Stories that demand to be told | #22 - FemAsia Special

Ochre Sky writers published in the FemAsia Magazine's October 2024 issue

This is the 22nd 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

Natasha Badhwar

and

Raju Tai

.

This is a special edition that features stories written by Ochre Sky writers, now published in FemAsia magazine, a digital space dedicated to amplifying the voices, stories, and insights of Asian women from all walks of life. A special thank you to Shameela Yoosuf Ali and Anjali Monteiro for encouraging our writers.

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1. Chocolate by

Beatrice Rao

Mum told our good neighbour, Gemma what had happened.
Gemma became my watchdog, my pit-bull.
She’d take a casual stroll in the long corridor, checking in on me.
Mum was at work, the sole breadwinner after dad died.
My uncles were at their jobs.
My grandparents had settled in Goa by then.
I was instructed to lock myself in.
Not to open the door to you.

The wolf was on the prowl, again.
Another day when the coast was clear.
You called out my name.
You waved your paw through the bars of the window,
and showed me another bar of chocolate.
I told you, “I didn’t want the chocolate.
Mummy has told me not to open the door to you.”

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2. Home Is Where the Chores are Shared by

Kanchan Balani

The day’s accumulated stress poured out like a broken faucet: there’s no coffee at home, the wet food is still showing out of stock, there’s only one last bag of cat litter left, I couldn’t finish that damn book today, the dhaniya has gone bad again. I can’t keep up. Everything’s falling apart. I…

The next morning, my husband surprised me by preparing my favourite dish for breakfast – Goli Idli. Not to forget, it was accompanied by iced coffee. We finally had coffee at home. What a relief! Cat litter had been ordered too.

When it comes to domestic responsibilities, my husband doesn’t just help; he takes ownership, finding genuine satisfaction in shouldering his share of our household burdens. He’s straight-up a much better cook than I’ll ever be. I also usually fall short when it comes to keeping up with calls to parents, extended family, and common friends. And he’s always more than happy to take charge of that department. His weak spot: decorating or organising our space. An area where he gladly follows my lead.

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3. Ki Niye Palabi? by Ronita Chattopadhyay

T’s eyes were puffed and tired. She also had a headache. Sleep had proved elusive last night. And not just for her family but also for others who shared that slum location as their address. A few nights earlier, some houses in a neighbouring slum had caught fire. The flames had spread fast and by morning had ravaged that small settlement. Some held that it was an accident. A gas cylinder had burst. Others felt that this was intentional, an act of retribution possibly. But no one was sure for what. Or who were behind it. There were rumours that her slum could be targeted too. Suspicious strangers had been spotted lurking in the area at night. The families nominated a member each and formed night watch groups to guard the community and their space. 

“Ki niye palabi? Jodi eirokhm hoye, takhun ki niye palabi? Eita amra discuss korchi,” she shared with a sigh. (What will you take if you have to suddenly run? If it comes to that, then what will you take with you if you have to run? This is what we have been discussing.)

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4. Summer of 2024 by

Sanobar Sabah

This summer, I felt tired – but not from the staleness of being  

This was good tired, 

The kind that comes from partying all night with your tribe

This summer I kissed confidence and let sukoon wrap me in warm hugs, 

Being a fuller, more active lover looks good on me

I allowed myself to sleep lightly – without worrying about what wasn’t done today or what still needs to be done tomorrow

This summer, I met myself for the first time in 44 years, 

Finally tasting what it means to be a woman in flesh and blood

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5. Why is Nobody… by

Khyati Parekh

Why is nobody hugging their child 24*7? Literally. Not exaggerating. What exactly is more important? Please very slowly explain to me how. Start over as many times as you need to. I will wait.

Why is nobody holding people’s hands or holding them longer than a handshake or a quick hug? Why is it weird? We all need to and want to be held. Why can’t we? It’s like we are all thirsty and parched and the only way we decide to offer water to each other is with a SPOON. A dessert spoon. And we continue to eat the cake of social media in the hope of quenching that thirst.

Why are we all so fucking stupid?

Why have we lost our brains? Does the soft grey matter really solidify and become sawdust or timber, as we grow older?

Why is nobody hurt about the fact that they’ve become the very people they promised themselves as children, that they’d never become?

Fake.  

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6. Polite Little Girl – No More by

Samira

When my boyfriend woke up and realised I had left, he called me. I told him what had happened. “Should I speak to my father?” he asked. “No. Let it be.” I did not want to be the cause of discord in his family.

My boyfriend forgave his father. The relationship ended. I swallowed my hurt and moved on, like a polite little girl.

When I was thirty-four years old, my daughter was born. I held her in my arms and felt my world change forever. I was no longer a polite little girl. In that moment between sleep deprivation and extreme euphoria, I made a promise – to myself and to my daughter. She would not be a polite little girl.

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7. The Dreams of Matrescence by

Sucheta

I slowly learnt, at least consciously, to accept the hatred that early motherhood comes entangled with. I do not mean hatred of the child, but of the state one finds oneself in. The wreckage of a previous self that in the early days feels alien, false, deceitful, and in such stark contrast to the interminable postpartum purgatory. I want to resist the feeling to balance this sentiment, to say that it also comes wrapped up with love and transformation and unbelievable delight and opening of the heart- because those are expected and acceptable emptions.

It is the hatred that blindsides you.

I now know that the mother-child relationship is one between two people, fused as they are in the early days. Like in any other intimate relationship, one is bound to feel unacceptable feelings. Unlike other relationships, the resolution of these feelings, at least for the mother, cannot come from communicating these feelings to the child.

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8. Momma – Courage by

Savvy Soumya

“Obviously, there were moments when I thought I couldn’t take it any more. I almost got off the train at one of the nondescript stations in Orissa. I just wanted to leave the two of you.” We have laughed about this.

The six months I was at Chandran’s I received letters regularly from dad and mum. When Leela aunty told her I had got highest in some subject, English I think, Ma was a little worried. “I don’t want any pressure on her. I just want her to be in school. Marks don’t matter.” I was in no pressure. I never have been. I realised much later in life that the reason was Ma’s guilt of leaving her child behind.

If all this isn’t courage I don’t know what is. I have never told her this. Maybe I should. But I always tell her she is brave. VERY BRAVE.

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Discover the transformative power of personal writing with Natasha Badhwar

and Raju Tai at Ochre Sky Stories Memoir Workshop.

https://tinyurl.com/OchreSkyWritingCircle