Finding absolutely no topics to write about this morning, I am dipping into a series of anecdotes and essays from a Shut Up and Write! challenge. You can see my interest dwindle at the end of that week.
Sept 13, 2021 - Life Is Better With Friends
Today, we’ll spend our writing time answering the following questions:
How did you meet your closest childhood buddies?
What did you all do to spend your time?
Did you ever get into any trouble?
So many close friends, so many stories, so many escapades. One sticks out in my mind.
In those long, dusty, muggy days after we finished our SSC exams, Shalu, Andy and I occupied ourselves by visiting the local lending library and taking shorthand-typing classes next door to it. This was to ready us for college, where we imagined our pencils flying across paper as we captured words of wisdom from suitably enlightened souls. I don’t recall ever using those shorthand skills after that summer.
How did we meet? Andy and I were in school together. Our mums were friends too, as were our siblings. Shalu went to a rival school but we had such similar interests it was hard not to be friends.
Every evening, we met at the class and chattered away until the instructors shushed us, then walked home together, chattering some more. Boy, could we talk! Andy lived the furthest, so we walked to her place, chatted for ages until she was called in to finish her chores. Shalu was next. Another long chat at “our” corner, under a gnarled laburnum tree.
One evening, after dropping Andy, as Shalu and I stood chatting on our corner, her friend Shabnam stopped by. More conversations. An offer of books. Shalu and I, ever the bookworms, locked arms with her and off we went.
As we sauntered back to our corner after what we claim was a few minutes, we saw a little reception committee. Time, cruel time, played a trick on us and wound the clock’s arms to way past midnight. At the corner were Shalu’s parents and mine, mad as hornets; Andy’s parents were there too, with worried looks on their faces. Explanations fell on deaf ears. It took us years to live down that transgression. Wait! We probably haven’t lived it down yet.
Our sixteen-year-old minds didn’t see what the big deal was. So, it was late. We were trustworthy, though, and never did anything crazy. We were taking shorthand classes, for Pete’s sake!
Looking back on it now, knowing that there were drugs and possibly sex traffickers on Bombay’s streets, I can see it from the other side. But only just.
Sept 14, 2021 - On the Road
Write a scene that paints a picture for your reader about a memorable trip in your life. Use the following questions to create a sense of forward movement in this scene:
Were you traveling solo or with others?
Where did you go and how did it feel?
What was your greatest learning experience from your trip?
Every trip I ever take in college is epic in its own way. The trip to Darjeeling and Sikkim is particularly so. YauMei and I graduated several years previously but a college trip with Hoshang and Rajkumar Rao, once our teachers, now friends, is too good to pass up. The group discount doesn’t hurt.
Seventy or so of us, packed into a train car, hurtle across from Bombay to Calcutta, singing, joking, playing games, getting to know each other. On to New Jalpaiguri on another train, then a cool ride on the Darjeeling Himalayan Toy Train, winding up hills to Darjeeling.
We are promised sights of Kanchenjunga. We are rousted out of bed at the crack of dawn to see the sunrise from Tiger Hill. The sun makes an appearance cloaked in mist. What a disappointment. Several other adventures, all enveloped in clouds, the grayness and damp adding character to photographs. Wandering through the botanical gardens looking for orchids. Eating dinner with chopsticks - YauMei tries to teach us and we fail miserably.
A trip to a Buddhist monastery, twirling prayer wheels, rhythmically beating a drum, giggling young monks in their brilliant robes, an old kenpo lama who clicks his prayer beads and predicts the future. Dangling our legs into the waters of Mirik Lake, squelching in the mud, then washing off only to find our shins covered with leeches - eek! We think they’re all off and pile into Jeeps. I feel something, pull up my jeans leg and there’s a straggler, latched on for dear life. The driver leans over, touches the leech with his lit cigarette. It falls off. A thin streak of blood winds slowly down my leg.
Torrents of muddy water gush down the hillsides like massive coils of rope as we drive towards the Nepali border. No drizzle or mist; it’s pouring down now. We’re in a little border town. The rain has let up and it’s unimaginably green everywhere. Our traveling companions crowd into the little stores, buying Levi’s, denim jackets and backpacks. We wander back to the Jeeps, stopping for watery chai mixed with yak milk and butter, served by a pink-cheeked young girl who cannot be more than ten years old. The Jeep driver points over our shoulders and we look around. There is Kanchenjunga in all her glory. The rain has wiped the sky clean. It’s a brilliant blue and the snow capped mountain is touched with a little gold. It’s the most breathtaking sight.
We can’t tear our eyes away but it’s soon time to return to the hotel. Every loop around the hills blocks our view but oh how spectacular is it when another bend brings it back into focus. We gasp in awe each time we see Kanchenjunga anew. At the hotel, we take our dinner up to the roof and sit on deck chairs, drinking in every last drop of that magnificent vista. The sky is inky now, stars begin to twinkle. We stretch back, contented. Someone breathes, “This is the life!”
