Stories that demand to be told | #55
The need to grow roots isn’t unique to me, it is universal. The bird seeks to return to their nest. Their voice listens to the calm of dawn. They want to take flight, with a placid heart.
Welcome to Ochre Sky Stories, a home for writers from the workshops and courses facilitated by
and .This is the 55th edition of Stories that demand to be told, a curated spread of the most evocative, resonant, real stories.
1. Acts of Courage ~ by
And so, it came to pass that at 28, she became a full-time stand-up artiste. Specialising in observational comedy and roasts. When she was not saying absolutely the most wicked things about other human beings, she was busy making scathing observations of the society around her.
It is back breaking work. To observe constantly. To think funny. To write persistently. To time your punchlines. To practice your delivery.
To be vulnerable. Daily.
2. Can we talk? ~ by
Here’s what I have learnt - we don’t need to talk to so much. We don’t need to talk to a lot of people. A conversation is a privilege. It is an opportunity for something to transform within us in the presence of another. We can be intentional about it when we choose to engage in it.
3. We like to push each other… ~ by
Before raising the toast, I would remind myself that I am a feminist, a good friend to the groom, a teacher but also a mere guest at a wedding party where two families with complex histories have come together. I would tell, the bride and groom, that life outside is full of competition and one-upmanship. One is always competing with someone else- for a job, for some limelight, for space, a seat, a piece of cake or the last word. Everywhere, one is met with an exhausting struggle for domination. But that struggle should end the minute one comes home to a spouse or partner. In the presence of your partner the only thing you should be able to do is rest, relax and let go.
4. A Boy called Alam ~ by
He cursed his brain for being so stubborn. Papa took his belt off and closed the door. Outside the room, Mummy and Alam’s sisters cried.
The belt didn’t help. Alam’s brain remained naughty. Fortunately, Alam never had any more episodes with the belt, since he soon developed allergies and respiratory problems. His parents didn’t want his health deteriorating any further, so they abstained from corporal punishment and settled for taunts and scolding. His brain still didn’t budge.
5. LOST & FOUND : a generous Love Story ~ by
We did not know Tookie’s antecedents; we had no clue of her parentage; she was fresh off the boat as it were- we learnt to know and love her raw, as she acquainted herself with her human parents in the ensuing months. The story took shape, gently.
6. Seeking Serenity Amidst Stationery ~ by
I allowed myself to be guided by how it felt to write with the pen: was it comfortable to hold; was the grip easy enough; did it make a smooth line; did the ink bleed through the page? I had such a great time playing with rainbow-coloured roller gels, liquid gel inks, roller ball pens... Like a puppy without a leash, my stationery-nerdy self had a field day.
7. Less afraid of being left out ~ by
Writing consistently with a cohort and community has made me calm, sorted, quieter, grounded … what is the way to “thama hua” in English? थमा हुआ
I no longer play-act hyperactivity in my friendships. I move slower, surer. I am less afraid of being left out. The phantom stench of the fear of not being accepted does not linger around my shoulders. I have less body ache, my skin is better.
Surprisingly, this can be an inconvenience in some spaces. Some old friends and cousins of childhood seem uncomfortable with this quieter me. At the same time, we recognise each other differently now.
The need to grow roots isn’t unique to me, it is universal. The bird seeks to return to their nest. Their voice listens to the calm of dawn. They want to take flight, to hop and to stop with a placid heart.
8. I Wasn’t a Nature Lover. Until I Saw It Through My Mother’s Eyes
~ by
My mother’s childhood was spent in various railway towns. Her father shovelled coal into railway engines. Later, he became a train driver. She fondly spoke of the jamun and guava trees she grew up with. The pet dog she once had and how her death had affected her brothers.
We lived in the city. We never had a pet. Except rats. Plump ones. Aai, juggling a full-time job with family duties, had no time to hunt and kill mice. Even after taking early retirement and moving to a village with my father, she stayed lenient. When one of them jumped on me, she'd playfully mimic: ‘Arey it is happy you are home! Raju Tai aali Raju Tai aali’ - ‘Raju sister is here,’ as if the rat was my sibling.
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Love you, Parool
Thank you Natasha and Raju. ❤️🤗