Wednesday, 16 April 2014

Day 14: Negligent

This year's theme is a story divided among 26 posts. Fear not though, these can also be read as stand alone pieces of flash/poetry.

 
I wonder whether it is possible to be negligent and not at the same time. I feel I'm that. Meticulous and negligent. My nails are timmed. My hair smells like lavender. I'm chewing mint. I'm going crazy. I'm going to break down. I miss her.
27.04.2014
It's dawn.
It's dusk.
Its all the same...
~M

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Tuesday, 15 April 2014

Day 13: Maryam

This year's theme is story divided among 26 posts. Fear not though, these can also be read as stand alone pieces of flash/poetry.



I sneak a peak into her journal. Just to see how different it is from mine. I'm shocked. Its pages are devoid of words. Instead they are full of pictures. All our escapades sketched in black. Not even a word written. Just sketches. And those too, drawn in exact detail. The little girl with the ponytail. The chocolate wrapper I threw on the street. Right down to the clothes we were wearing. An exact replica. I flip the pages slowly, the memory of each day burning into my mind. The pages turn faster as I near the end until all I can see through my teary eyes is black blotches. The tears snake down my cheeks. I close the diary and weep.

16.04.2014
Its not that hard after all,
to say goodbye.
M
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Monday, 14 April 2014

Day 12: Loss

 This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.


14.04.1014
And if it is pain as intense
as a dagger tearing away at my insides
that propels me to compose
then I do not seek to be a poet...
M
 
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Sunday, 13 April 2014

Day 10 & 11 (not giving up so quick)

So, I almost gave up. Missed two days because I couldn't find the time to write. But here I am, back again, with two letters in one post. Here goes:

 Jaded:
I'm the only person that knows she's missing. Other people believe the "note" she left, talking about how she has to "find" herself again and needs some time alone. I'm the only person who is looking for her. It's been two weeks since the media labelled her a psychopath. Her parents have accepted that she ran away. I have not. I will find her. I just hope its not too late.

24.04.2014
I lurked around Mr. Raj's house today and almost got caught trying to sneak a look through the window. The man gives me the creeps. But no sign of her. I'm worn out but I won't give up. I'll try his other apartment tomorrow. I will find you Maryam.
   ~M

 
Killed
Something shrill is hell bent on depriving me of sleep. I realize its the phone and it has been ringing for the past five minutes. I groan as I "slide to answer".
"Hello?"
"It's Maryam." The voice at the other end-who I recognize to be a friend says. I jolt up.
"Where is she? Is she okay?" I scream.
"I think you should come to the police station. Please hurry." 
My head is a jumble of thoughts. What did she do? I don't remember rushing out of the hostel at five in the morning, don't remember how I reached the police station, don't remember getting drenched in the storm. The only thing I remember is seeing her parents there, crying against the wall, and my friend whispering those three awful words. She's no more.

25.04.2014
They say she jumped off a bridge. They say she didn't eat her 'medicines' on time. They say she was unwell. I...
~M  

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Also sorry for not getting back for the past two days. Have been awfully busy with college, tests, assignments, life in general. I'd definitely be seeing more of you guys this week!
 

Thursday, 10 April 2014

Day 9: Innocence

This year's theme is a story divided among 26 posts. Fear not though, these can be read as stand alone pieces of flash/poetry.

10.4.2014
Maryam isn't backing down. She says she fights for the lost innocence, for the plight of those who won't speak. She doesn't say this to me of course. Still not talking. She wouldn't see reason. But I still wrote her this. 

Innocence
The eyes that were once,
brighter than a thousand suns
lie overcast today
witnesses of apathy
of life's slow decay
The lips that were once,
Forever twisted in an intoxicating grin,
lie sober today
Mute voices of hatred 
Of being cast-aways 

Minds polluted
Their cherubic souls tainted 
Robbed of their innocence
A precious few rise from the rubble, dauntless,
The unfortunate others 
suffer in silence...

I'll try and talk to her again. 
~M

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Wednesday, 9 April 2014

Day 8: Help denied

This year's theme is a story divided among 26 posts. Fear not though, the stories can be read as stand alone pieces of flash/poetry.



