Niti switched off the radio as the radio jockey jabbered on. It had been a long day. Too much work. Too little satisfaction in it. And a horrible head ache to top it all.
"Come here kitty-cat!" she twitched her cat's ears and let it curl around her feet. She dug into the box of cookies and tossed one at her foot and popped another into her mouth.
She wished something could unwind her a bit. The radio couldn't and neither could the book. Way too heavy to read after a day's work, she thought.
Something to soothe her and make her feel comforted...
The lights got bright. Something zipped in through the window. Her jaw dropped. A parade of musicians had zipped in through her window. Eyes popped out, jaw still frozen mid-air and voice in a knot, she managed a gasp.
"Hello and welcome to Wishwhatever works inc. We operate at your deepest requests and needs. We just received a neurospiritic signal from your internal systems requesting our services to unwind you. So here we are, presenting the Interstellar Orchestra," a man greatly resembling a smiling Dali declared.
The musicians started to play and two men handed out tall glasses of some frosted drink to a still-shocked her. Finally managing to come to her senses, she almost started to protest, when the drink handlers gently nudged her to sip her drink.
As she sipped her drink, she found her muscles relaxing and her heart pacing back to the normal.
As the lilting jazz number drew to an end, the Interstellar Orchestra sat on their knees and drew out a rose each from within their neatly brushed jackets. A baffled, but calmer Niti, graciously muttered a 'Thank you' and managed a smile.
At the sight of her smile, they bowed and disappeared in a blink.
"Kitty-cat!Erm... Did that actually happen?"
Kitty-cat continued to nibble at the cookie.
May 06, 2010
Short Story- 5
She wondered where he hid the rainbows. They were probably hidden in one of those million lockers in 'Earth Needs' section. They were so beautiful, she wished her Dad would let her throw them merrily on earth whenever she wanted. He was the chief of everything the world was about. Many told her, they called him 'God' down there and apparently that was the highest post anyone had ever got. She didn't quiet understand all that, but she knew everyone loved and respected her Dad and that was more than enough.
She was very happy today. When she got up, a globule had died and a spectacular show of light was visible in the distance. She loved the way all kinds of colours just burst out in randomness. They had all trooped near the dying globule and had watched the 'death dance', as it was called.
It had made her so jubilant that she felt like throwing some colour down below at the earth. Her Dad however had just given her a stern look and walked away, when she had suggested it.
Now, she slowly sneaked to where he kept all kinds of rainbows hidden. The Rainbow Locker, it was called. She had discovered the small locker, number 203, adjacent to The Unlimitted supply closet of laughter and the Limited extra toe cabinet.
A dread ran through her. Last year, her enthusiastic exploration had resulted in an extra toe being tossed accidentally down on earth and a newborn chewing merrily on it. That her mother couldn't make out what that rubbery thing was that her wee little girl puked, was another story altogether. A whole village of ideas poured forth, but time healed their curiosity and that tale now remained forgotten and buried.
She chided herself for being so reckless and slowly opened The Rainbow Locker, and chanted,
"Give me a rainbow that would span a mile
That would make the world delighted for a while."
A mist developed within the endless locker. Colours stirred within. A faint strain of music slowly built up to an audible symphony. And a thin, wispy and beautiful rainbow emerged. It twirled around her. She touched it and the colours passed through her hand, leaving a pleasant coolness on her palm. She whispered softly, "Go spread joy wherever you wish to". The Mile Rainbow headed towards the earth. She sighed and then readied herself to tell her Dad what she had just done.
She was very happy today. When she got up, a globule had died and a spectacular show of light was visible in the distance. She loved the way all kinds of colours just burst out in randomness. They had all trooped near the dying globule and had watched the 'death dance', as it was called.
It had made her so jubilant that she felt like throwing some colour down below at the earth. Her Dad however had just given her a stern look and walked away, when she had suggested it.
Now, she slowly sneaked to where he kept all kinds of rainbows hidden. The Rainbow Locker, it was called. She had discovered the small locker, number 203, adjacent to The Unlimitted supply closet of laughter and the Limited extra toe cabinet.
A dread ran through her. Last year, her enthusiastic exploration had resulted in an extra toe being tossed accidentally down on earth and a newborn chewing merrily on it. That her mother couldn't make out what that rubbery thing was that her wee little girl puked, was another story altogether. A whole village of ideas poured forth, but time healed their curiosity and that tale now remained forgotten and buried.
