History of the Tree_Some day_Temporary Shelter_How Could She?
Catalog Guide:
History of the Tree
Phew, that was really hot and tiring! Never underestimate the weight of wood, or the heat of the fire. Even after so many years, I still get exhausted. What did you think of that ritual? It's a family tradition—we've been doing it since forever. It only happens once a year, so I guess you got lucky to see it, as a guest. It is quite beautiful and all. Do you want to know the origin story of this tradition? I can tell you what I've heard from my grandparents when I was young.They told me that this tree represents our family—and it's true, it's on our crest—which is why we have it out in the yar...
Some day
He can barely see the stars from his position on the bed, looking out the window in the middle of the night,and fighting sleep. He knows tomorrow is his last day. He has to leave the one person that makes him happy. The one that hung a wrecking ball in his gut and set it to the function of a pendulum. Its now a swinging weight, and has become the sole time keeping element of his life, keeping him stable. Or like a hula hoop. He's the hoop that's swinging around, even when he's exhausted at times and just wants to stop for a minute. He can't, because he knows that he would fall down if he s...
Temporary Shelter
Ballabh lights his beedi and sits under the tree. The sweltering Delhi Sun has sapped his energy. A few of his fellow-labourers are lying under the shade with their faces covered by their hand towels. It’s lunch break. He brings his mind forcefully back from Rini as the mason shouts,“Enough of resting, saalon! Get back to work”.Ballabh takes the last puff, throws the stub on the ground. He then spwww.onedoor.cclashes the tepid water kept in an open tank on his face, wipes it with his worn-out hand towel which he later uses to tie as a turban on his head. He picks up his spade, moves to his allotted trench a...
How Could She?
By: Danie Reynolds“Why do I have to go?” I practically scream the words, immeasurably frustrated by the fact that my mother can’t see my side of the argument.“Because I said so!” She yells back. This time I really do scream, then I run up the stairs, the wood boards creaking underneath my stomping feet. I swing the door to my room open, being sure to slam it shut behind me. I pummel the pillows on my bed, then rip off the blankets, flinging them to the floor. I’m about to kick over my bookshelf when something glints silver out of the corner of my eye.I lower my foot, and walk over to my bedsid...