Hop, Shop and a Leap - A Short Story

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Endless bills pour in the mailbox, which sits in the driveway, regardless of wind and rain. Claire was fighting the urge to buy a great pair of high red pumps, one last time. Another bill won’t do any harm, she thought. There was this endless need for her to buy things no matter what happens in her life, the sky falls, the rain is pouring or the banks are chasing her to pay the credit card bills.

As the year was coming to an end, she wanted a miracle in her life, that will change her life. She has been waiting for, praying for, some kind of top-down change, but now she knows it won’t happen that way. She was fooling herself all along she thought it will.

“I can’t live like this, not anymore”, she cried out loud, stark naked with her emotions being honest with herself instead of swallowing all the things she said to herself earlier — “I don’t care,” “ It is a great stress buster”, “It is a delight to shop”, party line, the famous ones people got away with.

As the year was closing, when the clock struck at midnight, she dug into her purse, with a pair of scissors, and cuts all the cards- credit card, visa, master, corporate, and whatever that is that allowed her to take credit, which has accumulated over the years of a crazy drive of materialism, right through the middle, cutting it into two halves.

Perhaps there will still be people out there chasing that lifestyle we’ve been groomed for from childhood to crave, accumulate, buy more, that life equals consumption, success equals consumption!

© Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Lost in Reverie

“You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.” ―Robin Williams

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Imagination! 

“Imagine” my cherished word. 

I have always loved imagining things. Even today, I imagine various story outlines or elements and think about how notions could be divergent from the regular.

That place is filled with friendly faces and peaceful charms. The atmosphere is electrifying with positive energy. I am at the verge of laughter by the end of it. All that is needed is “somewhere else” being me. I can reveal my rough edges and still be welcomed with tenderness. There are no tight muscles in my stomach, or no raised eyebrows, no interrogations or reprimanded for being there. No picking on every inflexion or any antics. Please, don’t bother me right now. I am “somewhere else, in my imaginary world".

Imagination for me has always been a fun and engaging activity. Just imagining outside the usual is so rewarding. I see it this way, we get to visualise how things could be different if a given variable changed. I grew up listening and reading a lot of stories, so I always lived a lot in my head imagining  — the stories, the characters and the entire surroundings. The feeling is magical. Over the years, I extended it to my real life.

We all live in a certain way, we have our schedule, we have our patterns. But what if we suddenly decided to change it all at once? What if we made a new choice in life? Move to a new country, change job, or a city, or even our eating habits, changing our chain of events, perhaps exactly how the COVID-19 lockdown has pushed us to our extremes? What if we imagined something different? Something… less limiting perhaps with endless possibilities.

It is usually a random series of event, and thoughts or situation, from any of our senses which crop from any stimuli — reading, talking, watching or just another event. Imagining yourself in the other person’s shoes and dreaming of yourself there.

Our mind is a fertile ground of creativity. Be it from instinct or serendipity, an open brain is alert for new possibilities, a collection of precious new seeds waiting to grow, waiting to be watered and nurtured. Imagination leading to creativity is combining what is in search of truth and discovery. Both call for freedom and a sense of emotional safety, always.

Isn’t it intriguing how we always want to expand our capabilities and challenge ourselves, cutting through all limitations or anything that chains us down? I always sensed a rebel in my heart. Perhaps, it must be our soul, which is separate from the mind, rebelling against limitations. That is why we want to change reality, or imagine different things and dwell in it, living an imaginary, creative life.

Imagination is where you live in your own world
Your desires appear as if living in a fantasy
the ‘you’ whom you want to be
the things you despair to have
Everything you want to have
or everything you don’t want to be

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda - A Short Story

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As she was embraced by the beauty sleep when the sky turned orange at the sunrise, her alarm went off.

She snoozed it, she was not motivated to get out of the bed.

She wanted to sleep longer, like each morning. She managed to get out of the bed. Sam, went straight into the kitchen to boiled the kettle for that morning, already filled to the brim with water and tea leaves, she busied herself getting the cups and teabags ready. Keeping her distracted, she took another quick glance at the clock of the oven only to confirm that time was slowing down, as her stomach knotted up.

Like any other day, Sam had unattended feelings under the surface, mixed with anxiety and nervousness. Of late, she has been feeling the knot in the stomach, not used to the combination, it’s truly odd and melancholy.

Art, her hobby gave her happiness, art takes her up and anxiety about the future brings her down, so in that combination, she simply focuses on boiling the tea, to shake off the feelings.