She chided herself for being so reckless and slowly opened The Rainbow Locker, and chanted,
"Give me a rainbow that would span a mile
That would make the world delighted for a while."
A mist developed within the endless locker. Colours stirred within. A faint strain of music slowly built up to an audible symphony. And a thin, wispy and beautiful rainbow emerged. It twirled around her. She touched it and the colours passed through her hand, leaving a pleasant coolness on her palm. She whispered softly, "Go spread joy wherever you wish to". The Mile Rainbow headed towards the earth. She sighed and then readied herself to tell her Dad what she had just done.
April 23, 2010
Short Story-4
"I love you, Harry. You make me feel like a person. Like I'm me... and I'm beautiful. " Marion slurred in the film.
She rewound the disc and replayed it.
"I love you, Harry. You make me feel like a person. Like I'm me... and I'm beautiful. "
She flung the remote and walked away from the room and into her study.
"Lies", she wrote, "Films are lies. They make us believe in something that does not exist. They are like little 'how to' programs that try to tell us what life, love, truth, expression, sadness, happiness etc should be. The writer's ideals of these concepts are what we see fashioned on screen and what we, religiously look for in our own little lives. And that is the reason why all our love seems stale, our happiness too less and our sadness overtly dramatic. And this is why I have decided to stop watching films. I have ruined my life enough by aping everything that comes on the screen. And I shall no more. "
And she broke the nib, as if having declared a death sentence!
She rewound the disc and replayed it.
"I love you, Harry. You make me feel like a person. Like I'm me... and I'm beautiful. "
She flung the remote and walked away from the room and into her study.
"Lies", she wrote, "Films are lies. They make us believe in something that does not exist. They are like little 'how to' programs that try to tell us what life, love, truth, expression, sadness, happiness etc should be. The writer's ideals of these concepts are what we see fashioned on screen and what we, religiously look for in our own little lives. And that is the reason why all our love seems stale, our happiness too less and our sadness overtly dramatic. And this is why I have decided to stop watching films. I have ruined my life enough by aping everything that comes on the screen. And I shall no more. "
And she broke the nib, as if having declared a death sentence!
April 16, 2010
Short Story 6
She tried writing. Over and over again. Her mind was not able to siphon its thoughts and articulate what she was feeling. The prose froze, she stupidly thought.
Untitled 8 was opened and not one thought emerged that had any interesting bent to it. She typed blah as her status message in every possible social forum.
And she closed all the documents without saving them. She shut down her computer. She crawled into her bed.
Sometimes, one should never try to write, she sighed to herself and slept.
Short Story 3
(for all those who are puzzled by these sudden short story series- my fiction project begins next. I'm just freeing my mind and pen by these tales of randomness.
DISCLAIMER: The themes might be influenced by my own life or of people and things around me. But by no means are these stories chunks of my life or anyone else. THIS IS PURE FICTION.)
DISCLAIMER: The themes might be influenced by my own life or of people and things around me. But by no means are these stories chunks of my life or anyone else. THIS IS PURE FICTION.)
The idle familiarity of home calmed his frazzled nerves. Finally...finally he could rid himself of all those clawing agonies that had plagued him through morn and dream.
Home was the best eraser to wipe away pages and pages of things you never wanted to be associated with, but had inevitably got yourself mixed with.
The smells of that single layer of dust that somehow managed to always stick to the sofa cushions acted like a balm. The faint sounds of the radio from the kitchen across the bend of the corridor, sounded like a lullaby. He sank deeper into the sofa and told his mind that nothing could go wrong anymore. He had got his soul back.
Home was the best eraser to wipe away pages and pages of things you never wanted to be associated with, but had inevitably got yourself mixed with.
The smells of that single layer of dust that somehow managed to always stick to the sofa cushions acted like a balm. The faint sounds of the radio from the kitchen across the bend of the corridor, sounded like a lullaby. He sank deeper into the sofa and told his mind that nothing could go wrong anymore. He had got his soul back.
April 15, 2010
Short Story-2
That was so long ago, she mused. Her limbs ached with a kind of tiredness that was not just physical. Yes, age had finally caught up with her, after running a furlong behind in the marathon of life.
She shook the dust of the cloth. It was lying like a rag in the corner of the room. She remembered the exact moment she had cast it off. Tearing it into shreds, fat drops of tears wetting its surface, and a guttaral cry of hatred and the throw to that forgotten corner.
Long ago suddenly seemed like now. The memories had just played their trick on her, all at once intensifying the simmering flame of thought and evoking everything.
