Flash Fiction: Saturday Shots

The #SaturdayShots for today:

26th January - The Significance of the Day

In 1930, the first Independence Day was celebrated in India. The Indian National Congress had fixed the last Sunday of January, 1930 as the day of complete independence. The entire country celebrated the day with solemn gatherings and peaceful marches. From that day onwards, every 26th January was celebrated as the Independence Day.

When the Indian Subcontinent finally achieved Independence, Lord Mountbatten chose 15th August 1947 as the date to hand over the power. This was the day when Japan surrendered to the Allies and brought the World War II to a close. So, this was not a day of India's pride but a day that marked Britain's power and supremacy. Still, the date was accepted as no one was ready to wait till 26th January 1948.

For the next two years, 26th January only remained as a memory of nationalist sentiments. Then, when the date to bring the Indian Constitution to force was to be chosen, 26th January became the first choice. In many ways, 26th January is the most important day for our country. It is the day when we have proved to the world that we can rule ourselves, write our own Constitution and lead our nation to glory.

The Indian Constitution, with 395 articles and 8 schedules, is one of the longest in the world. It was framed over a period of three years, with innumerable sittings, discussions, revisions and refinements. B.R. Ambedkar was the chairman of the Drafting Committee of the Indian Constitution. On the final day of this Committee, Ambedkar gave a moving speech, in which he identified three pitfalls to be avoided in the future:

1) He asked people to give up civil disobedience, satyagraha and non-cooperation and avail constitutional methods of redress.

2) He warned people against submitting without thinking to charismatic authority. To quote him, "in India, Bhakt or what may be called the path of devotion or hero-worship plays a part in its politics unequalled in magnitude by the part it plays in the politics of any other country in the world." He said this was a "sure road to degradation and to eventual dictatorship."

3) He asked the people not to be content with "mere political democracy". He said, "In politics, we will have equality and in social and economic life we will have inequality. In politics we will be recognizing the principle of one man one vote and one vote one value. In our social and economic life, we shall, by reason of our social and economic structure, continue to deny the principle of one man one value. How long shall we continue to deny equality in our social and economic life? If we continue to deny it for long, we will do so only by putting our political democracy in peril."

At every period of history and at every level of politics, independent India has been witness to recurrent events signifying the ignoring of these warnings. It is time we walk out of this trap. What better way to do that than by embracing the spirit of our Constitution.

To quote the preamble to our Constitution,

"WE, THE PEOPLE OF INDIA, having solemnly resolved to constitute India into a SOVEREIGN SOCIALIST SECULAR DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC and to secure to all its citizens:
JUSTICE, social, economic and political;
LIBERTY of thought, expression, belief, faith and worship;
EQUALITY of status and of opportunity; and to promote among them all
FRATERNITY assuring the dignity of the individual and the unity and integrity of the Nation."

Happy Republic Day!

Flash Fiction

Recently, I began the #SaturdayShots feature on my Author page on Facebook (Please do like the page to be updated www.facebook.com/archanasaratauthor ) and I love the response that it is gathering. Every Saturday, I share a flash fiction on the page and it has been absolute fun to garner likes and comments. I concentrate on a variety of genres, themes and social issues and it is fun to see the responses pouring in. Sharing a few here...

Social Media Marketing for Authors: Lose your inhibitions, not your time

While Social Media can help an author connect with her new and existing reader base, they can also convert into these vortexes that suck away the precious time you could use to write and steal away your focus and discipline. I went on a conscious campaign for the last one month to use social media wisely and the benefits from this exercise astounded me. I decided to share my tips on how you can conquer this time-devouring dragon:

1. Make a Plan
   Have a clear written plan for your Social Media Campaign. If you love Facebook to just hang out with your writer pals and connect, put that into your plan too. It helps and it is a valid part of the campaign too. No one likes to connect with a robot who comes online just to harp about its book. It’s okay to be human. Just plan for it. Also, decide what are the Social Media platforms you want to be on and how much time are you going to schedule for each.
   
   
2. Schedule it
   On your calendar, mark the time slot you are allotting for the same and stick to it. In my experience, I preferred the late evening slot when my energy levels are low. Mornings are for writing (which I still do with pen and paper), afternoons are for typing and creating marketing content and evenings are for posting, sharing and connecting online. I do digress at times and need an occasional nudge to get back my focus.
   