Sept 15, 2021 - Stranger Than Fiction
Use the questions below to craft a scene that helps your reader visualize what happened and how it affected you:
Was anyone else around to witness it too?
What was your immediate reaction?
In retrospect, is there anything you learned from this experience?
I got nothing! Nada. Zip. Zilch. This is the bane of an aspiring writer: living a mundane, boring, prosaic life.
Wait! Here’s something. Thanks to all the shut up and writers for jogging my memory.
It is maybe 2009-2010… something like that. A group of us coworkers are into P90X. We have done several rounds and are dedicated. Pudgy, pasty bodies converted into muscled glory. Nothing can stop us from working out. Certainly no measly snowstorm. Or so we think.
It’s 3 pm and we’re let off early because of inclement weather. The wise bundle into cars and head home. We message each other madly and march on down to the gym to work on our Legs and Back. Exhilarated by the workout, justifiably sanctimonious about an hour well spent, we get into our vehicles and drive out of the cavernous garage. It’s white outside. There are several inches of snow on the ground. Undeterred, we drive out, a motley caravan ploughing through the soft white piles. Not far, though. It’s a mess.
The street has a slight upward incline. I have the bright idea to turn into Twinbrook Metro Station but that’s not happening. I turn back and inch my way to the garage door. I’m stuck in a drift and don’t know how to get out. Christine coaches me on the phone. I wiggle the car wheels back and forth until I’m free. Next hurdle… it’s after 6 pm and the garage doors won’t yield to the transponder. Yikes! I call Christine again. She calls Erika, who phones Fabian. He’s still at his desk, writing reports. He walks downstairs, presses a button to let me in.
Erika, who lives nearby, walks back to meet me. Christine has made it back too, and Matt. Erika invites us to her place. Christine accepts. Matt plans to try again. I want to find a way home to my cats, so I walk to the Metro. It’s crazy busy. People huddled together on the platform. Eventually, a train pulls in. After many fits and starts, we ease into Shady Grove station. There’s an eerie, golden glow on the snowdrifts outside. Wet, heavy snow weighs down the branches of the shrubs. There are people all over the place, not a bus in sight. There are throngs at the Ride-On 100 bus stop. People craning their necks. Rumors flying that they’ve canceled buses. Testy voices. No cabs plying either.
Finally, a few buses show up. Much maneuvering later, there’s a 100. We pile in and lumber slowly out of the lot. The driver lets us know that we won’t take the express route. That’s an understatement. We’re inching our way along. The road is dotted with abandoned cars. Matt and I text back and forth. No, he’s not texting and driving - it’s bumper to bumper traffic and he’s at a standstill. He’s made it to Virginia, though.
The bus makes it to Quince Orchard, then protests as the road slopes upward. Stops. Haggling. Discussions. Everyone piles out and pushes. Success. We get back in. The bus makes it to Middlebrook. Another incline. Another attempt to climb. Disappointment. This is the end of the ride, the driver tells us. He can coax the beast no further.
It’s not too far to walk home. Well, on a good day it isn’t. So, I hunch into my heavy coat, heave my backpack on my shoulders, and trudge through the snow, thankful for my thick boots. One more text: Matt has made it home.
“May I walk with you?” a small voice asks. It’s a tiny woman wrapped in a huge brown coat that looks barely thick enough for the bone-chilling cold. Dark curls escape her scarf. Her name is Joy, she tells me. Her breathing sounds labored. I nod and we head homewards, her pace slowing me down. I worry. Can she make it? Should I call for help?
A white SUV pulls up. A blond head pops out of the window. Kind blue eyes. “You look like you could use some help,” the driver says. She jumps out and wrenches open the rear door. Helps my traveling companion into the back seat. I follow. The driver’s husband crinkles his eyes at us. The couple drives around in weather like this helping those who are stranded, they tell us. I’m too bone-weary to think about malicious intent.
We drop Joy at her place, make sure she gets into her apartment ok, then turn in the direction of my home. It’s 2 am by the time we get to my door. The cats are starving and express their displeasure at my tardiness. I invite our benefactors in for cups of steaming coffee. They chug it down gratefully, warming their fingers on the hot cups. I pour the rest of the coffee into insulated mugs for them to take. They’re headed back out there to help others.
If I get their names, I no longer remember. We don’t exchange contact information. Well, I guess they know where I live. Are they real? Supernatural beings conjured up when people are in need? I never see them again.
Fabian tells me the next day that he worked until 10 pm, then drove home to Frederick and was there by 11. He saw stranded cars everywhere but had absolutely no problem getting home.
Christine and Erika spent a warm, cozy evening chatting, drinking wine and munching on samosas. They had a good night’s sleep.
Sept 16, 2021 - Ch-ch-ch-changes!
Use the following questions as inspiration as you write about your lessons learned and perspectives gained:
Has your hometown changed or stayed the same?
