Storieo

Author: Sanjana Gautam

  • Arbitration over Ambrosia

    Arbitration over Ambrosia

    CC: Conquers of the Great Mount Olympus and the guardians of the three worlds are amongst us today. I would like to convey my heartfelt gratitude towards you for sparing time for us.

    (Hades aside: Not that there is much to do in the underworld)

    CC: So to the three Big Brothers, Zeus, Poseidon and Hades I extend my warm welcome. The men of your kingdom have questions in store for you. Today we will put before you a handful of the questions they have. So here is the first one, this one is for all of you in general , how does it feel like to be the king of three kingdoms?

    Zeus: Power is what I always wanted. It feels powerful and influential. We brothers suffered great injustice from our father, Cronus.

    Poseidon: It is liberating to serve the masses. I feel responsible towards my people and want to be at their service at all times.

    Hades: Umm…the Underworld serves to me as wonderful opportunity to reflect on the wrongs done to me by my brothers. (Looking aside to his brothers) No offense meant bros. But don’t you think, brother Zeus that it is unfair that you get all the pretty maidens and I am left with the dark. I am the eldest born. Mount Olympus was my right.

    Zeus: (Agitated) don’t you talk about “pretty maidens’ when you have no idea how difficult it is to manage them.

    CC: I think we would move on to the next question. So my next question is directed to you Lord Zeus. What does the sky feel like? And how does Queen Hera find it?

    Zeus: Sky is my home and I love it with all my heart. Though sometimes I do find it a little mundane because of its monotonous nature. It is on these occasions I play a little with the weather. Crashing of clouds and playing with light rays is my favorite past time. Though I work up on my aim and shooting skill by striking a lightning. It is really funny when it goes on to strike someone’s ass. (laughs heartily)

    CC: Haha (hesitantly) . Well our next question is to you Lord Poseidon. How do you manage to control all the sea beasts? And we all have just heard about sea monsters do they really exist?

    Poseidon: I love my sea and its inhabitants. I am their lord and they my subjects. But apart from this relationship we share another very special one that is our love for the waters. I relate to them and they respect me. So it’s not that I control them but they just abide by me. About my sea monsters, well all I can say is that some secrets should lay buried in the heart of the oceans. Waves carry messages in languages unknown yet known to the world. Sea monsters are similarly one such mystery of the oceans.

    CC: I am sure you just got all of us more curious about what lies beneath those powerful waves. Thank you so much Lord for your answer. Lord Hades here is my question to you. Why is that you have cut the links with your brothers as well as the rest of the world?

    Hades: After having received the underworld as my share, I trust no one but Cerberus. I cut the links with rest of the world so that I can be in my domain in peace. My helmet of infinity serves me well when I do want to visit the upper world. You see there is not much to do when your wife is away for six months. (Shrugs his shoulders)

    CC: So, here is my last question for the day. Which of the three worlds do you think is the most critical?

    Zeus: Are you seriously asking me that question, girl. Ofcourse it’s the sky and air.

    Poseidon: I think brother you are being a little selfish there it’s the water, my lady.

    Hades: I don’t wish to answer the question. But nevertheless I will put before you a question what do you think will happen to the rest of the three worlds if all of the dead were to remain haunting them there.

    Zeus: (With fierceness) Think before you speak!!

    Poseidon: I am not going to take this!! (draws his sword)

    CC: Peace, my lords, peace. I think this will be the end of this interview. Thanks for reading.

  • Bead Tells A Story

    Bead Tells A Story

    On the table lay the old steam iron. A little rusted on the sides, it stood on its base. The handle was wearing off the pale blue color and was now patchy back. Behind the dilapidated table and a little shabby shop frame was a huge pile of clothes. Tons and tons of clothes. Some were neatly hanging from the old glass showcase, on the plastic green, red, blue, white and pink hangers. Most of them were lying in the cloth sacks made from the household dupattas.

    Amma emerged from the door behind. Round shouldered in a peacock green saree wrapped around her with the finesse and precision of someone who has been doing the same for ages. She had a few grey hairs which had been neglected due to sparse use of hair dye. Her well-oiled hair was neatly tied in a tight bun behind her. Her face showed no signs of aging. Although her round spectacles with ochre yellow frames did enlighten the audience about her old ways and age. Her eyes sparkled with experience but the trail of flowers in her bun also indicated that there is still a little girl inside her.

    She walked unwaveringly towards her workbench, tucked in the pallu of her saree and started ironing the clothes. This was her daily routine from morning seven to night nine. Apart from the one hour break for lunch, she stood there ironing clothes all day. She would pass her time by observing people walking up and down the tiny lane. Some regulars used to wave or give a polite smile as they passed. She had become such an expert at her job that she could do it without looking. Her experienced hands had withstood many burns and few marks still remained.

