My Delicious Bait – Mid Week Quests

images (6)

There are people who, with utter madness, admire talented personalities. I am not saying  I don’t admire laudable talents, but I am not excessively, fiercely dependent on them when leading my life. Good books satiate me, good music fills my heart and soul with joy and a beautiful piece of writing, magnificiently laced with evocative threads, never fail to uplift the person in me.

But these days, I find myself lend an attentive ear to memoirs – both written and spoken. Perhaps that bit of character has been an innate part of me for long, since I have always liked reading personal blogs more than anything. I am not overtly dependent on them, but yes, I do find happiness out of taking a stroll through the life of another person. I am yet to decipher the craziness that resides in the liking, or if I have company in the form of people who nurture similarity in that regard. Some are of the opinion that such people are diffident about their own lives. But then, what if the act inspires me to be more? In my case, there is a second reason too, to which I shall reach in a while. 

People are different, I believe, and everyone has his/her favourite bait, which quite positively hooks them, feeds their souls and releases them for a better life.

Well, I have a few other such similar nourishing baits too on my list – like A.R. Rahman’s music, A Kazuo Ishiguro novel, an Alice Munroe short story, a Mohanlal movie, a chat with my best friend and so on. But the latest one to have conquered my heart, once I started working on my own manuscript, is reading the writing story of my favourite authors. Sometimes, I might not even have read their works, but their presence – their sheer authoritative presence and their diligently acquired accomplishments, out of the many other reasons, inspire me and I look forward to knowing more about their writing journey. I have been flipping through many such authors, a few of them blogger-turned authors, when my eyes fell upon the blog of the acclaimed author, Ruchita Misra – Blogging All The Way. I read and re-read most of her blog posts and they brought smiles to my face more often than not. There is something surreal about reading the amateur works of a person who have been a success ever since. 

Is it because of she is famous and widely accepted now, that I find her earlier writing amusing? 

I don’t have an answer. But I do know that I have a soft-spot for innocous memoirs and I can read and re-read personal blog posts for any number of time I want. Somehow, they take me closer to the writer and I feel I have been given a huge comforting bear hug by an invisible force. 

I came to know that she too is an anxious person like me and although I never read the blog aiming to end up with a tutorial to alleviate my anxiety, my haphazard mind was pacified to realise that I am not alone when it came to matters such as that. She, in one of her posts’s, mentions about bringing down her anxiety by trying to solve the mathematics table in her mind. Every person has his own technique to deal with his problems, griefs or similar downsides. For me it has been work. But I cannot work round the clock and there are times when struck with a bout of anxiety ( for a reason ), I discern methods to escape from it. These days, it has been reading good blog posts for me. I blog-hop, find interesting blogs and devour the articles which strike a chord with me. They inevitable leave me at peace at least for a good one hour or two, when my mind returns back to the jovial self.  

Even as a child, I used to listen to my dear ones sharing stories with one another – my mother about her work place to my father, my grand mother about our relatives to my mother, my mother about my brother and me to her friends, my brother about his eventful day to me . .  the list is endless. No, I am not nosey, nor am I a gossip-monger. I simple love stories. Good stories. Happy stories. Intriguing stories. Undoubtedly, there is something soulful about listening to true stories. They are flawless and pristine. On the contrary, I hate movies made out of real stories. The tweaked version irks me and I would rather have someone narrate the story to me than watching it. 

So much for my love for true stories. As I wrap this post up, I can’t help but leave you with one simple question. If ever you feel lonely and would like to have a friend listen to your story, you now know who to approach, don’t you? 🙂

~~~~~~~

P.S: This post is tagged with Mid Week Quests, a sub section of this blog where I write on a Wednesday, about random nuggets from my life.

Reaping The Hard Way – Doc Life #2: Mid Week Quests

IMG_20160210_085727

I have loved travelling all my life. My parents had to work in a district around 9 hours from our home till I turned four (if my memory serves me right). Travel had been an inevitable ingredient of my blooming days so also. Even though I can’t recollect the subtle details of those days, I remember been excited and enticed about the thought of a journey by train, which evidently lasts to this day. My mother’s home too is in another district, which is a good two hour journey from our home. Since my father bought a car four or five years after I was born, all those to and fro journeys from my mother’s native place and our home were by train. I stayed and prepared for my medicine entrance exams at a reputed institution in a town far from my place and there too journeys had been an unavoidable part of my life. After that came the M.B.B.S days, where , even though the journeys had been mostly by bus, I remember having looked forward to the rare enough train journeys that came my way in the selected few days when there was a proper train during the days I promptly decided to go home. The formidable locomotive called train, needless to say, has been threaded into the pages of my life like no other. Continue reading

Defiant Soul- Flash Fiction

stock-footage-silhouette-of-a-woman-sitting-on-a-beach-at-sunset1-e1336944377218

Ensconced on the creamy white shore, I used to peek inside her soul, while she tucked in the wavy strands of hair that fluttered in the warm summer breeze. I remember opining to my friends every time that my mother was as sturdy as those rock mounds scattered formidably along the shore line, in that she could lap up the soothing, effervescent waves that streamed up to her in days that were serene, but more over, quite admiringly, could muster an inevitable amount of fortitude to stand rooted when hit by a raging tide. Little did the girl in me then know that, twenty years down the lane, she would peek inside herself and utter the exact same words.

