My Story Writing Entry

The place I work for, organized a story writing competition. Its been years since I last participated in one of these. School was the last time. Was too disenchanted with everything, back in college to even find out, if they did stuff like this.

Anyways, thought I'd post my entry here. Not really proud of it though. Think its too disjointed. But posting it here, for your comments, nonetheless. And if your wondering, where the Colonial theme came from, well, inspiration is courtesy, John Master's : Nightrunners of Bengal. ;)

There was a 500 word limit to the story, and I deliberately underlined the lines which connected the pictures. Didn't wanna take any risks, what with my weird writing style! ;(

The smell of wet earth wafted up my nostrils. Though the rain had stopped only a while back, the signs of rejuvenated life in all its glory were already peeping out from the crevices in the soil. The green sprouting grass, the gay flowers, the croaking toads, the hopping sparrows. And in the middle of it all, My Perfect Little World.

Father was mostly away, while I was growing up. Company business. And Mother was busy fussing over her tea parties. And so, my childhood was spent with my two Hindoostani friends. The ayah, Kamla, and the maali, Rambahadur.

Chasing butterflies in our manicured lawn, my golden mane flying in the sweet breeze off the Hoogly, my two brown friends, shouting words of encouragement to their little Gori Memsaab, were like the drops of pure bliss in my otherwise melancholy life.

But as the years flew on by, so did my friends from childhood. Growing up in colonial India, wasn’t the most adventurous of things to do. And the Victorian society wasn’t very liberating either. I was suffocated, I was craving for a breath of fresh air. I was almost dying for it, when Sherman walked into my life.

He was everything I wanted, and more. A charming, spirited young man, who opened up my eyes to the world. We would stroll in the gardens, debating love and philosophy under the clear blue skies, or sit in wonderment of nature aboard the Company Ferry, over the calm Hoogly. But it wasn’t meant to be. Before long, Sherman’s marching orders arrived, and he never came back.

The years withered away, after that. A loveless marriage, an ordinary and predictable life, and finally old age. The only respite from it all, was an adorable daughter, late into the marriage, who kept me alive through the worst of the lows. My Little Blue Robin.

And now, as I lie on my death bed, with life slowly closing its door on me, my eyes frantically search for her. The little girl, has long since grown up to be a fine young lady, living in a far off land, with her own prince charming. But in my eyes, she will forever be my little girl.

As my breathing becomes more laboured, the darkness closes in tighter. I am desperately looking for my little girl. As I am about to give up on the last shreds of hope, I finally see her. Peeping in through a slat on the door. Smiling, mischievous. The darkness all around her, but never encompassing her. Her eyes twinkling, almost inviting. And I breathe in my last. Happy. Finally, Free.