule around her. The feel of his hand and the gentle tug that it held hers with just added to the otherworldly experience that was overpowering her. 

The war at home was nowhere near the end. After years of fighting, after years of oppression, nothing had changed. Her visits to the beach were becoming less frequent. She had reached a point where she could no longer be alone with her thoughts, and even the sound of the lashing waves weren't loud enough to drown the voices in her head. They were there, always, haunting her and mocking at her, reminding her of what little power she had over her own life.

But no. She could not, would not let them win. Her whole life, she had been told what to do, her entire family had been under the control of the Empire. Freedom was just a word in the old dusted dictionary that her father had smuggled into their getaway. She no longer knew what that felt like and almost forgot what it meant.

Suddenly, realization dawned upon her. Along with that came hope.. maybe this new world- his world that he had given her the privilege to peak into- was the only remaining hope. Maybe all this was happening for a reason, and this was a sign, loud and clear.

She looked into his light, playful eyes, and they exchanged a glance that spoke a million words and encompassed an understanding so profound that even the depths of the waters around them wouldn't have been able to match up.