   
3. Phones off
   Since I still continue to use a pen and paper to write, my laptop is never switched on most of the day. The only chance I have of wandering into facebook and twitter is on my phone. The best thing would be to remove these apps from your smart phone. The next best thing would be to mute all notifications and make sure nothing pops or beeps on your phone’s homescreen. The temptation that deviates your concentration can be silenced this way.
   
   
4. Follow up
   Saving time on Social media requires effort and dedication. You need to understand that it is just a tool to support your work, it is not your work itself. Keep a weekly follow up plan to tweak your efforts and rules. For instance, you may need to be online for a considerable amount of time in the month that you launch your book.
   
   
5. Apps help
   There are a huge variety of apps that help limit your time on Social Media. The ‘Stay Focused’ app on my Google browser and on my android phone help me control the number of hours I spend on facebook or twitter or whatsapp.
   
   
   You should try at least some of these ideas if Social media is eating up your day. As an author, creating unique interesting content is our primary job and marketing is only a secondary activity that supports it. As long as we do not overlook that, we will not be sucked into the social media whirlpool. Do you have any other ideas to help save time on social media? Do share them in the comments below.
   
   

Procrastination - The Illness of Doing Things

While I had always imagined procrastination to an ailment wherein you are not doing your work due to fear and laziness, I have come to realize that I am struck by a different strain of this same disease. I do work – a lot of work – just not the work I am supposed to do.

I had begun to write, as a profession, some ten years back. After few initial months, my name started appearing in print. My short stories and poetry appeared in many anthologies. The confidence made me complete the first draft of a book. At that time, I got ambushed into freelance writing. I had innumerable clients and made good money from the comfort of my home. Then, the guilt started gnawing – this was not what I wanted to do! I gave it all up when I was at the peak and got back to my original kind of writing. I finished the first draft of another book. Then again, I got waylaid. I did my M. Sc. in Counselling and also got international certification as a Life Coach. I worked hard and enjoyed every minute of it. Then I woke up from the euphoria – this is not what I set out to do. I went back to writing and did the first draft of yet another book. I steeled myself to stick on with it and now, I am working on the editing and rewriting of it.

The temptation to stagger into the by lanes is still too strong. However, now, after ten years, I have understood a by lane is just that – a path that takes me off the main road and delays me from reaching my goal. I am wary of them. Temptation and opportunity stand all around me, beckoning me to other tracks but I take a deep breath and think for a few minutes before deciding whether or not to go there. I still make mistakes but I don’t run to them. I walk slowly towards them. So, now, when I know it’s not the right path, I am no longer deep down the road. I can quickly jog back to where I was before.

©ArchanaSarat2015

Lost?

For the last day of Napowrimo, I wanted to share a poem very close to my heart. I had written this a few years back but I've reworked on this again before sharing it today.

 HUSH! My baby boy is asleep and

I sadly creep to the mirror.

Marriage makes your head roll.

Childbirth takes its toll.

I came to see what I lost

From what I was in the past…

 

Long black cascading tresses are now a bun- small and staunch;

Narrow swiveling hips have become a paunch.

As I view my rear, in dismay,

I realize my callipygian days have gone away.

Sleepless nights with an infant’s cries and gurgles

have framed my shiny eyes with dark circles.

 

No, long painted nails – I can’t have thee

As you might hurt my darling baby!

I looked at my lips in alarm -

Its months since I applied lip balm.

Don’t cry, my dear rough feet,

I can no longer pedicure every week!

 

Shadows have filled my mind.

I turn and see my husband behind.

He looks into my eyes with a love so new,

“Our son is so beautiful… he is just like you!

Each day, you are growing prettier dear!”

He said, kissed and pulled me near.

 

©ArchanaSarat2015

 

Thank you friends for reading and encouraging all these amateur poems. You have given me tons of confidence to work on and improve.

Z: Zucchini

 

“There is something I need to tell you. It is better we speak about such things before the wedding,” Robert sounded so serious. “When I was a kid, must be around 10 years of age, we had been to my father’s friend’s house.” Cathy held her breath. She was sure this was going to be a story of horror and abuse. They were just engaged and she didn’t want anything to disrupt her happiness.

