Black, White Noise, Dust & Onion · Namrata

Larger Than Life by Namrata

deccanwritingclubLeave a comment

The topic of this month was to write something utilizing at least 3 of the following words: White Noise, Black, Dust, Onion.
Smile through the pain they said. Un-clench your teeth and loosen your jaw.
They said, through wide smiles carved by the incisors of ‘ideal behaviour’.

Blink away the tears love, lest they pour out of your overflowing eyes in jagged streams,
Lest they create a scene and shame us.
Come on now lad, the glossy sheen in your eyes better be from dreaming about that girl you admire,
and not from tears shaped by weakness and fragility.

Wipe away the tears darling. Don’t you see how they mar your face.
You are, after all, a porcelain doll, an aesthetic display of beauty
and the cracks across your face remind us you are human.
And we can’t have that.
Don’t slump your shoulder and sulk about son,it’s not fitting for a young man.
Shove all those thoughts that plague your mind and heart
deep into the recesses of your being.

As though it were just white noise,
faded and irrelevant.

So I did it.
I gritted my teeth and swallowed my emotions.
The flames of despair licked away at my rib cage, almost reaching my heart,
but never quite touching it.
I fluttered like a butterfly in erratic motions,
just to hide my slowly-freezing, vapid emotions.
My tears backed up from my cheeks,
into my eyes and finally pooled into a growing pit of despair.
They meandered inwards, burning whatever they touched upon,
as though it were acid.
The wails I swallowed, broke through the rib cage and shot through my heart,
creating a bottomless black hole, sucking in every bit of color I had in me.

I was now a limp creature held up by the strings of approval,
that I lost my heart and soul to.
My eyes screamed one last time before my insides crumbled into dust.
But not my face.
No.
My face, was still lit with a smile
larger than life.

Black, White Noise, Dust & Onion · Divya

Sandman by Divya

deccanwritingclubLeave a comment

The topic of this month was to write something utilizing at least 3 of the following words: White Noise, Black, Dust, Onion.

He watched her from his bedroom window,
On the heap of sand,
Clouds of dust rose towards the sky,
As she kicked and clapped her hands.

He watched her get up to her feet,
And disappear out of sight,
She was back with two buckets, moments later,
Leaning heavily towards her right.

He watched her clamber up the heap,
Her movements hardly deft,
Water splashed out with every step,
She was now leaning towards the left.

He watched her work with the sand,
Taming the grains to stay in place,
She worked with the water, squeezing the sand tightly,
Her features scrunched up on her face.

He watched her thoughts take concrete shape,
And what stood were scarcely spheres,
For Sand is stubborn and what stood instead
Were three carefully sculpted tiers.

He watched her reach into bucket two,
And pull out paraphernalia odd,
Drumsticks, a kitchen cloth, toothpicks, an onion,
Families of peas in their pods.

He watched her creation come to life,
Drumsticks became arms, the onion- a nose,
The kitchen cloth- a makeshift vest,
Pea pods- a smile, the peas- eyes and toes.

He watched her watch in fascination,
Her snowman made of sand,
He watched her love her Sandman,
Till the sun dipped below the land.

He watched her disappear from his view,
He watched the Sandman crumble dry,
He watched the sky turn dim to black,
The next morning, he watched her cry.

Black, White Noise, Dust & Onion · Naina

Human by Naina

deccanwritingclubLeave a comment

The topic of this month was to write something utilizing at least 3 of the following words: White Noise, Black, Dust, Onion.

 

When I was younger, I asked my father:
Why are we so human?
Now I sit here, alone in my corner,
And think about all that I’ve been thinking,
And all I hear is the white noise
That’s been here for quite a while,
In my head, in a friend’s ‘guise-
But isn’t that what we all want?
A friend, our ‘against all odds’.
Why are we human and filled with hate?
Love is the only thing that makes us great.
The songs make sense, you know,
And they fill you with black bile,
But you embrace the feeling,
Because you familiarize.
That’s all we need, you know,
A sense of familiarity and comfort,
That someone has been here and grown,
Someone who’s loved and knows
What it is to not be loved back.
Are we human, or are we dancers?
’cause I can dance and play the part,
And be anything you want,
Even though that’s not my heart.
I have read all about magic,
And how we can be anything we want.
Love is magic no matter what they say,
It is as human as human gets.
I just hope you love someone that’s fair;
It can be anybody, you know,
Maybe, even yourself,
‘Cause no matter what they say,
You are star dust,
You really are.
When I was younger, I asked my father:
Why are we so human?
Now that I’m older,
I think I’ve figured it out.
Or maybe that’s what I’d like to think.
Black, White Noise, Dust & Onion · Suha

Food Magician by Suha

deccanwritingclubLeave a comment

The topic of this month was to write something utilizing at least 3 of the following words: White Noise, Black, Dust, Onion.