She didn't cry this time. She felt the texture of the cloth, and with it, its memories and smiled. It didn't really matter anymore. But she felt tired, very tired for having to go through the motions of the past once again.
She threw the cloth back into the forgotten corner and decided she needed a nap.
She shook the dust of the cloth. It was lying like a rag in the corner of the room. She remembered the exact moment she had cast it off. Tearing it into shreds, fat drops of tears wetting its surface, and a guttaral cry of hatred and the throw to that forgotten corner.
Long ago suddenly seemed like now. The memories had just played their trick on her, all at once intensifying the simmering flame of thought and evoking everything.
She didn't cry this time. She felt the texture of the cloth, and with it, its memories and smiled. It didn't really matter anymore. But she felt tired, very tired for having to go through the motions of the past once again.
She threw the cloth back into the forgotten corner and decided she needed a nap.
April 14, 2010
Short story 1
A raw fear gripped her. The dream had been too vivid, too beautiful. She had lost herself in that dream- letting all the beauty ensnare her and in all abandon, she had let go of her hold on herself.
And she had woken up. Crudely. From those images of pristine perfection. To the stark drab graying walls of her leaking room. To those flaky patches of concrete still struggling to hold on to the wall with invisible ivy hands. To that wooden skirting that was paling and crumbling in parts and annoying her by their presence and absence.
She had known somewhere, when the dream began, that it was a dream. But why then did she allow herself to sink in its embracing waters?! She had lived through the carousing ways of happiness and mortgaged sanity for it.
And now- she was left with nothing but fear. Fear of the craving gnawing crushing emptiness that she once called her heart. It was not there and she wanted it.
And she had woken up. Crudely. From those images of pristine perfection. To the stark drab graying walls of her leaking room. To those flaky patches of concrete still struggling to hold on to the wall with invisible ivy hands. To that wooden skirting that was paling and crumbling in parts and annoying her by their presence and absence.
She had known somewhere, when the dream began, that it was a dream. But why then did she allow herself to sink in its embracing waters?! She had lived through the carousing ways of happiness and mortgaged sanity for it.
And now- she was left with nothing but fear. Fear of the craving gnawing crushing emptiness that she once called her heart. It was not there and she wanted it.
January 25, 2010
Project 2: Lac-Luck!
I grew up listening to tales of the Mahabharata, and even as a child, I always used to feel that it was one of the most wonderfully real stories I had ever heard. Full of human frailties, problems, treachery- it depicted a very real picture of the world to me. Although I recognized this to a very minimal extent back then, as a child; I only realize how relevant the Mahabharata continues till date.
B.R.Chopra’s televised serial Mahabharata was part of my weekend diet of TV programmes. With its wonderful cast and some riveting performances, it had me glued. I found the Lac palace incident one of the most interesting parts of the Mahabharata and this game was inspired from the same.
The idea of trapping the Pandavas unawares and burning them alive along with the lac palace was brutally brilliant. The counter plan devised by the Pandavas, to build the tunnel of escape due to Vidura’s timely warning was also a life-saving idea.
These concepts of device, conceive, trap, counter device and escape seemed interesting to work on, when asked to devise a game based on a story. I’ve tried to use these concepts in my design of the game too. The route is devised; the game with its open floorboards is devised. The traps can be opened and counter-closed to escape.
The game went through many peaks and lows and was revised many a time. What has emerged is the most feasible idea of the lot.
The board, inspired by the Manipuri and Meghalaya bamboo dance and the foosball, could be used to play other interesting games that could be devised.
For the story of The House of Lac, click here
Sandhya Ramachandran
sandhya.r@nid.edu
January 23, 2010
Project One: Ollikuchchi Octopus by Sandhya Ramachandran
It is with a sense of secret hope of getting back to playing with toys and games that I took up the elective of Toys from Tales. Wanting to reconnect with all those hours of unadulterated fun, stitching little doll dresses and playing innumerable board games, I was hoping for two weeks of absolute fun.
Although life is meant to make you regret hoping for things, for once, it
didn't disappoint me at all! In fact, this elective has turned out to be even more fun than I had imagined.
Classes with Rutti and Sajith and a whole bunch of similarly excited classmates are extremely interesting and enjoyable.
The very first day, we were asked to make a toy that best described an incident from childhood or ourselves. It was such a delightful experience-and also nice and self-absorbed- to sit and think about oneself and recreate the flashes of childhood memories that sifted though our mind.
Everyone came up with a toy by the next morning. The toy I made was called the 'Ollikuchchi Octopus'(Eng:Stick-Thin Octopus); a dig at the stick figures my sister used to draw as a kid. 