“Were you abused there?” she asked. She couldn’t wait patiently for the slow build-up of the story. Many times, she wondered if it was actually advisable to marry a writer. He created stories out of nothings.

“Yes. Kind of,” he said.

“Do your parents know?”

“Yes, and they made sure I never get abused that way again.”

“Oh. How terrible! Are you still affected by it?”

“A lot,” he said. Cathy’s eyes watered. Will her life be alright marrying this guy? She loved him terribly but marriage is a different game altogether. There are other lives to consider. “Did something fall in your eyes, Cathy?”

“No, no.” Cathy wiped her eyes with her handkerchief.

“So, remember, I don’t want you abusing me that way too,” he said. “Let’s be clear on this. I hate zucchini. I can’t stand it. You will never buy or cook it in our house.”

“What?”

“Yes. That fat man forcefully fed me a spoon of zucchini and I can’t get over it still. So…”

“Aaargh,” Cathy screamed. “You are so infuriating. You scared me so much.” Robert burst out laughing. Cathy stared at him. “You know what I’m going to do to punish you. I’m going to cook zucchini for an entire full month, once we are married.”

©ArchanaSarat2015

Y: Yesterday

I am writing a poem today for the Napowrimo and the A to Z Challenge. Napowrimo has given the prompt of 'bridges' and A to Z has the letter Y, the penultimate post for the challenge. As I was wondering what to write on, I came across this 7-7-7 writing prompt in www.writetodone.com We need to pick up the 7th book in the bookshelf, turn to page 7, scroll down to the 7th line and start a poem with that. Finally, all problems solved. I wrote a poem encompassing all the prompts and challenges for today. :)

Yesterday

Nothing is more enjoyable than writing a 100 page thesis
is what that ex-valedictorian will try to make you believe.
Don't trust him.
It is not true.
It is just that he crossed that bridge yesterday
and now wants to do it again and again.
All that sweat, all that strain,
was shed in company of friends,
and that pain became a sweet gain.
He is filled with memories.
With his wife, he shares those stories,
but some bridges are one-way.
You just cannot cross them back.

(By the way, the seventh book on my bookshelf was 'The Rule of Four' by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason. The 7th line of the 7th page of that book is the first line of the above poem.)

X: Xtremes

The hay(na)ku is a variant on the haiku. A hay(na)ku consists of a three-line stanza, where the first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words. You can write just one, or chain several together into a longer poem.

Xtremes 

Eating

Chocolate ice-cream

With fried rice.

Weirdos

are friends.

Can’t help it!

Friends-

Love them,

Don’t judge them.

Extremes

Become extraordinary.

Support those weirdos.

©ArchanaSarat2015

Hay(na)ku - Time

The hay(na)ku is a variant on the haiku. A hay(na)ku consists of a three-line stanza, where the first line has one word, the second line has two words, and the third line has three words. You can write just one, or chain several together into a longer poem.

 Time

Unrelenting

ticking clock,

Need more time…

I

have lots

more to do.

Stop.

You can’t?

Then, I can.

I

Will stop

and love life.

©ArchanaSarat2015

W: Wasted

 

Fridays were always a nightmare at work. Dinonster (Hari’s boss – a person huge like a dinosaur and who behaved like a monster) made him work harder to compensate for the weekend. Hari drew the sales report for the week again. Dinoster always wanted more details, annexures, forecasts and all the works. It was already nine by the time Hari stepped out of office.

His wife, Sujata, had already called him five times in the last four hours. Their little baby girl was not well. She had an upset tummy and Sujata wanted him home.

“Don’t go today, Hari. Please. Tara is not well and I am so tired. Come home please.”

“You know this. We have spoken about this, even before our marriage. Fridays are the only evening I have for myself. I need to go to the bar. Don’t stop me. Don’t call me too, unless absolutely necessary.”

Hari could sense Sujata’s displeasure. He shrugged his shoulders. He cannot compromise on this. He drove to ‘Lucky Duck’. His palms got sweaty and he wiped them on his pants. He removed his tie, opened the first button of his shirt and folded up the long sleeves. The Sony folks were expected today. It could be the break he had been waiting for all his life. He picked up his guitar from the backseat and gave it a kiss. He closed his eyes in reverence and then jumped out of the car.

