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.