The Octopus represented the extreme anxiety I had in me from childhood(it continues, till date) of trying to do many things at the same time. A juggler of activities, I needed 4 pairs of hands to finish whatever I had undertaken. Also, as per Animal Symbolism, the Octopus is a sign of creativity and insatiability. What better a way to represent it than using the Octopus?!
As a child, I was too full of myself and in all arrogance, I used to boss around the people in my class. Later, this 'higher than thou' attitude lead to a fall and a whole reanalysis and reformation began! Stick-Thin Octopus); a dig at the stick figures my sister used to draw as a kid.
I shaped the OO out of a thin bamboo branch over which a cloth octopus was strung. The bamboo branch resembled stilts and was signaling at the fact that I never had my foot on the ground. To represent my flighty attitude, I made four rotor blades by crossing two ice-cream sticks in the centre and keeping them in place with a board tack. These blades, I stuck to the bamboo branch octopus with adhesive. I strung little ghungroos(bells) at the tips of the rotor blades to provide some sound every once used- a dig at my talkative nature.
I used bright primary colours to paint OO, to attract kids. The stick , tack and ghungroos were painted bright blue, the rotor blades were poster red in colour and had some intricate hatching patterns on their top side. The head of the Octopus was a moss green with white polka dots and had a happy expression painted. The hands were made of multi-coloured cut cloth. A small white band held the head and the body together.
In all enthusiasm, I decided I'd develop the merchandising also for the OO. Hence emerged the pamphlets that go with it, and the poem that it has.
As my original doodling brought forth a gingerbread woman, I decided to explain my toy in the form of an act. I covered my toy with another piece of cloth and as sense strikes the OO, it sheds its cloth skin and emerges to fly off into the sky.
OO can be used for two things- one as a rattle for babies, and another as a fly-away toy. You need to spin the bamboo stick between your palms- almost in a churning movement- and then let it go. It spins in flight and then crashes down, unless you catch hold of it in a while.
However, OO was a parody toy- meant for me to laugh at the person I was and be thankful for the improvements that have happened, and hopefully get working on the parts that still remain.
The Poem that went with the toy is as follows:
A gingerbread woman
feeling fragile
acting all snooty
hiding all the while
Stilts shoot out
like horns on head
high and mighty
ego well-fed!
A constant quest
and arrogance too!
Little kid happy
goody two shoes
Pretty little frocks
bunch of bangles
a mop of curls
always in tangles.
Life eats her up
slowly chews her ego
with no choice left
she must let go.
shedding her skin
once sense did hit
a power hungry pair dies
where eight hands fit.
Octopus woman
grinning wide
flying off to the sky
a purpose beside.
Setting off instantly
the world to conquer
exploring searching seeking
with enthusiastic fervour
New one emerged
trying to be good
genuine to people
helping as much as she could
Trying flying
sometimes falling flat
feeling good, feeling bad
feeling pretty, feeling fat
A swirl of emotions
continue to haunt
as the world applauds
also while it taunts
Little Octopus toy
reflecting little me
growing up still
trying to BE
The flight continues
and so does the fall
But good and bad
make life afterall!
Sandhya Ramachandran
sandhya.r@nid.edu
January 18, 2010
WHY DID YOU GO?
I know you were suffering. I know you went through things I don't even want to recount. But I miss you so. I think of you so often. You are no more a call away, a trip away, a letter away. Where do I reach you? How do I reach you? Thoughts sometimes are so insufficient.
I want to hear your voice, Cumbum thatha. I want you to call out to me in that endearing voice. I want to hear that voice I so admired saying a deep 'Hello' at the other end of the phone call.
Why can't it ever happen again? It is worse to think that sooner or later, everyone around me will reach your side and so shall I too.
Sometimes everything seems purposeless.
I miss you dearly, especially today. I hope you are smiling in the heavens.
I shall always hold you close to my heart Cumbum thatha, for you were and are and always will be a wonderful person.
I want to hear your voice, Cumbum thatha. I want you to call out to me in that endearing voice. I want to hear that voice I so admired saying a deep 'Hello' at the other end of the phone call.
Why can't it ever happen again? It is worse to think that sooner or later, everyone around me will reach your side and so shall I too.
Sometimes everything seems purposeless.
I miss you dearly, especially today. I hope you are smiling in the heavens.
I shall always hold you close to my heart Cumbum thatha, for you were and are and always will be a wonderful person.
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