Fridays made it all worth it. Giving up his music to study MBA, getting a job to look after his widowed mother, working his ass off for some MNC – all seemed worthwhile, because every Friday, he played his heart out here, to seduce the music industry icons. They scoured this place looking for the next big talent. Someday, he will get his chance and then, life won’t seem so wasted.

©ArchanaSarat2015

Driving through Mumbai

 

 

Gentle twilight hour

Crows pecking garbage

Opaque art on wall

Water flowing hard

Two sparrows peck

Children cry and beg

Sick dog crawls

Auto men in rage

Construction and damage

Kite in barbed wire

Creepy baggage… Bomb?

©ArchanaSarat2015

I wanted to capture all those images and thoughts that flash in front of you as you drive in your car. Jean from my Poetry course read this poem and told me, "There is a staccato feel to your poem as if you are firing out the words using a machine gun. It creates a certain tension in the poem, and so the ending makes sense, and fits with what goes before it." Now, that was definitely not intentional but I think that is the magic to poetry. It just happens.

Haiku

 

War Hero

 

War is calling me,

 

to defend cause I distrust.

 

I don't want to fight.

 

 

©ArchanaSarat2015



V: Valentine's Day, over the years...

2005:

We had not yet tied the knot. Neither did I receive a bouquet of flowers nor did I receive any precious gift. It was just another day. The only highlight was he took the initiative to give me a call, for a change, but forgot to wish me. We chatted for some ten minutes. Before he hung up, I wished him, "Happy Valentines Day!"

“Oh, yes! Thanks! Wish you the same,” he said. Was I disappointed? Anyways, since I knew my guy was hopelessly decent and hated to tarnish his 'good guy' image before my parents, I forgave him. Back then, it was a taboo to get too friendly with your fiancé before marriage. So, I decided to wait for the 'after-marriage' Valentines Days.

 

2006:

 

I did not want to take any risks this time. I made an elaborate cross-stitch pattern of his favorite pussy cats on a huge pillow cover. Also, I gave him the gift a couple of days before Valentine’s Day just to make sure he remembers it and gets me something in return. Can matters get worse? Yes, they did!

He thanked me for the gift and promptly forgot to get me anything. I sweated over that gift for an entire month and he didn't give me anything! I blew my fuse. I shouted, screamed and cried in anger and disappointment.

 I accused him of not loving me. I told him he had changed after marriage. (What did I mean? He didn’t get me anything before marriage too!) Finally, I gave up and went to sleep.

2007:

10: 00 pm I was worried sick about why he is so late. Normally, he is home before eight. Even if he is delayed at office, it maybe only be by half-hour or so. His mobile was not reachable too. I cried and prayed he was fine.

Finally, after some half-hour, he arrived tired and drained. It was another hectic day at office. After that, he had gone gift-hunting and got me a sweet present. He mustered all his strength to kiss and wish me. Do you think I was elated? Definitely not! I felt ashamed to trouble him so much.

That night, he was so tired that he drifted off into snores immediately while I lay awake for long. Did my love depend on the sheer gift? What right did I have to evaluate his love on such a flimsy basis? A few tears rolled down my cheeks as I realized my folly.

 

2008:

 

We both forgot it was Valentine's Day. We remembered it, after two days, and wished each other.

 

2009:

 

My son gave me a card made by himself, proclaiming his undying love for me. We were so touched and the conversation that ensued became the highlight of the day.

 

"Amma, I will marry you," he said.

 

"But I'm already married," I said.

 

"Who did you marry?"

 

"Your appa."

 

He threw around a few toys, shouted a bit and then, thought about it. "No problem. I'll marry you. I'll marry only you."

 

2010:

 

I reminded him of his decision to marry me. He was okay about it. He behaved as if he had no choice but to keep his word.

 

2011:

 

I told him about how he had wanted to marry me. He was flabbergasted. "No chance. I would never say that. How can anybody marry their mother? Impossible." There, that's life for you!

 

2012:

 

The second one, my little one, has decided that he wants to marry me. And, life goes on...

