colors

DAY 30 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS “why does the color of my…”

“Why does the color of my skin matter less than yours?” asked Roe to her friend Edger.

There was not any emotion on her face. She did not look sad, angry or frustrated.

Her eyes looked like the surface of a calm lake which fails us in sensing its depth.

She uttered this line as if she was talking about a pizza slice.

“It is sad but true. And it is not just color, the texture of your voice, your entire existence matters less than a white person’s. The word of a white man values more than a person of color. And it would remain so for coming decades.” Replied Edgar.

“I know,” responded Roe.

“But we can’t let it remain the fact,” added Edgar.

PS – This is the 30th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

sorry, truth is often not sexy

DAY 29 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS “Sometimes I feel…”

“Sometimes, I feel why do we keep our conversations truthful, when it has largely gone extinct from our public lives. I mean what do we get day in, day out from our government, public officials, or for that matter any person holding a microphone, if not a pack of lies…,” Shea asked frustratingly from her friend, reading a news article about the upcoming presidential election.

“For god’s sake, there are professionals who makes millions of dollars each year for crafting better lies for public at large. They are called public relations champions. Leave alone public officials, this virus of untruthfulness in conversations is increasingly seeping in personal conversations from friends, colleagues and sometimes even from our partners then what moral obligation do we have to keep ourselves truthful and honest in our conversations?” she added.

Her friend listened to her patiently and let her finish her thought.

“Well, I feel that you speak truth not for others but for yourself as with each lie you deliver; you distance yourself away from your true self, your own soul. For some, their soul isn’t something to cherish, nurture our strengthen. For some, nothing is precious than their true self.”

PS – This is the 29th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

abandoned children

DAY 28 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS ‘THERE IS A SAYING…’
Jeanne Moreau in paris of 1940.

“There is a saying that it takes a village to grow a child but what happens when the village decides to abandon the child…what happens then? who takes care of the child?” she asked the young waitress, sipping her coffee, looking across the street through the glass window of the café.

“Sorry, I didn’t understand, Ma’am!” waitress replied, feeling confused.

“No, it’s nothing, thanks!” she replied.

“Alright, ma’am, give me a call if you need anything.” replied the waitress and left her with coffee.

The waitress had heard the question but still decided not to answer.

She had learned with her experience that often such questions are not asked to seek answers but for the sake of asking them. As sometimes our ability to ask questions gives us the feeling of self-control even when we know that we aren’t.

The woman was still looking across the street. Her eyes were still blank.

When she saw the waitress again, she looked at her as if she had the answer to her question but decided not to share.

“It’s the street…, ma’am!” said the waitress.

“Sorry? what?” asked the woman.

“The street takes care of the children who are abandoned by the village,” replied the waitress.

PS – This is the 28th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

page number 53

DAY 27 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS ‘ON A COLD SUNDAY MORNING, SHE LEFT HER HOUSE…’

On a cold misty Sunday morning, she left her house.

Three days later, when her parents returned from a work trip, they found the front door wide open with a thick layer of dust on the floor.

Feeling confused, they called her daughter. They haven’t been able to get in touch with her for last three days.

Their stress was increasing with each step. They peeked into the kitchen where they find that the pan was still on the stove. And a book, opened on page 53, was placed upside down.

It was like as if she was there, the previous moment, making the curry and finishing the book.

PS – This is the 27th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

agents of peace

DAY 26 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS “IT MAKES MY BLOOD BOIL…”

“It makes my blood boil, when I see young people, with no visible interest in knowing or understanding their worlds, become journalists and begin talking about saving democracy and civil rights before learning basic things like filing a news copy. I mean it makes no sense, at all.” Soy said frustratingly to her colleague.

Soy has been the editor of an international news organisation for last 13 years.

He joined this organization as a trainee, worked as a reporter for many years & then handled desk for many more years before becoming the editor.  

He was what others call ‘the idealist’ of his newsroom.

And probably his idealistic thinking helped him maintain a distance from all ideologies and good men aka messiahs of the political landscape.

It was his belief that it’s not possible for one man to change the world for others. 

“I also don’t understand why these young journalists become the unpaid agents of this political party or that political party, this cause or that cause, before understanding what they are defending. They speak more, on social media, than listen to people who know these things. I am all for freedom of speech, youngesters should be able to tell what they feel but I feel bad for them as they kill their early years on their phones on something they don’t understand.” replied his colleague.

PS – This is the 26th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

a meaningless life

DAY 25 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS ‘“I didn’t like it…” he replied to her

Why do I feel this urge to do something meaningful?” she asked her mentor.

“Well, I think it’s because of who we are as a species. We like finding a meaning in everything we do. It gives us the reason to go on, to suffer and keep living this life. but why are you finding your job meaningless?” replied her mentor.

She has been a working journalist for more than a decade.

Lately, she has stopped seeing her work as a meaningful job.

She responded, “It has been increasingly becoming a monotonous job for me. I basically create contents for internet users like somebody, in the illegal drugs business, pack packets of heroin for drug users. They don’t care if the person consuming the drug would live on or die after consuming that very packet. If they care about anything then it’s their drug business. All considerations towards quality and care is to ensure that the business should not be negatively impacted. The large portion of Journalism has become something like that. We don’t care for the reader. We don’t care if our stories would kill them or empower them. All we care about is the business. It’s from top to bottom. Everybody cares about their business, not the users. This way we are like the drug cartels. We just sell words.”

“Well, it’s true.” her mentor responded. “But what’s the solution?” asked her mentor.

“The solution is simple – go out and meet people in real life, sit in their homes, go for coffee with them and think of them before you publish anything.” she responded.