    Now here begins the real tale, one day a strange women came to the village. She wore beady dresses with frills on the ends. She was laden with silver jewelry and big rings on her fingers. She had an Om tattoo on her wrist which was slightly visible through the gaps between the many bangles that she was wearing. Her name was Meena. The people of the village started various kinds of rumors about her. Some called her a witch practicing dark arts while others thought of her as a runaway from the performing troops. Strange fact about people is that they are repulsive of anything or anyone who looks or behaves remotely different from them; be it animals or other humans. Naturally, Meena did not have any friends in the village.

    She became a regular customer at amma’s. Since, she (Meena) did not have much work of her own she would often hang around amma’s shop. Soon they became good friends. Meena found a special friend in amma. Although, they had a major age difference it seemed as if amma understood her. And it was true the other way round too.

    One day, Meena came to amma with a strange looking stole. It was shiny red color made of velvet. It was adorned with shiny maroon beads on all sides. The beads were huge. Meena told amma to keep it safe with her until she returns. When amma enquired about where and why was she going, all Meena had to say was I will be back soon.

    Days went by and then turned into months. There was no news of Meena. The people of the village were least bothered; for them it was a huge relief. Amma was worried but there was little she could do about it. She went on with her daily routine. The stole lay buried under the huge piles of clothes. One day, when amma was cleaning she found a broken bead from the stole. The bead had a piece of paper folded inside.

    The very next day amma closed her shop and left the village for good. The villagers tried looking for her but had no clue where she had disappeared. As the days went by the villagers thought that the wicked witch, Meena had enchanted poor amma and taken her away to hell. They stopped looking. Years went by; someone took over amma’s shop. While cleaning they found a piece of paper lying on the ground. The following words were scribbled on it,

    “Do not imprison the child inside you that wants to dream. For you have only one life to live and only yourself to love.”

  • A Journey

    A Journey

    “Hurry up, Radha! We will miss the train again”, shouted Amma. Radha and her family were travelling from Lucknow to Bhopal on the Pushpak Express. This was an annual affair. Every year Radha and her family would visit her grandparents in Bhopal. As always, the last minute chaos to catch the train prevailed. Somehow they managed to get to the station with their entire luggage intact. It was an overnight train left Lucknow at around 22:00 hours and reached Bhopal the next day at around 5:00 hours.

    The most relieving sight is when you reach the station late and find the train just entering the platform. They climbed on to the train alright. Having made their beds, they were all ready to call it a day. At the same time from the next compartment they heard loud giggling. It was Neha and her new found train friend Ridhima.  Neha was travelling with her elder brother to her uncle’s wedding in Vidisha on the other hand Ridhima was travelling with her mother to meet her father who worked in Jhansi. They got talking in the train and now were chatting like two friends who have known each other for eternity now. They talked about school, friends and family. They exchanged their numbers.

    Also, as it was a late night train not many people were eating .Train journeys are known for the scenic view outside but here there wasn’t any as they were travelling at night. This also meant more human interaction. So, when the below mentioned incident took place everyone’s attention was on the person. It had been a while since the train had started, and the TT had arrived. In his deep baritone he asked for the tickets. Soon a person travelling without ticket was discovered. He tried to bribe the TT. “Never in the history of my fifty years to train travel have I met an honest TT. This time, however, appears to be different”, the old grand ma in the compartment exclaimed. Surely it was different. The TT was stern with the man at fault and scolded him for offering him bribe. The defaulter had to get down at the next station.

    A girl sat on the side berth timidly. It was her first vacation after joining college. It was also her first trip alone in a train. She felt quite scared after hearing many stories about what happens to girls who travel alone in trains. At the same time she was really excited to meet her family. She had come to Lucknow to study at IIM. Her name was Sara. However scary this journey also gave her a sense of independence,

    In the next bogey, one could hear the soft whispers of aunties playing a game of cards. Soft whispers couldn’t diminish the excitement of their glittering eyes. They had forgotten about the time and were totally consumed in the game.

    Next bogey had a clutter boisterous of students. It was their recreational-cum-educational trip to Sanchi. Without a doubt they all were more than excited. A group girls was playing Antakshri. Few boys were running through the aisles. Others were playing hand-cricket and such other games. In this noisy bogey sat an author who in spite of the commotion was deeply engrossed in his writing. This writing ironically had been inspired by these very kids. After looking at this bunch, he started thinking about his own days as a student and started writing about them. In the bogey next door were few senior citizens who were also travelling to Sanchi to visit the stupas.

    Divided by coaches such as Sleeper Class, AC Three tier, AC Two tier and AC One tier, but united with the common zest of travelling were the five hundred travelers. Indian railway is the most extensive railway line in the world. It has the highest number of employees and customers. Millions and millions of dreams have been fulfilled and lived because of these trains. It’s a necessity for some and an adventure for others. But whatever the case be they have become an integral part of our lives.

