Black, White Noise, Dust & Onion · Namrata

Larger Than Life by Namrata

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.