THUD, THULP

The thud of rain hitting the red terracotta roof, trickling down the crevices of each red tile and the soft thulp as the rain disrupts the surface of a growing mud and moss puddle, interrupts my holiday reading. I run to my bedroom window and watch as a trickle of rain seems to form a bridge between my roof and the green mossy ground.  A cool breeze grazes the skin on my face and I really  want to drop my "To Kill A Mockingbird ", run out into the rain and dance to its music. An old wooden window in the corridor,  creaks and slams shut. Like a signal, I hear my grandmother yell from upstairs, telling me to close all the windows downstairs. I quickly walk out to the corridor, to the window and put its old metal latch in place. 

The door is just beside the window. I stand on the doorstep and watch the rain form puddles in the soil. I watch as it rolls off the leaves of my grandmothers precious rose shrubs.' She won't need to water them today',  I think to myself and smile. Another gush of wind and a spray of cool water hits my face and arms and I finally decide to go play in the rain. Ironically,  I hear my grandmother telling me not to go out in the rain because I will fall sick. The rebel in me ignores everything she said and I kicked off my old slippers and ran. 

It only took a few seconds for my clothes to get soaked. The cotton clung to my torso and every hair on my arms stood up. With every step, my feet sunk into the wet mud and the smell of wet grass hit me harder. Before I knew it, I was dancing in the rain, to a tune that I made up. 

Almost like a distant dream, I hear my grandmother yell for me. I ignore it. Her screaming gets louder and I hear the wooden door creak as she stands on its step, the water still trickling down my face in tiny rivulets. 

cnn - Tales that keep on telling

Ammiyaar's Saree 

The summer evening in Pune called for some fresh fruit juice and two oranges were called to order. The small plastic juicer was uncovered, knives unsheathed and chop - the oranges were squeezed to its utmost ability. Conversation moved to old fashioned efficiency. My grand uncle, who has a story for every occasion and every situation pulled a story out of his bag and the story of Ammiyaar's Saree got woven into the conversation

As told by CKUS:

A few decades ago when all was good with the world but money was scarce, Ammaiyar was looking for ways to recycle. She brought out all her old 9-yard sarees. They had been worn down from years of use. She cut them into 3 parts and the Pattar began to use them as his 'mundu' (dhoti). After it had fulfilled its duty as a mundu for the next few years, it was then cut up into smaller pieces to be used as nappies for the baby. The baby grew up and the need for nappies were outgrown and the bits of saree were then further cut up to be used to line the idli thattu. When the Ammiyaar decided that the saree had done its time as a lining, she cut it up for the last time and used the fabric scraps to coat the dosa tawa with oil...a homegrown gridle brush. Have you ever heard of anyone more efficient with recycling.

What do you think... was the Ammiyaar a little crazy or just crazy efficient? 

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This series is a bunch of stories from different people in my family. May these stories serve as testimony for the past and as memory for their teller.

BLURRED LINES

Some of us have had friends that our parents weren't too happy about. They were "bad influences" or "unhealthy friendships". She was that friend. But obviously I didn't read the signs or maybe I was just too adamant to not see it.

I didn't think of it too much when she walked behind me as I entered my first classroom. I believed her when she said the other girls in class disliked me and didn't​ want to be friends with me. She warned me about how mean my teachers were and how I should try my best and not grab any attention (which meant, don't ask questions or don't tell answers). She was a "friend" through all of my childhood.

But as we both got older, we grew a lot more closer. Her mantra (Anything that could lead to rejection, is not worth the effort) became my mantra. I changed my wardrobe after she reminded me about what happens to girls who wore short dresses or deep necked tops. I despised public transport because she made me very uncomfortable about crowds. If I wasnt home by dusk, she was there beside me, talking...telling me about things she had read in the paper or saw sprawled across her Facebook wall. Over time, the line between healthy and unhealthy relationships blurred and I didn't even realise it. She was becoming a bigger part of my everyday life than I had ever imagined.
The unfortunate part is that everybody else was trying really hard to tell me but I just refused to listen.

It took me 20 years to realise that it was time to let her go and understand how much I've lost because of her. It's taking me a lot of courage but I think now is as good a time as any to do so. So Fear...If you're reading this....This is me saying good bye and that you need to leave. You were a good friend sometimes but you're starting to be a bit overbearing. But this isn't good bye forever. I wouldn't be human if it was. So until next time...Good Bye!

TINGLES

She had heard a lot about the tingles a girl feels when her significant other's family comes to meet her for the first time. But it was only now that she truly understood what they meant.

As she put on her silver jhumka's, she hoped that they would like her and be accepting. She straightened out her pink and gold dupatta. She wondered what what would have to be done if the 'potential' in-laws didn't like her. Would they run away? Would they wait it out?

A little pink bindi marked the centre of her forehead. She pictures herself in a red saree with a little bit of kumkum on her hairline. She twisted her hair into a tight bun and made a note to herself to look up wedding hair tutorials on the internet.

A last lock of hair was put back into place and the adrenaline level was rising. They would be here any minute now.