The number belongs to a Mr. Raj. The very, rich, well-connected man that I had feared. Within minutes our child witness confesses to being bribed my Maryam to lie and the 'breaking news' changes.
"Young activist mentally ill." Scream the headlines along with a statement by a psychiatrist who claims to be treating her. And just like that both our worlds, mine and hers, begin to shatter.
"It's a lie M! They are making things up. I do visit the doctor once in a while but its nothing serious. And they must have held the poor kid under duress, forced him to change his statement!" Maryam says with tears in her eyes. "You have got to help me M. Please."
I know the smart thing to do is quietly back down. You don't mess with the powerful in this country. I try to explain that to her.
"He'll ruin you M. Be practical. This is not our fight. You have to think about-"
She silences me with a glare. Her eyes flash with betrayal.
"Maryam, listen to me..." I say.
"No. You're right. This isn't your fight. But it is mine." She turns around and stomps off. I almost yell at her to stop. But I know she would never listen to the voice of reason.

9.04.2014
No.
~M 

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Tuesday, 8 April 2014

Day 7: Guilty

This year's theme is a story divided among 26 posts. Fear not though,the  entries can be read as stand alone pieces of flash/poetry.

DL 08 AA 1000 
The number that changed everything; that catapulted her from anonymous do-gooder to a full-blown activist. She didn't hide behind the garb of 'confidential sources' whilst declaring to the world the identity of the 'child killer' as he was dubbed. No. Sweet, innocent and ferociously determined Maryam gave her statement on national television. 
Her phone is engaged when I call. But her face is splashed all across TV along with the eight year old boy who is the only witness of the killings. I can't help but shiver at the thought of all the unwanted attention she is attracting. 
We still don't know who the car belongs to. Here's to hoping that it isn't some 'rich, spoilt brat' as Maryam so eloquently puts it. 

Crazy. This is insane. You shouldn't have interfered Maryam.
In a country where the law is literally blind,
It's foolish to think justice will always prevail...
~M
Intrigued? You can read the story until now by clicking on M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon.
P.S. I'm travelling today so today's post is picture-less and unedited. Sorry for grammatical errors if any!

Monday, 7 April 2014

Day 6: Fate


  This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.

 

"It could have been us, if we were born to a different set of parents.” Maryam breaks the silence suddenly. We sat in the college library, she reading “The End of Poverty” and I doodling aimlessly.
“Maryam, I can't believe you are still thinking about the accident! You do realise that the person who did that would never get caught! There is no proof.” I say. Her lips twitch and I can see the smile that she suppresses, very clearly in her eyes.
“Maybe someone will.” She whispers.
“What-” but the bell rings and she hurries off to our class.
7.04.2014
What are you hiding Maryam?
~M

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Saturday, 5 April 2014

Day 5: Elite

This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.

 




“I know it's some rich, spoiled brat.” Maryam says, unable to control her anger over the accident that took the lives of five innocent, homeless kids. I try to tell her that things like these are commonplace in our country. She fumes and mutters all the way to the flyover, under which the accident happened and under which we were going looking for stories for our assignment.

6.04.2014
The group of kids that greets us here is different. They are quiet, the deaths of their peers still hanging about in the air. They don't ask us for money. They don't rush towards us. They sit silently in groups and watch us; a dozen glassy eyes weighing our every movement. Attempts at conversation are met with a frosty silence. Attempts to bribe the story out of them are met with glares. Soon enough Maryam realizes the fruitlessness of it all and suggests we return.
Halfway back, she remembers something and tells me to wait while she rushes back. Fifteen minutes later she comes running, slightly out of breath.
Let's go.”
Day 2, wasted.
~M 
 Intrigued? You can read the story till now by clicking M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon.

Friday, 4 April 2014

Day 4: Death

This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.
 



"Freak accident kills five kids"
Delhi, 4 April: A car ran over five homeless kids who were sleeping on the footpath yesterday. There is no clue yet of the culprit though the police...



 
4.04.2014
For abducted, run away, disowned kids who find themselves on harsh, unforgiving Indian streets.
Hit us, use us, make us cry,
What are we but expendable low-lives?
Abduct, incapacitate, make us beg,
Till even our tears are no more ours to shed...
  
Parade us in dingy streets,
in alleys where even shadows weep,
Exploit us, fear not the sleeping law,
For we are but voiceless kids.
~M
 Intrigued? You can read the story till now by clicking on M's tab up over there. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon.

