Stories that demand to be told | #19
"I took a few deep breaths before calling his number. It was a rare moment of openness and vulnerability that we men were not used to."
This is the 19th edition of Stories that demand to be told, a curated spread of the most evocative, resonant, real stories. Welcome to Ochre Sky Stories, a home for writers from the Ochre Sky Workshops, facilitated by
and .
1. Of Gods and Men by
I could have fought harder. I could have said no. We could have argued well into the night. But I let it go. I am not sure why. The following day, the empty piece of paper was given to a priest at a temple. I told myself that rituals only hold power if you believe in them. I would protect my child from the whim and fancy of gods, shield her from dated notions of good and bad, teach her to fight and stand up for herself. I would lose a few battles if I could win the big ones.
My daughter is eight years old today - a free spirit who questions openly and rejects without fear.
2. Take your breaking heart and turn it into art by
3. Make Space by
I took a few deep breaths before calling his number. Firstly, I was relieved to know he was not ill and there was no medical emergency. He was living by himself and had begun to feel the weight of the distress all around him. We spoke for an hour and he openly shared the personal and professional challenges he was facing. At the end of the call, he told me that he felt much better on having talked to someone. I remember feeling a lot lighter too.
It was a rare moment of openness and vulnerability that we men were not used to.
4. What’s “In syllabus” & What’s out? by
Intimacy was an odd paradox. Part of me longed for it to become “part of my syllabus,” to integrate it into my life, but at the same time, it felt distant and completely foreign—firmly “out of syllabus.” There was a push-and-pull between what I wanted to feel and what I knew how to express. It was as if I stood at the edge of a vast ocean, longing to dive in but uncertain of how to swim, with each encounter leaving me both excited and hesitant, like an explorer unsure of what might lie beyond the horizon.
5. Party of One by
The pursuit of personal preference is criminally underrated. When I'm doing a solo thing, I like to practice self-attunement and do my bidding in a very precise way.
On work trips, my joy peaks when I check back into the hotel - I adjust the music, temperature and lighting of the room exactly to my liking. I draw a bath and make tea and watch crap Netflix.And none of this is up for litigation. This is possibly what honouring ourselves looks like within the confines of late-stage capitalism.
6. The Gift of Attention by
When Baba got ill, Vihaan made adjustments. He took the lead in lifting Baba’s spirits. He invented new games, Fingball and Chinese Checkers Championships to draw his grandfather to new adventures. He wrote epic fantasies that he discussed with his grandfather at length. Knowing that his grandfather was a voracious reader, Vihaan took the liberty of discussing the plot, character graphs and his storytelling skills with him. Baba listened through his elaborate epic, remembered the many twists and turns, deliberated over the finer points in the narrative, read through his many drafts and gave him feedback. “What a fantastic writer he is turning out to be! I am amazed at his imagination. Have you read it?” he asked everyone. Vihaan was the only writer he read in his last years even when his concentration and his eyesight diminished.
7. Bitter Gourd by
As a hardcore foodie who seldom falls sick even after eating food from questionable places, when people inquired about my dietary preferences and allergies, I’d say “I eat everything except karela.”
All this changed a few days ago. I plucked a handful of bitter gourd from my backyard and had mixed feelings. They looked beautiful - especially since they were homegrown. The uneven skin - so therapeutic to touch. The different shades of green - mesmerising! But out of the ten different kinds of vegetable seeds we had planted in the patch, why did karela have to be the only one that was thriving?!
8. Surf, Sun, and Self-Discovery: My Wild and Wonderful Solo Adventure in Bali by
Okay, confession time: I’m not exactly an early riser. But for Mount Batur, I was up at the crack of dawn (which might as well be the middle of the night for me) to start a grueling hike. Let’s just say it was intense. There were moments when I thought about turning back, but I didn’t. And when I finally reached the top, the reward was totally worth the burn. Watching the sunrise from the summit felt like I was standing on top of the world, with the sky giving me a personal show in shades of pink, orange, and gold. After that, we treated ourselves to some well-earned relaxation at the Batur Natural Hot Springs and followed it up with a spiritual cleanse at Tirta Empul Temple, where I felt like I was washing away years of pent-up fear and doubt.
9. How do I get over some things in my past for which I feel very guilty?by
Guilt is something that thrives in focus. What I mean to say is that guilt is something that you feel when you focus on it. If your focus was to be directed in other directions, neither would you feel guilty, nor would you think about that which you associate with guilt…If I told you that you only have 24 hours in a day (something you already know), limited energy (something you already know), and unlimited goals (something you already know), would you choose to add feeling guilty to your list of things to do?
10. darling, stay with me by
My chest is stiff and my muscles protest when I attempt to open them. Still I try - and I say, stay. My hamstrings are tight, they have been on this chair for much too long. Still I try - and I say, stay. All the lost timelines have built a stone monastery in the joints of my shoulder and on the left side of my neck, they hate to be disturbed. Still I try - and I say, stay. So this time, I am also believing this word of mine: stay. Despite the horrors we are witness to, I hope we can make this place beautiful and I hope more of us get to stay.
11. I struggle to remember the faces for whom I cry by
At funeral prayers where everyone else is dry-eyed.
At weddings,
When the bride begins to walk away.
In school, when children get on stage,
Innocent.
Crying brings me back from my dead.
I cry because he never did.
I cry because he learned to laugh when he wanted to cry.
I cry because I want to stop him but I cannot.
I cry because it bothers him to see my tears.
It jolts him.
It might make him cry one day.
12. Cooking Alone by
Those abandoned have no dearth of time and space, and you with all your privileges could choose cooking as comfort, not as survival. Your mother, aunts, grandmothers – they never got this opportunity. To transform turmoil into delicacies. To bask their emotions in the steam of rice or lentil. To afford accidents when a man waits with his oddly shaped appetite. Their loneliness was to be swallowed raw. You are luckier than them. You can even challenge yourself with a meat recipe or two and appear for a second, less of a Brahmin lady. And though that is impossible, you make something else plausible – the long list of recipes you master night after lonely night.
URDU se DOSTI, a beginner's workshop facilitated by Vimal Chitra
Urdu is a language of love, history, and poetry. Discover the jaadu of Urdu with poet, screenwriter and spoken word artist, Vimal Chitra in our 2 day workshop, Urdu Se Dosti
Discover the transformative power of personal writing with Natasha Badhwar
and Raju Tai at Ochre Sky Stories Memoir Workshop.
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|
 | A guest post by
|