I may not be the brightest person in the room. But, if I am asked what I would do in a pitch black, dark room during a job interview, my answer would be, “I’d search for the light within, dummy.” And if that doesn’t tell you much about me, then search for the light within, dummy.

You see, I was brought up in a shaggy town full of people who seem to stare at you with bad intentions but they’re actually just harmlessly judging you, nothing personal.  No wonder I’ve begun to sport a twisted face myself. I teach English at a high school, and each kid’s IQ level in my class is what happens when you overdose on memes and whatever Jaden Smith is high on. I love my job though; it pays me well enough to stay out of the mad rat race. I have a wife and three sons, and to say the least, I am content.

My life has been a bit of an oddity though. It all changed when I bit into a raw onion. I would argue that, in reality, the onion bit me. Whatever floats your boat, the latter does mine. This onion was extraordinary, just like the spider that bit Spiderman, or like the bank balance of Batman. It almost begged to be eaten. Don’t accept vegetables from lands you don’t know, kids.

Ever since, I have developed a super ability of being able to cook anything and everything. ‘Heresay! Blasphemy!’ you might say. There was enough of that early on, but yes, I can cook meals that haven’t existed and should not exist. And they are always delicious. I can make Kimchi Kebabs sprinkled with butterfly wings. I can make White Noise Waffles with a tall drink of Rusty Parathas. I can also make Reggae Rice with Harp Crépes. For appetizers, my wife’s personal favourite is Jalebi Sushi and my signature Star Spangled Salad.

Nobody except my family knew of this secret, and they were obviously surprised at first. It was after they realized how good my Windows XP Baklavas tasted that they gave in. However, it was when Mrs. Jones, our next door neighbour, caught a whiff of what was cooking one day that the word spread. She and her husband visited us that day, feigning goodwill and intentionally staying long past our lunch time. So we had to do the inevitable – invite them for lunch with us. Needless to say, they were astonished that one could create Parchment and Ink Chicken Burgers. They ate far too much, but instead of thanking us for our hospitality, they accused us of witchcraft. If only they had kept their traps shut.

But no, they ran their mouths throughout the town. To prove that I am far removed from the world of black magic, I exhibited my cooking process to every curious citizen of our town. All of them took down notes. They even created entire recipe books out of my demonstrations. I went on talk shows, did a lot of interviews, conduct world tours and even appeared on magazines. I was the trending hashtag for eight years straight. Equally, there were angry mobs at our doorstep every other day but my Good Natured Pear soups always changed their heart and mind about my ability. I don’t know about saving lives but my wife was the happiest.

It was at the height of my fame that I had a terrible breakdown. My hands wouldn’t chop anymore, nor would they brew like they used to. Something just wasn’t right, I had even forgotten how to boil an egg. I lost my stardom and even began to miss the angry mobs who appeared at our doorstep. My wife, though was terribly disappointed, stayed by my side. However, I heard her mutter under her breath that having regular good ol’ scrambled eggs just doesn’t cut it. Everything feels like eating cardboard now. I don’t blame her though. I too miss the days of my glory. But one ought to be grateful for all the lemons they are dealt with, I suppose, even if you can’t make Moon Sliced Lemon Colada out of them.

So here I am. Teaching high kids English. Enough to keep me out of the rat race.