“Can you do that?” asked her mentor.

“Yes, I think. I can.” she responded.

“Then go and do as long as you can.” her mentor responded.

PS – This is the 25th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

the resignation from fear

DAY 23 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS ‘“HOW DOES ONE FIND COURAGE TO DO SOMETHING EXTRAORDINARILY COURAGEOUS THAT IS ILLOGICAL TO others?” SHE ASKED HERSELF.’

“How does one find the courage to do something extraordinarily courageous that is illogical to others?” she asked herself before pressing the send button of her email.

She thought about it for a couple of moments and began staring into space.

It was the email to resign from the firm where she had worked for the last 13 years.

It was like a second home. But this home of hers had been crumbling piece by piece since her colleagues knew that she was leaving.

She had decided to take photographs of street artists and tell their stories in a blog with no monetization strategy in place. It was like jumping in the dark. She didn’t have huge savings but some faith in herself.

There is no more dangerous person for the status quo than the one who believes in oneself.

Did her act of taking control of her life challenge her peers? If it did, she didn’t know.

She was as vulnerable as a mother in her first few weeks of unplanned pregnancy.

Like such a mother, she sensed a dramatic change in the behavior of her colleagues towards her.

First, they tried to make her feel that they were with her all the way. Then some of them tried to make her believe that she should not behave emotionally and tried to instill doubts in her.

Eventually, when she didn’t accept their common wisdom, they termed her as a person becoming increasingly emotionally unstable.

It was really difficult for her to digest such a response from her peers as she expected to seek support from them, not this.

For a moment, she even reconsidered her decision. But it dawned upon her that her colleagues are simple people like her, dealing with their own monsters, and any weird or strange thing like jumping in the dark scares them.

In that moment, she got a newfound courage to send her resignation letter.

PS – This is the 23rd day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

shoes and habits

DAY 22 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS to continue writing after the sentence ends ‘WHY IT IS HARD TO BUILD HABITS AND BREAK THEM,”SHE ASKED HERSELF’.

“Why it is hard to build habits and break them,” she asked herself while tying her shoes for her evening walk.

It was not easy for her to walk that day. It was the 21st day of her commitment to walk everyday for 365 days.

She woke up quite late and then started working on the emergency project given to her at work.

By the end of the day, she was so tired that she fell asleep.

She didn’t even realize that by the time she woke for dinner it was already 11PM.

It was not suitable for her to go out for a walk that day.

At that moment, she pondered over the myth of 21 days. It goes like this – if you do something everyday for 21 days, it becomes your habit.

She never believed in any of such things but coincidently it was her 21st day and she was about to break the habit of walking.

After thinking for a couple of seconds, she put on her shoes and walked for about 40 minutes in her living room.

“Was it worth doing?” she asked herself as she finished walking for forty minutes.

“Maybe not but by pushing yourself to do this fruitless walk for keeping your routine, you have boosted your level of commitment and strengthen your resolve to keep doing it when the odds are against you.” she replied to herself and patted her back.

PS – This is the 22nd day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

the manager who asked questions

DAY 21 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS to continue writing after the sentence ends ‘Sometimes, we do things that are against our nature as a human being…’.

“Sometimes, we do things that are against our nature as a human being. We get those alarming signal…we get depressed but we push on and on until we stop recognizing those signals and eventually ourselves. Who are we then?” Rachel uttered these disturbing words during a session with her psychologist.

“I feel that somebody has rightly said that we are the product of our choice, not of environment. I don’t feel alive anymore. I feel like I am a vessel of some sort, serving a purpose of running a giant human machine to serve a meaningless purpose of making huge money for some people at the top.” She continued.

“Why do you think so? Aren’t we all supposed to work? What is it you that you want to say?” asked her psychologist.

“Well, we are supposed to work. There is no doubt. But should the sole outcome or motivating factor of our work be money? Like I have seen botanist in my organization who never get the chance to see the real forest across the year. And the ones, who press for it, are sidelined and termed old school. I have even heard the argument that forests should be destroyed as we have a way to make oxygen and managing forests isn’t cost efficient.” added Rachel.

“You are thinking too much, Rachel…it’s not your job to think. There is a department in your organization to think about all this. So just don’t obsess over such things.” psychologist responded.

Rachel went back home thinking if she is overthinking or she isn’t allowed to think.

PS – This is the 21st day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.

the girl who fought back

DAY 20 OF MY CREATIVE WRITING JOURNEY. THE PROMPT WAS TO CONTINUE WRITING AFTER THE SENTENCE ENDS ‘HER LIFE WAS NOT THE BED OF ROSES…’.

Her life was not bad. In fact, it was a good life.

She was born in the 60s of northern England. It was a time of the great change.

On the surface, things looked good. People were still building great houses, buying expensive cars, and throwing lavish parties.

But under the surface, the economy was slowing down. The industrial decline was silently pushing people out.

Many people moved out. Her father didn’t.

He relied on the promises made by the politicians that the next year would be better from economic point of view.

But each year was worse than the previous one.

When his father decided to move but he couldn’t as his elderly parents needed him there.

He hoped to find a way to make money locally. But the more he tried the more he entangled himself in economic burdens.

Some years later, struggling with mental health and under the weight of a dozen loans, he took his own life.

She was only 12 then. She grew up without a father.

But his absence gave her a purpose to fight the economic & political forces which took the lives of many people like her father.

She grew up to become an economist and later politician who brought service sector which resulted in strong economic growth.

PS – This is the 20th day of my journey to write everyday for next one year.