"Rutala aunty has always been the reason of the fame of Chourabasti. Well, she never thought that she can make everyone proud when she began about 10 years ago. But the women with her never doubted her capability to be something more than just a transgender who goes around taking money. I didn't understand the genderqueer things when I was a kid but somehow, I found her very attractive. Maybe because she seemed to be very different from the others, or maybe because she always greeted everyone with a gentle smile.
I was a silent observer of her small home, of the women learning to stitch, of the girls dancing, of the small children learning to read and write. Sometimes people with big cameras also came. I got to know later that they were the media people who showed Rutala aunty on TV for some reason. Her house with a verandah seemed like a world of its own, a self-sufficient corner of Chourabasti. Laughter kept escaping the hay roof throughout the day. The vibe of the place delighted me. But for some unknown reasons, my mother had prohibited me from entering her house.
At first, I argued. Then slowly, the habit of watching from far and guessing what they must be doing, started entertaining me. It happened once that Maa was telling me to be respectful towards everyone and I said, "Rutala aunty is like this, isn't it? Then why don't you like her? There are many who daily go to her house. Then why don't you let me go there?"
"I have told you many times not to ask me the same question." Maa shouted. "She is not like you and me. She is different. Her world is different. Her people are different."
"Why is she here, then?" I asked out of curiosity, but Maa said nothing. She was leaving when I spoke, "I want to be like Rutala aunty when I grow up. I want to help others lik...." A slap on my face left the word unuttered and I felt burning sensations on my left cheek. The nine year old me could not understand why Maa slapped me so hard, why I wasn't given dinner and why Baba left me crying the whole night. (1/2)
Sometimes, I wish the world would stop spinning. I know that would mean the end of life as we know it but just imagine. The world stops spinning, gradually its speed begins to drop and you begin to see everything that destroyed you get destroyed. Slowly, you see everything crumble. Time slows down even though it's all happening so quick and for once, you can hear your breathing. Nature is in turmoil, the oceans mixing with the molten lava and gulping down everything. Or maybe, the roads begin to freeze, ice taking over everything leaving behind frozen residue of nothingness. Because once everyone is still, the world collapses. Forgotten, nay, never existed. But it won't matter really. To anyone. Or anything. Because there are planets and stars dying everyday that lived for a billion years and nobody even knows. The world stops spinning every night when I'm lying in bed and I can feel the crippling darkness slowly numbing my skin. And I close my eyes so that I can listen, for once, listen to my breathing. But as soon as I do, the world starts spinning again. And I'm lost. #selfwritten #writersofinstagram #writersnetwork #writersofig #oltmblog #illogicalpoemworld #spilledink #poetsofinstagram #poemsporn #wordporn
As Midas reached his father and the fire, which was struggling in the wind, he immediately set to work with the wood he had collected. It wasn't long before he had it large and powerful, instead of struggling against its natural enemy it fought back with vigor. Midas's father gave him a smile and patted him on the shoulder. .
"You have done well my son." Midas nodded his appreciation for the rare compliment from his father but never took his eyes from his work. His father also nodded, proud of his sons dedication. They worked for some time in silence, Midas tending to the fire, his father cleaning and cooking the meat for supper. Both stopped their work though, when Midas's mother called out to them, her voice leaking fear and haste. .
. "Midas! Johan! Come to the hovel quickly!" Midas had never heard his mother this way and by the look his father gave him, it was rare indeed. Both ran to her aid .
. Information- page 2 chapter 1. Story- Kingston. Tags #story #bookstagram #storyreader #storytime #read #dnd #pagetwo #kingston #selfwritten
IMPORTANT: if you know of anyone on instagram who does free art or who would like to try their hand at drawing please let me know in the comments. I will provide their instagram name if they want free publicity #art