Black, White Noise, Dust & Onion · Shreya

Streets of Ozara by Shreya

deccanwritingclubLeave a comment
The topic of this month was to write something utilizing at least 3 of the following words: White Noise, Black, Dust, Onion.
Your feelings are real your fight is real, your want is real your might is real. What isn’t real anymore is your purpose for fighting. You’re walking up and down this place trying to make it yours, going faster every time a passerby claims to know you. You walk through the entire street without saying a word hoping that maybe one day everyone will recognise your face, maybe one day you will be seen, but for what’s worth? As you scurry around the street barefoot you’ve forgotten that at home you have a beautiful plant you promised to water. You promised yourself you would shape and let the plant grow until one day you saw a man on the road walking in oddly placed blue pants as people looked at him in awe, calling out his name time and again. You walked out, out of sheer curiosity but you never returned.
Awhile has passed by and you’re now called Mr. Hurry scurry and maybe that’s for all the right reasons or maybe for all wrong. None of that matters for as long as you realise what is going on. On a bright sunny afternoon your feet beings withering almost like the plant you forgot about, you walk a few more streets this time only to slow down right near a quivering old man. You look into the man’s eyes and find something in your heart ‘crack’ . “O old one, you begin. Have we ever met before? “Once or twice I passed the lane of ozara, the streets of compassion and light” “I had a need to be liked and wanted and everything went right” Until one day I was on my daily runs to fill the streets with my presence when I saw a little kid holding on to her mother’s feet, shivering and crying”. Said the old one quivering like a toddler himself. “What’s wrong old man?”, you ask. “My wife, she walked out towards the streets in search for me, she was a kind one, my daughter walked behind her. They could never find me because I was lost into the madness of the streets, the madness of being wanted all I heard was white noise instead of their calls and the smell of onions in the dusty old streets of Darr. My wife is now no more and my daughter perished through her dead soul”, “I don’t wade through the streets anymore, no-one calls out to me. Like they used to before, I only seek to hear my little girls voice but all I hear is white noise.”
You take a step back hearing this, your mind turns on and you take a step back, the turnaround and run, run so fast you realise you’ve walked too far, yet you don’t give up until you reach the streets of ozara. You find a little blue cottage amidst the dust with a green hint of glow around it. You push open the door and sit back on your armchair as you grab your almost weak plant. But somethings going on in the streets of ozara, you hear footsteps thumping across the street, you look out the window to see a young boy in his mid-twenties dressed all right in black, wading through the street as everyone in unison call out his name. Time will tell, only time will tell! You close your window shut and warm the fireplace, closing your eyes shut for the first time in many many months.
Black, White Noise, Dust & Onion · Sakshi

White Noise by Sakshi

deccanwritingclubLeave a comment
The topic of this month was to write something utilizing at least 3 of the following words: White Noise, Black, Dust, Onion.
There was a deafening
White noise which
Sneared in
As I carefully
Picked the
Memories
Of you,
As I sat in the
Porch my
Enormous mind
Turned black for
Seconds
And I was carried away
In our nostalgia
But
An unbeastly
Reality hit me
An image of
Fear
As I stumbled upon
To walk on the road
I was blinded
By dust
In my eyes
And I could hardly see
The eyes start to
Blur
And the body began
To numb
Just one more step
I said
Just one more
I stood up
Slowly gathering
The strength
From the
Unbearable pain
In my mind
I thought of
Verses
I thought of
Sonnets
I though of prose
For when we met
Oh you
Anxiety
We,we
Were the best
Of friends
Always together
In the most intriguing
And piqued situations
Of life
Right from my childhood
And our
Other close friend
Stage fear.
Honey, we were a
Trio
But you began to fade
Somehow you began to
Leave
And confidence crept in
Somehow this strange
Power of strength
Came in
Filled all of my heart
And nerves,which
Used to coil before
Now slowly
And steadily
Uncoiled
Dear
Anxiety
Oh
Friend mine
You were a
Foe
Black, White Noise, Dust & Onion · Sameera

Black, Onion, Dust by Sameera

deccanwritingclubLeave a comment

The topic of this month was to write something utilizing at least 3 of the following words: White Noise, Black, Dust, Onion.

“I love you……”

“Explain your love”

“Bu…tttt!”

“You said you love me right? Explain what that means.”

“ I….just lov….”

What does it mean? What am I feeling? What is it that I want? The fact that I wasn’t aware of the words I had just voiced with the greatest confidence I could be blessed with, had me go numb. I don’t remember the last time I had been so confident about something, so self-assured and yet now had failed to pin down its denotation, leave alone connotations. I couldn’t quite home in on what exactly it was that made me presume it as love. I stood there almost deadened while his offhanded eyes demanded an answer from mine.

“Go ahead… search till your lungs give out, but make sure to get me an answer!”

And so the months have passed chirping and mocking at how pathetic my life had become. The roads had a destination no more. The figures on the calendar only had empty numbers to offer. The news was new no more; neither were the daily tick tocks of the peach wall clock. What is love indeed? The roads, calendars and the clocks, all remained silent.

On one of those sorry days, as I was taking a quiet stroll across the lane and musing away the evening, I sensed the twilight dust all around me, spread beyond my sight of vision. “It’s beautiful” I thought to myself. “This is enough for today. I can live the day off.” Then I headed further, tracing the dust. One of the onions from the heap of hay in the running truck came down tumbling to my feet. I reached for it, slowly observed the layers, immediately recalling my teacher from high school who once said that the ancient Egyptians worshipped onions, believing their spherical shape and concentric circles within, symbolized eternity. “Interesting!” I thought. “This has probably made today a tad bit more important than the rest, I can live the day off”.

