“ Phone… check! Bus pass… check! Pencils… check! New notebook… check!” Shouldering her bag once again, Clara felt all set for the new Creative writing class she was starting today. She had been looking forward to it for over a month now, and here she was, waiting for 6:59 to turn to 7.00! There was no way she would miss this one! She will attend this every week, and come out as a writer after 8 weeks. Atleast that was the plan. “Uh Oh! Something’s wrong!” she thought suddenly, with a hint of panic. “I feel that blasted migraine coming on… and the class will be three hours long.” Her face crumpled as she came to the decision, she may have to skip this one after all. This headache wins again. Her shoulders drooped as she started to turn back, but suddenly stopped mid pivot. Smiling to herself, she reached into the depths of her bag. “Saridon… check!
“Excuse me sir, are you done?” I was only into my fourth cup, and heck, I was just getting started! It said ‘free refills’ out front, didn’t it? So no, Lady! I am not, so please leave me alone; and get me another refill please, while you’re at it? The tube light crackled and the soda fountain whirred as I stood holding the cup- “free refills also mean serve yourself, mister”- and I wondered for the thirty fourth time, which shade of blue looks the most professional, but not as much as the black. “Let’s revisit the slides, I had a brilliant idea last evening!” said Jaden Smith, as he walked in office this morning. “Sure thing boss!” I chimed back, summoning forth the best of my fake smiles, from my ever full bag of lies. “The Big Boss is in town next month, and the least he deserves is a professionally prepared update, don’t you think?”, Jaden returned, putting his sweating frappe down on my desk, right next to the coaster I had hopefully set out this morning. “Of course, ...
--Disclaimer: As against my own principle, I am making a lot of generalizations here. Caution.-- I read an interesting opinion today, about women. Quoting D.H. Lawrence, from "Women in Love": "And woman is the same as horses: two wills act in opposition inside her. With one will, she wants to subject herself utterly. With the other she wants to bolt, and pitch her rider to perdition." I won't be fair if I deny the first bout of horror (no doubt, feminist in origin) that came to my head; to sample a few- Not a horse, surely! And so judgmental! To define an entire race in mere 40 words!- and so the rest. But a calmer examination of these words opened up another universe of meaning to me. No doubt there is more to women than horses alone. Of course, men can't ride on their backs (and backs alone i mean). But come to think of it, there are two wills inside me at times; and I am a woman- though a poor sample set, but that is the beauty of generalities, who cares ...
Comments
Post a Comment