~~~~~~

Saturday Specifics #1: First Post On A Fresh Spot

 

tangytuesday

Hello all. This is my first ever blog post here in this new WordPress domain where I have transferred my blogspot blog to. And frankly speaking, I feel lost. I feel that I am now swimming in the core of a potpourri of emotions. One, of glum for bidding farewell to my writing accomplice of 7 years -Blogger and second, for the excitement that comes with the start of a new journey. Well, truly, the journey is almost the same- writing,reading blogs and replying to comments. But then, it seems refreshing to strike acquaintance with a fresh, more subtle platform like WordPress. I still have a lot to do to bring back the nuances of my previous blog, but I think I should deal with one step at a time.

image

Introspecting, I arrived at a conclusion that I write more when I am overpowered by the swell of my mind- be it a misery, or when I am at  crossroads or when I am unusually  jubilant for a reason. Blogging regularly, like churning out a blog a week or even at an interval of two weeks, even after all these years, has not become a goal that could be easily conquered.  I dedicate a major part of the many reasons for that downside to my hectic course and duties that followed the same and the other part to my laziness.  I don’t usually blog to ‘blog’, rather I blog because it is a convenient source to vent my angst. You might ask, why I would want to do that on a public platform  when I can easily do that on a diary, letting out raw emotions unfiltered. Whether it be scribbling discreetly in a diary or it be typing explicitly on to the blank screen, both amount basically to writing, one may wonder. Well, the truth is that I, like any other writer, want to be read. Now that brings the discussion to a complete circle, isn’t it? I want to write,  but at the same time, I want to be read as well. This post, to be frank, has transformed itself to a confession of sorts; a confession which should consolidate my decision to blog regularly, as I see that it is an inevitable deed if I want to call myself a blogger. I can always write outside of this space, but if I intend to let this space flourish, I need to come out her often and mark my presence. I know that the process is a satiating experience and I have had my own share of liebster awards, contest wins, posts with endless comments and a stats exceeding one lakh hits on blogger.  Fortunate enough, right now, I am at a place in my personal life where I am sailing at a steady pace, for the time being, maybe for a few months even. That gives me less excuse to be a redundant blogger, and at the same time, more reasons to be a vivacious and a really creative one at that forte. And I sincerely hope for that to happen.

As this is almost sort of my first leap in to the realm of WordPress and supposedly into the arena of regular blogging,  I would like to flag the journey off with a story. Now, who wouldn’t like to read a story? Hopefully, not you my reader(smiles).

 

 MONOCHROME – (Fiction)

Little Ananya sat huddled in a dark corner of her room, well away from the door. Her palms were pressed tightly against her ears; her face flushed to a bright red shade; her cheeks smeared with wetness; her charcoal black eyes cringed tight, only to open to a narrow slit for tears to extrude whenever the cacophony erupting outside pierced her to leave behind an excruciating pain.

Looking around, she wimpered as her room silently started drowning in a sea of darkness. The sun had sunk beyond the horizon, nevetheless with a display of thoughtfulness to leave behind smatterings of saffron paint amidst the lakes of silent clouds. The night was slowly creeping in, with shadows of fear retreating to their favourite haven -the mind in tumult of a desperate soul.

The raised voice of her parents in the living room sent shivers through her shrivelled self. She couldn’t understand why she felt like she was on her first day at school yet again, as she tried hard to decipher the words her parents were hurling fiercely at each other. They were fighting, that much she could make out, for the tone of their voice was revolting.

Ananya reached for her teddy bear and drew it close to her, as she sat mulling over why her parents were angry. Haven’t they been so for the past one month, with no sign of reconciliation? she wondered. Her mommy had started the fight, Ananya recalled and it had something to do with the fact that her daddy was returning home late those days. She had watched them, everyday without fail, till the last week, keeping the door slightly ajar so that they would have no inkling as to her prying on them. The habit had come to a halt one day last week when her mother, having noticed her peeping on them barged into her room shouting harsh words at her, words she barely recognised as something similar to those used by Tara’s mommy.