The twilight made way for the night to spread its wings of stars and flag its moon. “Does the day love night? Hmm.. may be!” I pondered. “Can the day exist without the night? Out of the question! Perhaps they do love each other. Ahhh! I wonder how important the night must be for the day!!!” 

Like a thunderbolt, suddenly something hit me, which later as I learned was realization. The hit was so out of the blue that I had to freeze in my tracks.

In a flash I went to him with a heavy breath and a pounding chest, squarely blurting “Love is when the white day makes way for the black night. Love is when the onion reminds me of my high school teacher. Love is when mere dust makes me feel like living a little after all. Love is the reason I lived everyday even when I didn’t find any reason to. Love is the tree giving out oxygen for us to breathe and us giving out carbon dioxide for it to breathe. It’s love when the peach clock goes nonstop tick tock for me to know the time. It’s love when the calendars scream the dates for me each and every day. It is love when the roads guide me home safe. Name it and it’s all love. And So I say, I love you because you are important for me to live.” I paused and took little breaths of relief.

“What have I to do then?” he asked. “Absolutely nothing at all” Said I, smiling.

Ananya · Black, White Noise, Dust & Onion

Black and white by Ananya

deccanwritingclubLeave a comment

The topic of this month was to write something utilizing at least 3 of the following words: White Noise, Black, Dust, Onion.

All you hear is a mixture of odd echoes. One sounds like an intense screech, one like nails scraping a wall, one like a clash of metal on metal, another reverberates like a drum, one sounds like steady thuds, one a jingle of wind chimes, one sounds like a clatter of porcelain platters, then there’s that steady hum in the background. It’s too distracting, you think, covering your ears with your palms. You’re trying to concentrate, but all you hear is white noise.

This is what its come to, you assume. You can’t even focus anymore. Even if it is something you love doing, you can’t seem to do it. Unknowingly, you release your hands from over your ears, and shut your eyes tightly. You have to do this; you must be able to do it. You decide to go out for a walk; the fresh air will do you good; you convince yourself.

You sit on the porch, holding your fleece jacket, while tying your shoelaces, and end up just sitting there. You keep thinking, you should make a move and go walk, but you don’t. Something is pulling you back. Maybe it’s the noises you keep hearing, constantly buzzing around your head. You close your eyes, see the world go black, and lie down slowly. Maybe this would help in cancelling out the noises.

You open your eyes to see that you’re surrounded by the most random things; some stone sculptures, wooden crates, granite blocks, marble tiles, cement slabs; a collection of misfits, really; just like the noises in your head. You walk through these piles of insignificant things, when you notice that they all look a bit hazy.

You wave your hand to touch the stack of wooden crates, and your hand passes right through. You remove your hand quickly, as if scorched by immense heat, and rub it with your other hand. You try to touch it again, but it passes through once more. You move away from there and walk along the street. Looking down at your black boots crunching the dried leaves below, you smile at the colours of autumn. Your smile fades as you realize that you weren’t wearing boots earlier.

You blink, maybe this is a dream? You breathe in the crisp air one last time; this is all too good to be true. You are now able to pinpoint why this isn’t real- it isn’t autumn, it’s winter; your street looks nothing like this; the colours are too faded; and the white noise is gone. You hear a crack, and you see that everything around you is crumbling.

All the trunks, the sculptures, the blocks; everything is disintegrating into dust.

There’s a sudden gust of wind that blows the dust onto you; you cover your face, and unconsciously, form a fist, trapping some of it in your hand. When you open your eyes, your vision is still black for a few seconds. You open them widely to get a good look of where you are; you’re back on your porch. You shake your head, trying to get rid of the noises, when you see your hand is clenched into a fist. You open it, and its full of grey specks.

Maps · Sameera

Maps by Sameera

deccanwritingclubLeave a comment

Just like anything else, for instance an ordinary apple, a map also has umpteen perceptions to view. It seems nothing alike and means nothing similar to any two persons on this planet. Given that fact, I’ll now bring forth one of my own insights into maps; One that I feel is not chosen by many people.

