Tropical Summers: Mini essays series (2)

Photo by Sara Kurfeß on Unsplash

It was summer in the capital city of India! Tropical summers driving us languorous are the worst to endure. The sun feels burning close enough here than any other place I have been. It fits the description perfectly — scorching heat, sun shining in full blast, and I wish we could tune it down.

Without air conditioning, you would wake up sweaty, went to bed sweaty, go to the shower sweaty, come out of shower sweaty, and your clothes always wet with your sweat and the pungent odour to accompany you everywhere you are heading to. It is horrible and unpleasant to live in this tropical summer. How many would wish to use this heat to keep them warm in the colder countries, but here the heat is being so cruel to us.

In this heat, even the trees appear defeated. Leaves that should be firm and upward tilting droop, flaccid as an old leaf. The soil is simply arid & dry, to touch. Wonder how the plants stand tall against the sun. It is the usual warmth we have at this time of the year.

Each day the sky is barren with no wind to breeze through. The forest fires are the last thing on my mind, to steal our endless blue for a dull grey and evenings as vermilion hue as the sunsets.

Early one morning, rain fell, calming the boiling lands, large warm drops with stormy winds, lightning & thunder. The soothing petrichor didn't last long, as they struck the hot tarmac, & the hardened soil or were sucked into the dusty mud not leaving a trace.

Winter is still months away. Intermittent rains are the only respite. Already above my head flutters golden brown leaves & trembling virescent hues from the vibrant tall trees. In a few months, those colours would lift my spirit as the harsh warmth goes down & freezing winds come by turning the sky breezy. But, not this insipid tone, fuelling the tree for the winter ahead. This part of the world should never be so arid, muggy, clammy and we can only hope that the late summer will be kinder.


End of mini-essays....watch out for more!


©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved

Bookstores & Night Reading - Mini Essays Series (1)

As I continue to explore my creative side of writing with each passing day. I am now going to explore another method to tap into my creativity. I came across an idea to write mini-essays which I believe will help me find my voice based on the themes I pick and force me to write on hard days & show up to my writing and the commitment I have made. I am sure it will be fun to read as well. Small bursts of writing and exploring deeper into the world we live in. I use them as prompts to think and write a few sentences which I would like to call mini-essays to practice my creative writing. The idea is to build up a collection of snippets & give direction to my writing, as days go by!


To kick start the series, I have chosen two of my favourite topics to dive into:-

Photo by Kenny Luo on Unsplash

 Bookstores

Row after row stands the army of the of neatly lined up books with their spines facing outward. Each grouped into a category and different section arranged in shelf after shelf endlessly. The reader groups varied; kids, young adults with low shelve. Some lined up high which were out of reach without a ladder. Only the smell of books filling the space, with muffled silence and stillness. Bookkeeper at the help desk. A hushed atmosphere often punctured by the occasional talks and distant voices at the billing counter.

Night Reading

I love it when the pleasant breeze blows through the night sky, covering my room with the darkness. The sheer lace curtains over my window, illuminated by moonlight and my bedside lamp lighting the book in my hands. My blanket keeping me warm; I try putting one leg in, one leg out like I always do since I was a kid. I loved reading at night on my bed when the world around me is quiet and I am with my book after finishing all tasks for the day.

In those moments as I lay reading in the bed, turning the pages going into another world coming alive, sleep stops by calling it a day. I then curl into a c-shape, putting off the lamp, in the quiet breezy night, in the deep cloud that was hanging above me. I would move into the sweet slumber passing into exhaustion, accompanied by a sudden jolt as I fall asleep!

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

End of mini-essays....watch out for more! 

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved

Artistic Expression - A Poem

Photo by Tetiana SHYSHKINA on Unsplash

Dabbling of brushes along
colours rather cloak-and-dagger
eyes running across the envisaged surface
dilemma crossing what is the best part
creating experience
Or
the abandoned work of art!

Colours mirroring chaos or tranquillity
in the heart of the artist
is for the viewer to bore
Colours vivid & bold
with all garnished
The stroke of the paint all so perfect
as if each line separates the ocean from the sky!

