Stories that demand to be told | #51
"I dream of creative re-civilization, where we respect each other’s speeds and desires, because we want our own speeds and desires to be respected."
Welcome to Ochre Sky Stories, a home for writers from the Ochre Sky Workshops, facilitated by
and .This is the 51st edition of Stories that demand to be told, a curated spread of the most evocative, resonant, real stories.

1. A person who helps/empowers can also take me for granted/disempower. How do I create my own power? What is the limit of gratitude? ~ by
There is no limit to gratitude. But there is a limit to giving back. You give what you have. Everyone gives what they have. From what is theirs at a particular moment. Don’t give based on what you have taken. That is not how giving works. Each person’s capacity to give depends on how much they have and what they are supposed to give is what they don’t need. We give from what is surplus.
But of course, this simple mathematics is hard for us humans to understand. We want to create chaos. Confusion. Chains. Obligation. Hierarchy. We want more than we need. We give more than we have.
2. Funerals and Little Flower Collectors ~ by
The last time death came very close was when my ex-husband’s father suddenly passed. We were from different religious and cultural backgrounds. As we packed to rush home, he was puzzled to find me reaching for the camera. I was on autopilot, the conditioning from my childhood kicking in —‘how to be useful.’
We came home to Papa, stretched out on the floor in white. Amidst my own tears, I sat on the floor and took pictures while he held his mother. I have never looked back at those funeral photographs from my childhood; why then was I performing this hideous role no one had asked for? I didn’t know what else to do.
The flowers were already there, the loss was permanent, and regrets and missed opportunities were beginning to string themselves together—there were no mittams and thottams to be lost in. To ma’s credit, she just let her weird new child be. She always did.
For any of you facing loss. I hope you find gardens to get lost in. To gather flowers to decorate your grief. Don’t carry a camera though. That’s just a strange thing we did.
3. What's In A Name? ~ by
Mrs. Kapoor pronounced my mother was mistaken about the meaning of my name.
The shock and horror! How could Mom be wrong about something as important as the meaning of my name? The tragic betrayal that I could no longer eponymously be the one with beauteous eyes!
So, what did my name mean then? Mrs. Kapoor beamed at me and said it was “a superlative of pleasant, or charming” in Sanskrit, pulling out a large digest and running a beautifully manicured finger through all the words with the prefix ‘Su’ till she paused at “Su-Ranjana”. It was from her that I learned the term “apne naam ko sarthak karna”. Live in a manner where you embody the meaning of your name.
4. Showing Up and Flying: Finding Meaning in Small Victories ~ by
I cried like I never had watching a movie.
Spoiler alert: The protagonist sees himself flying on the screen, soaring above the world, leaving everything behind. It’s both a happy and sad feeling. What a way to go. Maybe it’s the way to go.
It feels triumphant in the most unobtrusive way with all the heart, pathos, and vulnerability. Like passing quietly, with satisfaction. Like retiring after a decent effort—not greatness, but enough. May be not a monumental achievement that is in everyone’s face but just the quiet pride of having tried, of having played your part. That, somehow, feels enough.
The feeling surprised me. Tears of joy, not sadness. A resilience born from success—not winning, but not failing to show up. Simply being there.
These good feelings often come without warning. Like green leaves sprouting on a plant you thought was lost—watered only out of habit, not hope. And yet, life surprises you with small moments of growth and joy.
5. Nothing nothing nothing at all ~ by
I have had to teach myself to treat my creative ideas like baby birds in a nest: with gentleness, warmth and the cover of darkness in the beginning. Then, a few good kicks in the rear that help the ideas fly to more interesting places, greater heights, and lower depths. This is a very new space for me to move in — belief in one's ideas and the responsibility and respect to see them through is very new. So I treat it with much deliberation.
Ideas can be big and loud and blustering. They can smash through a conversation, rise up from the waves of inner thought like a sea monster, or have a crash landing at a fancy dinner party — ideas don’t wait for the perfect occasion to come calling. They just arrive. And you must meet them, slap them on their backs, and say “why HELLO I’m so happy you came! Now let’s get on with it” And you should leave what you were doing, because ideas don’t stay for very long, so you need to make them comfortable.
Sometimes they’re so quiet you don’t even hear them enter a room, or even enter your life.
6. Suitcase ~ by
We were giggling at our own deviousness when she appeared, a little out of breath, guavas wrapped in her dupatta. There must’ve been ten or twelve. We reined ourselves quiet. I stole glances at Sapna and Neha, wondering how much of our drivel she’d heard. Their lips were pursed tight, their poker faces too poker, showing more than concealing, making a show of concealing. I went over what we’d said in my head and reassured myself that we hadn’t said anything too damning. At least I hadn’t. Sapna shifted back to the middle seat.
“Sit, sit,” Nandini said. “A boy was crying outside our compartment. Hadn’t sold enough. I bought all of it. For us.”
“Mother of kindness,” Sapna said. “How much did you pay?”
She flicked the question away when she saw our chais on the side table. “You did the same.” She offered the guavas to passengers in the next cabin.
She sat opposite us, between Neha and Puja. Her dupatta smelled of sweet guavas and pungent black salt.
7. You are not the fish, you be the lake ~ by
8. Personal triumph in social mayhem ~ by
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Thank you, Natasha and Raju! 🤗❤️