“Tara is my best friend, Pinku. And her mommy takes bitter candies whenever she feels sad. You know, Tara has got another mommy too. Her daddy lives with her other mommy”

Ananya kept whispering in her teddy bear’s ear, taking care not to let her voice waver louder.

“They used to take me for picnic to all those beautiful places near the lake, Pinku. We used to sleep hugging each other in those small tents my daddy put up and my mommy used to cook delicious food for us, especially my favourite salad. . .” Her words broke in between, as she reminisced the pleasant times when they used to sit relaxed on the lush greenery lining the lake and savour food, only to be interrupted by frequent outburst of giggles and guffaws.

*******

Ananya listened hard. Her daddy’s voice could be heard outside. Was he crying?! She felt her heart flutter as the vision of her daddy in pain flashed across her mind. Fresh streams of tear rolled down her cheeks. She pressed the back of her hand against her lips so as to muffle her wails.

She sharpened her ears to hear what her father was explaining to her mother. Apprehensive as she was, Ananya couldn’t wait any longer. She slowly stood up and started walking towards the door, tip toed, her teddy bear still clutched strongly in her arms.

The house suddenly fell silent and quite eeringly so. Ananya waited with bated breath behind the door, lacking the courage to peek outside. She might have waited for a few minutes like that when her mother called out to her from the living room.

“Anu!”

Ananya gasped at her mother’s call. She scampered back to her bed, before her mother caught her lending ear to their conversation.

“Anu, bring your homework here!”

********

 

Ananya walked up to her mother who sat, fiddling with her finger nails, chewing them in between. She was annoyed beyond limits, Ananya could see.

Ananya stood near her mother, her head hung low, her lips pursed, her heart pounding loud as her mother quickly ran her eyes through her mathematics home work.

She stole a glance at her mother to guage her reaction. As Ananya watched, streaks of anger began to shadow on her mother’s otherwise angelic face, at the zenith of which she blurted out.

“Do you ever listen to your teacher in class, Ananya? What have you done here?! Twelve by twelve and what do you get? 164? Come on tell me now, what is the answer? Is it 164? Tell me!”

Ananya stared at her mother wide eyed, waves of fear rippling violently through her.

“What were you doing in there? Don’t you have every thing you need right inside your room? Why don’t you sit and learn what is being taught in your class, Ananya?!”

Ananya took a few steps back as her mother, irked to the core, sprang up from her seat. She watched, unblinking, as her mother threw her notebook aside on the floor and walked, huffing, to her bedroom, shutting the door behind with a loud thud.

Ananya stood shattered. She felt guilty for having let her mother down – She, of all people! Suddenly, a weird sense of desperation overtook her and she felt all alone standing there in her own home, which had been, till few days back, a treasure trove of happiness. Her eyes roved in search of her daddy. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Where did he go?” A melange of emotions overpowered her as she found no sign of her father anywhere in the house.

She picked up her notebook from the floor and retraced her steps. Climbing on her bed, she wiped away the damp stains of sorrow from her face and mumbled, “Pinku, mommy is really angry tonight. She just had a fight with daddy. I can’t find him anywhere inside. Maybe he went outside to buy chocolates for mommy. Mommy likes chocolates. She is going to be happy after that. You don’t be sad ok, Pinku. Were you scared when mommy shouted at me? I was, Pinku. A little bit. But that is ok. Mommy is going to be happy as soon as daddy brings her chocolates. You sleep now. She will wake us both up soon to share the chocolate with us, I am sure”

Wistfully, she kissed her teddy bear goodnight and shut her tired eyes. The moon lent her a milky white blanket as she lay on her bed, cocooned by a halo of hope that would guard her wounded soul from dreams echoing wretchedness.

***

The End

 

P.S: Thank you for stopping by on this good day. I would love to hear from you. And do keep coming back.

P.P.S :  This post has been selected by Blogadda as a Tangy Tuesday Post! This post is also tagged with ‘Saturdays Specifics’, a sub section of this blog where I put up something creative- a story, poem, haiku, Flash Fiction or a Book Review. 

~Maliny

An Excerpt And A List

ssp

                   Am I stuck with writer’s block? One may wonder, considering the dwindling number of blog posts I have been churning up during the past couple of months. But the truth is that, my mind has been shuttling between matters concerning something very important in my life- A milestone in itself. In fact, it has been over stuffed with words, themes, fitting conclusions, gripping plots and eye grabbing titles; or at least, with the undeterred thoughts to conjure the same. Briefly speaking, I have been working on a manuscript for the past one month.

Continue reading