It is both surprising & stunning
all condensed into a sheet page
an inspiration an idea
a blank page & set of colours
a space to express
to bring out the
hues that are muted
as if burning by millions of years of sun
eyes on the horizon where blue meets blue!

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Buzz in Shower - A Short Story

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

Tuesday. It is another usual day, the same rudimentary routine of waking up, freshening, getting ready and going to work.

Half-awake, I rise from the bed and I step into the shower, toes flinching as they touch the chilled ceramic tiled floor. My mind still in shreds; I am still dreaming. It felt as though I sleepwalked to my bathroom, to splash water on my face, to get myself out of slumber. I am still in my dreams, I could not get the picture out of my mind, the witches & wizards bewitching mankind.

As I make my way with a towel in my hand to the bathroom and splash some water on my face, I decide to take a shower and get it over with. I strip down, wear my shower cap and step turn the knob. I adjust the perfect pressure and temperature, turning the water on high and letting the water beat over my head in steamy rivulets. My eyes still closed, as the heat soaks into my skin, I stand still waiting for the picture in my mind to go away, as I lean against the cool tiles when my legs threaten to buckle. Steam filled the room as I continue to shower on with my loofah and shower gel.

Out of nowhere, I hear a buzzing sound. My eyes open wide. Now, I am wide awake, alert. I scan through the bathroom, to locate the inception. I again hear it. This time it felt as if it were bees meditating while they fly making their way through. I was no longer in slumber, the sound yanked me. Amidst the shower, I had to locate the bee before it finds and stings me. My mind swirls, and I turn off the knob, so the steam clears.

I rip the shower curtain to the sides and I don’t flinch, engrossed in a treasure hunt to find the hidden honey bee. The water continues to cascade down my body, massaging my stiff muscles of back from long hours of sleep.

I crack an eyelid and raise a brow at the same time. I find the bee, after looking for it for good fifteen to twenty minutes. It has flown to reside comfortably on my towel. I try to chase it out of the door but in vain. The bee kept flying within the four walls, as though it didn’t want to escape. It felt trapped perhaps, but little did the bee know, so was I. It flew. It flew all around the tiled walls, threatening me each time. While I kept swaying side to side trying to escape coming in contact. I couldn’t escape out of the door, I was lathered with soap from head to toe.

The bee finally decided to rest. It sat still on the tile opposite to where I stood. I swiftly turn on the knob and set the temperature and perfect pressure for me to wash off the lather and make an escape out of the door.

I finished taking my shower. All along, it did not move at all. As though it was dead or perhaps, it decided to let me finish my shower. I move closer. As I look right at it, I can see it’s large black compound eyes and translucent wings. How strange it would be if we could see as they do, from their tiny vision, split into tiny images, like the images from a shattered broken mirror.

I step out of the steamy room all clammy and glistening with droplets of the sweat of fear with goose pimples on my skin — what a strange shower experience I had had, an adrenaline-filled one, eyes wide awake submerged in fear, pumping me up at the start of my day.

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.

Book Review - Bluest Eyes by Toni Morrison

Title: Bluest Eyes By Toni Morrison
Language: English Toni Morrison
Genre: Self-help/Motivational
Pages: 288
Rating: 5/5

Excerpt: The book has a dark keynote with varied themes. It covers war, torture, child abuse, racism, sexism, incest, misogyny, self-destruction and failed pursuits in life. It depicts how the roots of family and a stable life impact a kid in their making while growing up vis-à-vis from a broken abused family. This book exposes the buried history of hidden racist ideologies of America.

My thoughts: The book has a narrative style bringing to light historic fictional writing, where the hardships brought by the great depression is discussed. If one is interested to learn about the American ideology on the Afro Americans lives at that time, it is a must-read. The writer has subtly drawn the veil off from the hidden tales and experiences of perpetual racism of the coloured people in the US, which is denied often. The female narrative has a strong voice, which makes it sound like feminist writing.

 

©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.