Today, it was different after all, maybe perhaps even dreading for Sam. She has been waiting for this day, but she felt the pit of her stomach tightly knotted. Perhaps it’s the same for everyone starting anything new, pleasure at gaining forward momentum, and fear blinding change and uncertainty.

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It is a lot of hard work, but worth it, she thought. She could have started any business I knew, but painting was her passion, it always relaxed her and her regular job was a natural choice, for paying the bills, rent, groceries and whatever. She painted and decorated her walls and garage in the fresh colours of the new season each year and accessorize her rooms with accent colours. The 9 to 5 job can be dull, monotonous even, but it resulted in all the motivation she always needed. It’s tough starting out, taking a chance out there, but she felt reassured, in time her reputation will bring in all the success and business she needs.

© Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Book Review - Big Magic By Elizabeth Gilbert

"The universe buries strange jewels deep within us all, and then stands back to see if we can find them"

                                                          

Title: Big Magic By Elizabeth Gilbert
Language: English
Genre: Self-help/Motivational
Pages: 288
Rating: 5/5

Excerpt: Creative Living Beyond Fear

The book encourages readers to pursue their passion, their inner "Magic” to live creatively, which does not necessarily mean pursuing it professionally or exclusively devoted to the career of arts, but living a life that self-motivated to feed the curiosity than by fear of self or others. It could be anything - write or act or paint, start something of your own, this book wants to help you do that. But if you want to take figure skating, or skiing or learn some new skill, this book wants to help you do that too.

Big Magic is divided into 6 sections: Courage, Enchantment, Permission, Persistence, Trust and Divinity.

Each chapter opens up sharing her experiences about how she fights her fear or draws motivation from the universe, and sustains self-belief in keeping the inner spirit alive. Gilbert encourages us to uncover the “hidden jewels” she calls magic within each of us, waiting to be discovered.

My thoughts:

A must-read for readers of all ages and walks of life. I have reread this book at least 4 times completely and many more times in parts too. I have drawn inspiration from this book and it keeps me going. The book digs deep into the consciousness of the reader to inspire one about the perspective of creativity.

Personally, this book will always be the one I will reach out for, each time I find myself in the need to be motivated or look for inspiration in my pursuit of creativity. Reading Elizabeth Gilbert's book Big Magic has never failed to comfort me. I feel happy even if it is one chapter or one section, which I need to remind myself, to follow my muse,i.e. living a creative living.

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Departed - Ties that Bind - A Short Story

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She’s only four years old and unaffected by the death or sorrows. A little innocent joy living free of the worldly worries. But that will soon change, I hate that part of growing up.

“Hey, why are they burying Aunt Gloria? She can’t bake those yummy cookies and cakes in the ground! Stop!” she screams.

The people who weren’t already crying, allowed tears to roll down their grim faces. “Stop it!” She screams, tears trickle down her unusually gloomy face, and she continues whining. She screamed, only once suddenly, a short piercing cry that quickly dwindled, as the body was being wrapped.

Unexpectedly, Mary bends down and hugs Diana. “Diana, she’s going to rest in peace and sleep.” Mary whispers, “Don’t be too loud or you’ll wake her.”

Diana cuddles Mary and wails. She strokes her hair and her back lovingly and gives her an assuring embrace. That just overpowers me. I start shedding tears with no signs of stopping, causing a chain reaction in the small group standing to see Gloria be buried in the ground. Soon everyone who loved Gloria cries uncontrollably. No one is consolable.

Seventy-eight years on the earth and this is what her life amounted to; body lowered into the dark rain-kissed soil, the damp earth was perfect for burying, dark like molasses where all the creepy creatures wriggle their way under the soil, where there was no light, encompassed in a crudely built six by two wooden box. No luxury, no cushioning, no lining, no pretense that this was a place to put the dead, decaying slowly, piece by piece — skin, flesh and bones. The lid was propped against the wall, and a hammer and a box of large iron nails lay at its side on the ground. All that was missing was her festering body waiting to be laid into the baked naked earth locked in a coffin.

As I stood there, they slowly lowered her coffin into the hole dug up in the damp earth, the rain had washed the streets clean last night and nowhere was the wetness more obvious than in the muddy graveyard. The closest relatives take turns with the spade, and others with their hands start covering her inch by inch with the soil around it, to completely be engulfed into the ground, as though she was never a part of our side.

“You will be missed,” I say softly as the coffin was no longer visible under the debris of fine pebble and rocks, and the mud enshrouds it gently and securely like it was it's own.

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Originally published in The Weekly Knob