 

 

 

©ArchanaSarat2015

 

 

 

 

Haiku

 

Dying Fish

 

Fish swimming in grace,

 

caught by a fisherman's ace and

 

dying face to face.

 

 

©ArchanaSarat2015



U: Umbrella

 

“What is more important? You better decide it now – your religion or an umbrella?”

K__ sat with his head in his hands. Every monsoon is either too soon or too late, and the crops are destroyed. Last monsoon, he not only lost his crops but his six year old daughter L_ too. She had succumbed to pneumonia. She had not played in the rain. She had only walked to school in the rain, and had remained there all day in her wet clothes. She did not heed her father’s advice to miss school. She had wanted to become a doctor.

M__ sat next to her husband. “Darling husband, listen to me. Religion is for the rich. We poor need umbrellas. These people are promising umbrellas, raincoats for kids, evening milk and free hospitals too. What else do we need? How bad can it be, this changing religion? Let’s just do it, for the sake of our children.”

“What will everyone say?”

“Did anyone help us when L__ was dying? Why should we bother about what they say? Three kids are dependent on us. See S__’s life now. How happy and well-fed he and his kids are now? Decide soon. If another of my kid dies, I die with them. You can live alone.” M__ burst out crying.

K__ got up and nodded his head. “Don’t cry, woman. I understand. Life is more important than religion. Let’s go and collect our umbrellas tomorrow.”

©ArchanaSarat2015

Haiku - Summer

 

Summer Love

 

Sweet lovers kiss,

 

glistening grass, chirping birds -

 

Summer love is here.

 

 

©ArchanaSarat2015



T: This is where I belong…

                          

            L___ is my country. Neatly whitewashed with a pretty garden and a big oak tree, my house stands tall in Market Street. My grandfathers and their grandfathers have always lived here. We were a huge happy household long back. Just like the oak tree. Slowly, its leaves frittered away and so did our family. Aunts got married, Uncles went abroad, Oldies passed away and all that remained was me, my hubby, Atif, and my son, Saif.

            One secret I never want Saif to know is that I never finished school. I know to read a little, write a bit and do some sums but I never read newspapers and books. That is why I was so ignorant about all that was happening around me.

            One fine Tuesday afternoon, I got the first inkling of it. Rita, my friendly neighbor, came running to tell me a hurried good-bye. It seems she was returning to her native country, India, immediately.

            “A war may break out soon. So, I thought it is better to get back to India. I miss my country and my parents, too. This will be the best choice for me,” she said.

            I agreed with her, “Never leave your motherland again because that is where you belong.”

            “Take care!” she said anxiously. Her words seemed pregnant with a lot of meaning.

            Very soon, it happened. Yet, I was happy and safe. Why should I worry? Everything remained the same in my life. I continued to walk up to the market and pick up the groceries, one hand clutching my purse and the other around my son sitting on my hips. I brought back the bulging bag on my shoulder and cooked a wholesome meal. My husband came home every afternoon and we ate together. At times, we even playfully fed each other. I nursed and played with six month old Saif and snuggled into bed with my darling husband at night. Yes, war had not affected me.

            The school which I detested as a kid still remained. The oak tree from which I fell and fractured my arm stood tall. The hotel where I met my husband for the first time still catered. The hospital where I delivered my son still functioned, though it seemed to be filling with burnt and hurt patients now. My world was safe.  

            The first quake which shook the foundations of my heart came when the hotel was bombed. As soon as I heard the news, I recalled that brown square wooden table beneath which me and Atif secretly held hands for the first time. I cried and ran to that spot where the hotel stood. Nothing remained except the charred remains, ashes and volunteers. I picked up a small piece of burnt brown wood. I kissed it and cried once again.

            That night, I showed it to Atif. He was very angry that I went to such a dangerous place. He forbade me to step out of the house. From the next day onwards, even the groceries were bought by him. I felt stifled and imprisoned. Can I never again walk on the street with my son on my hips, swaying and playing with him?

            Atif is a happy-go-lucky guy and I loved the way he made me laugh. But, he changed after this incident. He became silent and withdrawn. He stopped coming home for his afternoon meals. He stopped playing with Saif. He came home late in the nights and dropped into bed without his usual glass of milk. I crept silently into the bed and slept beside him. He never hugged me. In the middle of many nights, I caught him staring blankly at the ceiling. I was worried, 'did Atif ever eat or sleep?'

