Stories that demand to be told | #8

“My dear, you only need the surface of the water to swim. It does not matter whether it is 3 feet or 10 feet, you only need the surface." How did this help me in whatever I do in life?

Ochre Sky Stories

Natasha Badhwar

Raju Tai

, and 5 others

Aug 03, 2024

This is the eighth 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

1. Tamasha by
Nidhi Arora

His visits lit up the whole house. He brought me sticky, leaf-shaped candies. I would climb on to his lap, he would stroke my hair and sing until I fell asleep.

Raat chaanani maen turaan, Mera naal turre parchaavaan, Jinde meriye!
As I take a walk on a moonlit night, shadows walk beside me, dear life.

Behind his back, Mati went around telling everyone that that his voice was not a sound, it was a vibration, that he was a ventriloquist of the soul.

2. What my father taught me about neurodiversity by Vibha Krishnamurthy

The thought that he might be on the autism spectrum has crossed both my mind and his. He feels maybe he’s not autistic because what he’s read doesn’t match what he experiences. But while it doesn’t matter very much to either of us, it does make me think about the fundamental problem with diagnostic categories: they have a cookbook approach that can’t cope with nuances. They tell you what’s wrong with people with autism – the ‘deficits’ in social communication and the ‘restricted’ range of interests. They don’t tell you that my dad is a funny, loving, honest, and smart person who truly doesn’t care what you are wearing or who you are in the social hierarchy. It doesn’t tell you that what I feel when I am with my dad is not ‘tolerance’ or ‘acceptance’ or even filial affection; I simply love hanging out with him.

3. Dastarkhwan-e-Mohabbat; of fasting and feasting by
Farah

My eyes nearly teared up when a guest, Pragya, revealed that she fasted on both Ramzaan and Navratri. There was so much love, camaraderie, and solidarity that it was hard to believe this was the same city beset by trouble. Rukhsar discussed the necessity of building bridges among communities in peaceful times, not as a crisis solution, and Aasima read a dua that was duly translated.

As we laughed, took selfies and enjoyed cups of chai on that terrace, I felt that India was indeed a land of diversity; that we are all one. We might face hurdles, but most of us want to overcome them.

4. Grocery-store nationalism by
Aakshi Magazine

Back in the grocery store, sometimes I feel very conscious of the length of my short dress, or whom I have gone with. I feel eyes on me, he is watching me, he has noticed that today I have not come alone, that I am here with a white boy. This is a product of years of training, of always being aware of who’s watching you when, but also of being watched and judged to the point that you start doing it to yourself. I have a template in my head too. Even when we are in a space where we are free to start from zero, sometimes we hold on tightly to our taught behaviour.

On one of my first visits to this store, I was asked if I am interested in the non-vegetarian section, I knew instantly that he wanted to figure out where I am from and which community I belonged to.

5. Swimming — as a Metaphor for my Life by
Mona Seervai

“I can’t, Mrs. B, how am I going to go into the deep. I am too scared.”

“My dear, to swim, you only need the surface of the water. It does not matter what lies underneath. Whether it is three feet or ten feet, you only need the surface. Come on, let’s go. I will swim alongside you.”

How did this help me in whatever I do in life?

6. "Less Talk, More Swim!" by
Rituparna Ghosh

I reached the bar and turned around to look at him through the curtain of water covering my eyes.

“Catch your breath and we will go back to the shallow end again,” he said as he swam off to meet another young swimmer. Shallow end?? We are in NOT in the shallow end??

I held on to the bar as tightly as I could. I lowered my legs against the wall. My toes didn’t touch anything. I took a deep breath and dunked under the surface. The floor was waayyyyyyy below my legs.

7. Three things by
Prerna

Ultimately, the question that truly mattered was, is this what I want to do for the rest of my life? The Universe and I have been going back and forth on the issue for a while now. This day has been a long time coming.

One day, I hope to look back on these years with a sense of gratitude, thanking the Karmic machinations for plonking me back into my lane, instead of running parallel to it.

8. Cheers! Nani by
Savvy Soumya

Apart from hypochondria, I think a couple of her grandchildren (at least) have inherited her love for food. She absolutely detested any sort of food restrictions. In the last few years, her food at different times of the day looked like a child’s, a teenager, or an adult’s diet but never an octogenarian’s— tea and biscuit, a glass of sattu and a pint of Mango shake (she preferred to have her mango shake in a beer mug). She loved kebabs, chicken curry, and of course soft drinks. Especially, Sprite.

9. A comprehensive list of all the things I’ve cried about since my mother died last year by
Pooja Salvi

Realising I have only one last chance ever at eating something she cooked. A few days before she died, my mother cooked a jar worth of pasta sauce. It’s hot, tangy and delicious. She packed it in a mason jar and stuffed it in the refrigerator. I carried that jar carefully from Bombay to Bangalore. It now sits snugly in a special corner of the fridge. I don't play around with it - I almost never open it and I’ve eaten from it only once. I know I must get to it sooner or later, but it is the last item.
The fucking airlines mandating negative Covid tests before I fly back home for her cremation. So now I have to wait at this busy airport anxiously waiting for last-minute results so I don’t miss the flight home.
Remembering how it poured heavily on the days my parents died.

10. Why you don't see more women working out by
Mahima Vashisht

I am embarrassed to admit that I did not have enough wits about me to tell this man to stick his health advice where the Sun don’t shine. I became the proverbial deer in headlights while he was talking, and left the gym as soon as possible after he walked away.

After that, every time I thought of going to the gym, the idea of running into that ‘normal man’ deterred me. I even began crossing the road if I saw him walking towards me on an evening walk.

And that is the story of why I never went to the gym again.

11. Unintended life lessons from Hindi cinema by
Natasha Badhwar

Sometimes you have to watch the film that the film-maker neglected to make. Maybe they will justify their storytelling by using the excuse of representing reality, maybe they will say they tell stories that audiences demand. When audiences take charge of stories, it really doesn’t matter any more.

I learnt nothing from Tezaab except that a very screechy song that has lyrics as simple as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13… can become a national sensation. Sometimes, when I worry about the resonance and value of my own work, I remember this song and reconcile to my fate as a failed artist who could not sync her rhythm with the pulse of the people.

12. Dear Sleep: Bring me Dreams, Take away my Shame by
Raju Tai

Whenever you came to kiss me, I held up a device between us. You must be tired of my habit of putting you second to everything else. I’ve downloaded apps to track you and induce you. Binaural beats and that gorgeous voice of Michael Sealey. It worked a few times. But perhaps technology is best kept away from my pursuit of you.

Not science though. Science loves you, even when it doesn’t get you completely. Sleep scientists call you ‘mother nature’s best effort yet at immortality’. When you take the throne of my internal kingdom, a staff of self-cleaning and self-healing agents step out with purpose.