Thursday, 3 April 2014

Day 3: Children


This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.



 
Their eyes regard us with open scrutiny. They notice the blue handbag I'm carrying and I can see how they start to gauge the amount of money they can get off of me. Maryam on the other hand, is already beckoning them forward.
I have got chocolates.” She says drawing out a packet bursting with candy. They rush to us; a pack of hungry street kids, a genuine smile spread across their faces.
So here's the deal.” I say before Maryam sabotages the entire operation by giving the candies for free. “You tell us your story and we'll give you candies.” Maryam frowns and withdraws the treats. A hush instantly descends on our ravenous little crowd.
Police me ho? Are you with the police?” Is the first question that they ask. We assure them that we aren't. Five minutes of convincing and a few more candy bars and we get our first story, well sort of.

3.04.2014
Day 1
Her name is Kiran. Flaky brown hair cascade her face and she plays nervously with the ends of her skirt as she talks. Her voice comes in suspicious whispers but the candy is too alluring. She hasn't eaten anything since morning.
Her story? She was five when her drunk father lashed out at her. She ran away. She is seven now and she works... She stops suddenly. “Can I have the candy now?” She asks. Maryam of course gives it to her. She hurries off, followed by the rest of the gang, all interest in chocolates and treats suddenly vaporizing in thin air. It's strange. But the work for the day is thankfully done.
~M

Intrigued? You can read the story till now by clicking on M's tab above. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon. 

Wednesday, 2 April 2014

Day 2: Befriended


This year's theme is a story divided amongst 26 posts. Fear not though, the pieces can also be read as stand along flash/poetry.




“So, let's go to the metro station today,” Maryam speaks as if continuing a previous conversation, “we'll start close then spread out.” I am starting to like her already. For one thing she didn't start by talking about a random new shade of lip gloss.
“Yeah, but what are we working on exactly?” I ask.
“Oh didn't I tell you? Street kids of course.” And with this she starts speaking at length about the atrocities bestowed upon children, the cruelty, the injustice of it all, pausing only to tuck her hair back in her headscarf. I'm awed. How quickly her demeanour changes from bubbly teen to ferocious activist.
“Ok, ok calm down. I get you.” I say interrupting her. She stops immediately and looks abashed.
“I'm sorry, I get all excited when I talk about these things. If you want we can talk about other things like shoes and...lip gloss.”
That is when I know we'll be friends. That is also when I burst out laughing effectively disconcerting everyone in a five mile radius. That is also when we make our first mistake.

2.04.2014

Regular updates? Nah. 

Intrigued? You can read the story till now here. Drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog and I'll visit you soon.

P.S. Visit M's tab on top to read more about her story

Tuesday, 1 April 2014

Day 1:About M


It has officially started. The great A-Z blogging challenge. I'm writing a story this year. To read what it is about hop over to this post. 


Photo by Sania Heba, 
(Please do not use)


 01.04.2014
This shall not be a diary. Some crazed girl's list of crushes and secrets. The pages of this notebook are sacred, not to be insulted by chronicling the mundane routine of a mediocre college student. Or so the professor says. Well his words per se were something akin to 'take this assignment seriously' but I have taught myself to read between the lines.
The first task of the said assignment is working on introductions. My partner, Maryam, is already unleashing her inner writer. Furiously scribbling down the best introduction ever, apparently. I know the probability of these assignments getting checked is somewhere around minus five so I'll just save my already-overused brain from the tiring task of thinking up adjectives and synonyms to describe myself. I always end up picking the cliches: reader, writer, thinker, socially-inept cheese eater. Speaking about me is difficult, so let's talk about the assignment. Because seven hours of gruelling classes were not gruelling enough, the professors have devised yet another mode of torture. In the name of bringing us out of our 'shells' (by which I assume they mean smart phones) we are to do actual field work. Go to places and work on a specific social problem. The findings would be reported in this...err...diary/journal/spiral notebook with a grey cover. Of course mine would be filled with all sorts of random stuff which will never see the light of the day. That said I should get going. The class is almost over.


New beginnings

Don't pause until the end is in sight

Intrigued? Come back again tomorrow for more! Also drop a comment and tell me what you think. Leave a link to your blog in the comments as well and I'll hop over soon.
P.S. Visit M's tab on top to read a prequel! 
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