            Almost immediately, the school and the hospital were bombed. Without Atif’s knowledge, I visited each site after the bombing. That night Atif’s shop was also burnt down. I thanked God that he was not in it at that time. All our friends and neighbors had fled to various places. In a few days, our entire lives had been shattered.

            Then, we were evacuated to a camp in an open field. Food and water packets were thrown from helicopters above. Life became torturous.

            I have always been a shy and modest woman. I have not been without a shawl draped around my shoulders - even before my mother. Now, everything has changed. Privacy is something we cannot even think of. We have our bath in a common women’s toilet whose latch never works. I have to nurse my son before all the prying eyes at the camp. Beggars cannot be choosers. Still, I never realized this miserable life could get any worse but it did. My house…my home also succumbed to the fury of the bombs.

            I remember that day clearly. Mustafa was the one who brought the news to us. Me and Atif wept bitterly. Can all the palaces of the world replace the love you feel for your childhood home?

            Me and Atif were childhood pals and neighbors. We enjoyed countless hours playing hide-and-seek in the winding passages of my huge house. We loved that house even before we fell in love with each other.

            “Atif, I love this house and cannot bear to leave my poor old Dad in it alone. I love you but I cannot marry you, unless and until you agree to live with us here... please, will you?” We were on the open terrace of my house when I uttered those words to Atif.

            He took my hands in his and told me, “I am ready to travel across seven mountains and seven seas to marry you. To live in this beautiful house is a blessing.” Though, all acquaintances and relatives dissuaded Atif from residing in his wife's house, he turned a deaf ear to them all.

            We lived two wonderful years in that house and now, it was gone!

            After sometime, Atif went away to meet somebody and I went to Mustafa's mother with Saif. She was also evacuated and lived in a tent near us.

            Mustafa's grandparents were a homeless couple who knocked our doors for help on a cold night. From that day on, they had stayed on at our place and served us for all these years. They cooked and cleaned and looked after the house. I told her our house is gone. We hugged and wept together. War is a great equalizer too!

            “Ma, Will you please look after Saif for sometime? I want to see what has happened to the house... please!”

            “Carry on but be back soon,” Mustafa's mother said, “Atif will be very angry if he knows you disobeyed him.”

            I ran along the road fast – too fast, slipped and fell flat on my face just near the gate of my house. I lifted my head up and saw the first sight of my house demolished. All my senses failed me. I couldn't get up. I put my face flat on the ground and banged my head. My hands and feet were thumping up and down in desperate fury and hopelessness. The hour slipped by and I returned back to the camp, a small piece of the oak in my hands.

            That night, my husband told me there was no reason for us to continue to stay at L___. He urged me to pack whatever little we had. He told me we were going to leave this country tomorrow morning. My head was whirling. I mentally argued with my husband’s words but my mouth remained mute.

            'People don’t stay in their motherland for any ‘reason’. They stay in their motherland because of love, bonds and memories that are so strong. They stay because this is where they belong.'

            The next day, I packed all that we had into a little bag. I collected some food and water packets for the journey. As I was waiting for my husband to join me, I took a deep breath and savored the air of my country. I then saw Saif sleeping on my lap. He smiled blissfully in his sleep.

            Someday, I will tell my son about the proud country where he was born. I will tell him about the oak tree, about the school from which I played truant, the hotel where I met his dad, the hospital where he was born, the house where we lived and the Market street where we roamed. Better still, I will show him all this.

            Unknown to my husband, I have some burnt sovereigns in my bag and each will tell a story to my son. Maybe, one day, he will come back here and rebuild this nation.

©Copyright ArchanaSarat2008

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Haiku

Yes. I think this is going to be a haiku week. :)

Self-esteem

 

People will trample

 

if you take it for too long.

 

Respect yourself first.

 

©ArchanaSarat2015



Haiku

This is a little better than the previous attempts.

 

Certainty

 

This is certain.

 

The only thing totally certain -

 

Life is uncertain.

 

 

©ArchanaSarat2015