The Wound Teaches You To Heal [#Cherished Blogfest]

Adolescence is a hard time to be alive. In my teen years, I knew at least four people who were convinced they were unloved and unwanted. Reality, for most high-schoolers, is a bubble of depression. If you pick up a newspaper, or even a Chicken Soup, you’ll know what an alarming number of teens commit or attempt suicide.
I also went through bouts of feeling unwanted, and have cried into pillows at night. That behaviour had been unfamiliar to me, but what happened with a friend I once called my “best friend” is what tipped me over the edge of teenage sanity.
For the longest time, she and I had been “Us against the world.” Then she developed a crush on this guy, another classmate. I tried to help out, in the way you help out a crushstruck friend– delivering anonymous notes and all that. Wonder of wonders when the guy reciprocated. I was happy for her, couldn’t be anything less.
But the aforementioned crush had a problem with me. Don’t know why; frankly, never cared either. But it affected our friendship. I don’t know if she did it consciously, but she was “removing” me from her life. Knowing I was no longer wanted, I took a step back. I stopped talking to her. Something petty I did was returning all the presents she had ever given me.  Everyone in class wanted to know what went wrong between us (our friendship was, you could say, famous). There were people discussing rights and wrongs, others (even teachers) trying to bring about reconciliation.
On my birthday that year, she still gave me a present. Of all the presents I received that year, hers was my favourite. It was a snowglobe; inside it, was a clown attempting a somersault. That was the first time I had seen a snowglobe; it fascinated me! I told her she shouldn’t have. She smiled. Attempts to reconcile the two of us were still on, but while she was cordial, her stance on the matter hadn’t altered – it was either him or me.
Looking back now, I don’t regret her ending our friendship. She is married to him now; I am happy for her. I still have the snowglobe – it’s in my mother’s house. I keep it as a reminder – of many things:
  1. Nothing lasts forever. Sometimes friendships end. Even if it has never happened to you, there could be a first time. Cherish the good times.
  2. Unless you come out of the shade, you can’t enjoy the sunshine – I got to know some of my wonderful classmates only after I came out of the shade of our friendship.
  3. Adolescence is a turbulent time. To any and all teens reading this, don’t worry, it’ll get better.
  4. It heals. You move on.
  5. If your crush is dictating who should and who shouldn’t be in your life for them to be in your life, well, if I were you, I’d rethink.
 
 
 
 
 
 

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The Landlady’s Secret

“But I’ve noticed there is an alley parallel to it. Wouldn’t it be more convenient if I used it to get here in the evening?” I asked my new landlady as she gave me directions to the house from my workplace.

There was a shift in the mood. Instantly, the very air in the room became more somber.

“Don’t use that alley. No one does,” the landlady snapped. Her manner did not leave room for any questions. I kept my mouth shut.

Why doesn’t anyone use that alley? To find out, click 200-Word Tuesdays

#200WT themes for July are listed here.

Also linking this post to Three Word Wednesdays


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The Burden Of Sorrow

“It’s hard for me grasp how any mother could be so callous!” the nurses’ quarter was uncharacteristically abuzz with gossip. The woman in Private Room # 301 on the third floor had just been informed her baby, born prematurely at 23 weeks, had died in the incubator.

Mia nodded in acknowledgement of the news.

She drifted off to sleep. No tears. No screams. The paediatrician looked hesitantly at the nurse beside him. The nurse shrugged and walked out of the room. The doctor followed.

———Click here to read the rest of the story——-

This story has been written for 200 Word Tuesdays (#200WT). The themes for June are Indifference and In The Stars

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Is It Serendipity? – Part 1


She sat up in bed, with a sharp, loud intake of breath. Her forehead and nightclothes were drenched in sweat. Her mother rushed into her bedroom and sat beside her, arms comfortingly around her shoulders.
Revathi held her nineteen-year-old daughter and asked, “Was it the same nightmare again?”
She nodded weakly, resting her head on her mother’s shoulders. Revathi glanced helplessly at her husband, who stood mute in the doorway. Mohan wanted to comfort his daughter, but there was nothing he could say or do.

A few months ago, Nisha’s sinusitis had stopped responding to medication and she had developed a sinus polyps. Her doctors advised her to get it removed and after much consideration, Nisha decided to go ahead with the surgery. 

As she waited in the pre-operative room, Dr. Prashant, her ENT specialist approached her bed with another doctor. Both wore scrubs and surgical masks. Dr. Prashant stood on her right, whereas the other doctor stood behind her bed. 
“Hi Nisha. How are you feeling?” Dr. Prashant asked pleasantly.
“Cold,” although frightened and anxious, Nisha only mentioned the temperature of the room.
“I will tell someone to raise the temperature. This is my assistant. He will be with us in the theatre during the surgery. There’s nothing to worry, beta,” Dr. Prashant said. Nisha could not see his smile, but his kind eyes crinkled and she could hear it in his words.
The assistant doctor’s face appeared above her from behind the bed. He pinched the tip of her nose and pulled it back. He let it go and nodded, then said, “Doctor, I think we should use one of those round, hollow ones.”
Dr. Prashant nodded, but said, “We’ll discuss it.”
The statement terrified Nisha. A round, hollow, what? She imagined the worst – a surgical blade of some kind, cutting through her.
That’s when the nightmares started. She kept imagining the assistant removing his mask, revealing a sinister smile and stabbing her face with a round blade. She woke up screaming every time, and simply refused to step into a hospital again for the next few years.
——-I split this story into two parts as I felt it was too long to be posted in its entirety. What do you think is going to happen in the next part? Please let me know in the comments section!——–

12-07-2015: Click here for the final part








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A Rebirth

Indus Woman Writing is a website for Indian women writers to showcase their work. You can submit short stories, poems, recipes, book reviews etc. If you’re a published writer, you can also use their advertising services.

This week, the writing challenge was to use the following words in a short story of 200-400 words:

house, early, light, cold, rain, school,escape, December, hidden, through

In December 1971, East Pakistan became Bangladesh. An Indian military man is killed in the Indo-Pak war – or so, his mother’s instincts tell her. She is secretly glad. Why?

To find out, read my short story, A Rebirth, here. Please leave comments here or on the site.

*As a story that’s published on the IWW site cannot be published anywhere else, I have not included the story in this post.


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Someone Else

I walk through life often feeling
As though I might not be from here
As though this is not the era I must belong to
As though I am perhaps someone else,
Trapped in this body like a genie in a bottle
Swung far away into the sea
By a worried wanderer who was afraid
Of who I might be.
I know not yet my true calling;
Lost, I wander aimlessly,
Like a cloud unsure of whether to rain
Or simply be swept with the forceful wind
Where do I belong, I hopelessly ask
Is it just me who feels this way?

This poem is in response to the #HomoAquarius micropoetry prompt below:


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