How has the internet impacted your life?
What are you most scared of seeing in the world? What are you most excited about?
What has changed? Written communications have progressed from pen-and-paper and typewriters through word processors, clunky old PCs, laptops, notebooks, and tablets. The cottages and picturesque Art Deco homes in my favorite suburb of Bombay are crowded out by tall buildings, largely devoid of character. I’ve moved half a world away. Back home, the world I knew has slowly given way to one that is almost unrecognizable.
Growing up in Bandra, the jewel of Bombay’s suburbs, life was good. Everyone knew everybody else, they were in your business whether you liked it or not. Most people lived in cottages or small buildings of flats, gardens were filled with barleria (gorti), crossandra (aboli), allamanda, poinsettias, fragrant jasmine (jai, juhi, mogra), nyctanthes (parijatak) and plumeria. Mango, tamarind, laburnum, poinciana (gul mohur) and peltophorum trees dotted the streets. BEST bus rides to school cost 10p. Traffic was fairly sane. We ran wild on Thursdays, Sundays and in summer. Friends were always welcome at the dinner table. Family dropped in unannounced.
Phones and TVs were scarce. Everyone walked over to the one neighbor who owned a phone - time of day didn’t usually matter. Babbul pachi had a lock on her phone and charged neighbors to use it. Neighbors and friends paid regular visits to watch I Love Lucy, Mind Your Language and Chitrahaar.
Shankar, the bhajiwallah, came to the door in his Gandhi cap and a huge basket of fresh vegetables. On the weekends he brought flowers from Vasai. In early summer, he brought mangoes. The pavwallah brought fresh bread and eggs. A handsome isthriwallah picked up washed laundry and brought it back, smartly pressed and smelling faintly of his coal-powered iron. Next door, a man came with a bow to card the cotton in mattresses. Across the street, the mochi sat cross legged, using an awl to work heavy twine through leather, mending and making shoes.
These vendors are probably all gone now. Their descendants likely work in smart boutiques. The corner grocery stores with their huge scales, sacks of grain and spices are replaced by sleek supermarkets. Handmade shopping thayli and baskets and newspaper packages gave way to plastic baggies that clog the waterways and choke the wildlife. There’s a push for reusable and paper bags. Fabindia hands me purchases in a bag made of recycled newspapers and rope… now, there’s a novel idea! Mahim creek, once filled with mangroves, storks, herons and other water fowl, turned into a sludge-filled lagoon with no access to the sea.
Half a lifetime ago, I moved to the New World. It’s been my home ever since. When I first came here, I wrote home to my parents each week. We called each other on the weekend. It was expensive and there was a time delay - either everyone was talking at once or there was dead silence so conversations were confusing. A couple of years later came the internet, email, chat groups, Mosaic, hotmail. I made friends with random people but it still felt like a safe space - Ms Streeter asking for Indian stories to read to her adopted children, the young man who traveled by train all around North America.
My love affair with Apple products started when I looked at the first ads for the iPhone. It would be years later before I bought one of them. Flip phones or Blackberries were more affordable. My gateway drug was an iPod Nano. The icons were stylish, the design was sleek, the performance was excellent. On to an iPhone 5, which I love and cannot part with. It was just the right size for my hands and the case and screen protector have kept it safe. My iPhone 11 Pro was a disappointment of sorts. The bigger screen was nice but it was too unwieldy for me so the glass protector had a crack all down one side. [FF to today: The 14 ditched the curved sides and is much easier to handle.]
Space exploration, globalization, ease of travel, advances in science and technology - all positive. Insane policies (fiscal, environmental, healthcare, social), the tendency towards autocracy, meaningless conflict - not so much. Misinformation and the influence wielded by demagogues are the most worrisome aspects of the world today. Young people who are bright, think independently, who have agency and are able to advocate for themselves, others and good causes inspire me. They give me hope that this world will survive. Maybe not quite as we know it but still full of wonder, beauty and interest.
Sept 17, 2021 - Taking Stock
We’ll spend our writing time today on answering the following questions:
What are the challenges you faced on your way to your proudest moment?
Is this moment a result of something you achieved?
Do you feel properly acknowledged for it?
My proudest moment? Being where I am and who I am today. Life has a way of throwing unexpected things at you. You have to be prepared to deal with whatever comes your way. Revel in the good, deal with the not-so-good or turn it to your advantage by learning from it. Let experiences change you in all the right ways but hold firm to those values that are good, even if they are not mainstream.
What have I learned along the way? To ask for help when I need it. To ask for what I want. To know my strengths. To value people that I interact with. To gracefully accept help from those who can guide me with things that are not my strengths. To take the high road… without being sanctimonious.
So, just because I’m happy with my current state, it does not mean I won’t work to grow and change myself. I need to say yes more often, particularly to leisure activities.
Thanks Ila. Will do. You may have to help me with illustrations as I don’t have pics.
Thanks Ila 🥰