    The next day, Neha woke up only to find Ridhima gone. Her hand was still hanging in mid-air as they both have climbed to the upper berth and held hands before sleeping. The students had not slept at all but were now tired. Radha’s family was getting ready to get down as Vidisha was approaching and Bhopal would be here soon. It turns out the aunties had finally decided to sleep for some time and now were getting up. The author was done with his articles. Sara made it to Bhopal and felt a sense of relief.

    However, she couldn’t sleep all night. As the station approached Radha and her brother began with their regular competition about who will spot grandpa first.

    Everyone got off the train at Bhopal as it was the last station. Everybody went their own way. Everyone would soon get engrossed in their daily lives and would soon forget about the night in the train. Yet forthis one day a five hundred people shared a train journey.

    Few years past, Radha still looks forward to her annual trips to Bhopal. Neha and Ridhima went on to be great friends and now were roommates in Mumbai. And yes, it all began in the train journey. The ladies had enjoyed their life’s sole trip by themselves and still cherish every minute of it. The students also on the other hand lived one the best memories of their school lives. Sara went on to make many more lone journeys by train. The author went on to receive great acclaim for his wonderful description of childhood.

    Now, we realize that this journey was not just a journey it was a day well-lived in the lives of so many people. The train acted as a catalyst in creating memorable times for people. Common people travelling in a common train each with their own uncommon stories.

  • Blind Colors

    Blind Colors

    A farmer stood in the middle of his field at noon. The farmer bent down and felt the shoots of green wheat. A proud but crooked looking smile appeared on his face. He walked over to the scarecrow. It had no face just hay stacked in farmer’s old olive green shirt with the stick to pin it to the ground. It looked nothing like a scarecrow. But nevertheless it worked on crows. The farmer straightened it and poked in the hay. He moved out of the field to where the bullock cart was near the open water tank. He struggled to climb on the bullock cart. He stuck the bullocks who by now knew what each misplaced stroke of the whip meant. He hurried home with a content heart.

    In a primary school a class was reciting the varnamala. The students sat at their desks in neat rows. The walls of the classroom were covered with posters: a map of India, English alphabets with pictures of apples, mangoes, cherries, tomatoes, potatoes. In the front of the room, a white board had the pale scribbles from the last day’s lesson. The teacher peered up from the book, ‘A Child’s World’ and appeared to be pleased with the class effort. That lesson concluded, he walked around the class. He asked a student, “Recite the lesson that you learned yesterday. The boy stumbled as he took the support of the table to stand up. In a shaky voice he replied, “Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was red as snow.”

    It was the time of dusk. An elderly couple sat on the porch enjoying their evening tea. The husband stretched his left hand in search of his wife’s and grasped it. The old lady smiled and blushed. The man then climbed out of his chair, took measured steps to the flower bed which had overgrown and now extended onto the porch. He reached for the flowers. Slowly and carefully he examined each one, feeling every petal and trying to take in the smell of each. He then carefully picked one flower. He rose and offered it to his wife. “Ah! A red rose! My favorite.” She tucked the yellow rose into her bun.

    It was rush-hour in the far off city. The hustle and bustle of the vendors sounds of steady footsteps of the shoppers and Bollywood blockbusters being played in the pubs could be heard. There were street carts, some selling little trinkets while others selling chaats. There were all kinds of shops around like hardware, electronics, clothes, utensils, bookstore and many more. The electronics store had on display a number of TV sets. India vs Pakistan T-20 was being aired on all of them. A boy in rags was standing outside the electronics stores with an aluminum bowl to his left. He stood there listening to the match commentary. He cheered loudly as Yuvraj hit a six. The shopkeeper came out patted him on his head and said, “I know you are enjoying but keep it a little low.” His stomach grumbled. Today had been a lousy day. He heard clanking of heels. His face lighted up at the tinkling of a coin.

    On the other street, a man got into his black Audi. He asked his driver to drive him to his home. His driver asked, “Sir, it’s going to rain today. I can see the grey clouds gathering. Can I please go home early?” The man replied, “Yes, I feel the advent of rain in the air.”

    A little girl was dancing around in a dress far too big for her, covered in pink flowers. She turned this way and that way, looking at herself in the mirror. She climbed on the stool of the dressing table. As she took the support of the lotion bottle lying on the top shelf, it toppled. Although she managed to balance herself, the bottle of lotion fell down. It hit the ground with a loud ‘thud’. Her mother shouted from the other side of the room, “What did you do this time, Dolly?” Mother came in and walked right on the spilled lotion and was about to slip as one of her hand caught on the dressing table and the other was caught by Dolly. “Did you spill the lotion?” asked mother in a stern tone. Dolly fiddled with her dress and looked down sheepishly. After a little thinking, she pulled onto her mother’s saree and said, “How do I look in this dress, Mama?” Her mother broke into a little chuckle. She knelt down, caressed her hair and said, “It looks beautiful on you, my child.” A faint smile appeared on the mother’s face. It lingered before disappearing into darkness of her life.