She could feel the blood rushing through her veins as the sound of the car turning into the driveway alerted her. One last look in the mirror and she walked to the front door to greet the parents.

A couple of minutes into the conversation with the parents and the mother turned to her and smiled. "Let's talk about a date with both the parents. We have a wedding to plan", said the mother.

She breathed a huge sigh of relief as she smiled at her girlfriend turned fiancé sitting across from her. "We were thinking sometime in December, the weather would be great for an outdoor wedding"

This story was inspired by a Myntra advertisement on YouTube.

COLD

The floor under me is really cold. My eyes open a crack and are blinded by bright light in front of me. I shut them, wait a few seconds and open them again. It takes time getting used to. I look around and it seems to be a corridor. How did I get on the floor and more importantly, where am I? I realize with the utmost horror that I can’t remember anything.  Everything is really fuzzy. I am a little scared. I try to move my legs but they seem frigid and numb. A frosty numbness. I bend my legs and try to get up. A throbbing pain shoots up my right leg. I scream. My leg hits the floor with a soft thud, and the numbness goes away. A few minutes. Then I try it again. The same pain shoots up my right leg again. Another scream and there is another soft thud. Come on Rachel. You can do this. Come on. You cant stay on the floor forever. I realize then with ta smile that I remember certain things. My name is Rachel Garcia and I am from New York. I work as a teacher in an elementary school. I am married to Jonathan Garcia and have two beautiful children – Brian and Brittany. But I still don’t remember where I am and how I got there. I have to get up. One last time, I bend my knees and try to put as little pressure on my right leg as I could. The almost too familiar pain regains strength but I push through. It is very difficult and almost brings me to tears but I finally manage to get up with the help of the wall. The wall feels cold. It is a very wintry cold and reminds me of snow and Christmas. It makes me smile a bit but I am immediately reminded off what situation I am in. I start to scream for help. No response. I hear movement behind me. I turn around and I see a door just a few steps ahead of me. It’s just a few feet Rachel. You can do it. Take it one step at a time. I take one step and I hear a little squelch. I look on the floor and there is blood. Red instead of the white floor that should have been there. The realization that it is my blood comes crawling in. I lean on the wall as I run my hands up my back and I feel a wetness down my back. My wet shirt feels cold on and a chilly wave of fear runs down my spine. I know I need help and the only way I can get it is by getting through that door. One painful step at a time and I get there. I lean on the door2 and let out a sigh of relief. The door handle seems cold too and I realize that everything around me is cold. 

There are people everywhere. People in white coats seem to be running. A kid on my right is sneezing. His mother wiping his nose with a tissue. Its a hospital. What luck? I’m in a hospital. Now all I need is to find somebody to help me. A nurse is coming towards me. "Hey lady, I‘m hurt. There is blood on my back. I think I was unconscious because I have no memory of what happenned before. I just found myself on the floor there. Hey,can you...". She walks straight past me. Maybe she didn't hear me. Its okay. There are a lot of nurses in a hospital. Lets find another one. Another nurse comes from the left. "Hey nurse. Can you help me. I’m injur..." . And just like the first nurse, she has walked past me too. The nurses here are really mean. Once I get out of here, I’m going to sue them for not doing their job. They are all acting like I don't exist. I'm going to find a doctor. 

I look around, anger seeping through my calmness. Every touch of the wall seems icy. Every eye that’s on me, cold and forbidding. Then, ahead of me, I see a familiar shirt moving. I realize that it is my husband and he has brought both of our children. I start screaming out for them. I realize that I don't know why they are here but i continue to scream. They don’t hear me. I take a few steps, ignoring the pain that feels like it could cripple me. I keep walking, one step at a time. Seeing my husband and children seems to have had a positive effect on me and I find it a little easier to ignore the pain. I try and pick up my pace, all the while screaming and trying to not lose sight of my husband. 

They turn into a room on the left. I pick up my pace a little more. When I reach the door of the room I breathe a sigh of relief. I look into the room. Somebody is lying on a hospital bed but I can’t see who it is.  There are doctors and nurses around the bed and my husband and children are around it too. I notice that my husband is crying. Oh no. is somebody is sick? Has his father’s cancer returned? I realize that while Jonathan and Brittany are crying, Brian seems to be looking around. His eyes go over the whole room and finally fall on me. He smiles and says, “mommy!” I call out for him and he starts tugging at his father’s hand. 

Jonathan says, “Brian, yes it is mommy. But everything is going to be alright.” 

Brian continues to tug and I find myself wondering why Jon is not letting him go when I am right here.

Brian is still saying, “Mommy, mommy. She is here.”

Jon says “Yes son, she is here....” and Brian pulls away.

I want to take another step but all that walking has exhausted all my energy and I just leaned on the frame of the door. Then I start calling Jon as well but he doesn't respond. 

I hear Jon say, “Brian, where are you going?  Don’t you want to see your mother for one last time? Brian, don’t run away from me…” as Brian runs to me and his hand goes straight through my stomach.

Over the crying and screaming, I hear Jon say, “Brian, she is dead.”