For me, first come the questions; Starting with the one that asks ‘Why do we need maps?’ I eventually find the answer too. Simple as it may sound, we need maps because our brains need maps. Our brains need maps because they are always hungry for shapes and structures. They hog on sense and logic. They make designs out of disorder. They make meaning out of mess and create clusters of coincidences out of utter chaos. They culture an ego that always needs to identify things. They feed on identities. And Bingo! Is there any other simpler way of identifying things than just naming them? I don’t think. Maps do just that. They are identities that create a way out through empty space; Give a logical direction and sketch boundaries, thereby creating an in and an out, a below and an above. Born are left and right from maps, otherwise it is all the same where this is also that.

So I believe there happened to be a lonely rover who was indeed intrigued by this concept of maps in the early-earth days. He knew of no one who could tell him where he needed to go. He thought he might as well ask the sun and he did; “Which map do you follow dear sun?,” he asked. The sun replied; “Map? What map? I don’t need one. I’m everywhere”.

Confused, the rover retorted “But, how can you be everywhere if you are right here in front of me, talking to me. Moreover I don’t see you at nights.” The sun replied “I’m here. Always was and will be. I go wherever my need is, and wherever my need is, I’m already there.”

The rover wasn’t really satisfied and he went further to ask the water “You go into plants to serve every cell in every layer. You climb right from the roots to the tips of the highest branches. You fall from humongous valleys and crawl through burrows. Which map do you follow?” The water replied “I’m everywhere! I flow but I flow back to myself. I climb but I fall back into myself. I crawl but I ultimately find myself everywhere. I just exist. I go wherever my need is, and wherever my need is, I’m already there.”

The rover then went to the wind hoping to find a different, mostly a better answer from it. Much to his rage the wind had nothing different to offer. It said “I’m there, was there and will be there. I blow into myself, back and forth and all that’s there is me. I’m everywhere. I go wherever my need is, and wherever my need is, I’m already there.”

Agitated, the lonely rover finally decided to go ask the land itself where all the maps are drawn and asked; “Why does everybody keep telling that they are everywhere? I’m not everywhere. I’m right here in the now talking to you. How can someone be everywhere? It doesn’t make sense. It sucks to not be everywhere. Why do I need a map while the rest of you don’t?”

The gentle land calmly replied; “You are everywhere! You just don’t see it.”

“That is insane. Most illogical notion I’ve ever heard!” the rover snapped back. “What you are saying young lad is like me telling you that I’m France, not land. Or that I’m Paris, not France. Or that water drop in the ocean is a drop, not the ocean. Wasn’t it you that named me France? Wasn’t it you that named me Paris? Wasn’t it you that named me land? Wasn’t it you that named me fundamental particle? You named me sand. You named me stone. You named the sun sun. You named the wind wind. It was you who called yourself me and me you. It was you who made a map.

You made a map just to feed sense to your brain. You fed it time. You fed it plans. You fed it shapes and you fed it maps. But that’s just your brain. I don’t have one you see? So I don’t need a map like your brain does. You don’t need a map as well but your brain does. You just got to keep your best foot forward like the water drops in the plants do and like the sun rays do. You just exist, like they all do.

In the end, from a bigger picture, you will find our lives like a well painted portrait. But the colors take turns and spread out, become bigger and better, sometimes mix up, all of which is to maintain the optical balance of the portrait. All that there is, is the same bunch of colors and they are all one. The portrait looks beautiful, provided, the main aim of each color is not to be more, shown more or exist more but to maintain the balance.” The land then paused for a while and then went off to grow a bud.

The lonely rover then realized that portraits don’t need maps. They just exist infinitely through time and space.

 

Maps · Namrata

Maps by Namrata

deccanwritingclubLeave a comment
Ten leaps forward said my brain. I ran barefoot pricking myself with pine cones and the hard shells of nuts, creating a trail of blood behind me but my heart begged to differ. It thumped against my rib cage, warning me to go back to the start, to not go on this journey of self-destruction ahem, self-discovery. it’s funny how our brain is heralded as the all-knowing Yoda, and the heart the sappy, emotional teenager going through a mid-life crisis. However, In reality, it’s the convictions and the beliefs you have in your heart that save you when your rational brain fails to decipher the hidden meanings and states only what it sees.
 Without any charted course or a definite destination, I stumble my way through the purposeless weeds and the majestic oak trees that make up the woods and reach a clearing. I hear the river before I see it. I hear the delicate swaying and the rippling mini waves caused by the fish and birds. I’m drawn to towards the sparkling river and its purity. I wondered how it would feel to get lost in the water. To lose control and let go of all sense of direction. I step into the river and walk until the water reaches my chin. All the memories, both good and bad ran through my mind. And then I sink, figuring that I could swim with the fish to Neverland.