Jul 30, 2014 Original Short Stories
Photo Copyright: Rochelle Wisoff-Fields
Genre: Realistic Fiction
Word Count: 100 Words
Wing
©July 30th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
She was leaving home. All she had were some clothes, her sitar, Oscar Wilde, Shakespeare and Charlotte Bronte. She grieved for her past which fell away, as she rose into the skies.
She didn’t know what she’d face when she arrived in the New World. All she knew was that he was there, back in his country, having arrived a day earlier from hers.
Adventures are easy when you’re twenty-four, and married to the man you love.
When the plane touched down, she felt newly minted. Baggage in hand, she stepped out into Arrivals.
He came forward. Joy took wing.
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Salutations and thanks to our Fairy Blog-Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, for her lovely photo-prompt, and for hosting Friday Fictioneers tirelessly every week. 🙂
Tags: airplanes, flying, future, Leaving the past behind, new bride, New World, Newly Married, past
Jun 4, 2013 Awake in Real Time: Coffee-induced Meditations and Journal Entries
Frisson
©By Vijaya Sundaram
June 4th, 2013
There have been about eight times when I felt like what I’m feeling now, and I became conscious of that the first time when I was ten years of age.
There was a thrill, a frisson, if you will, of quiet anticipation, of the sense of mysteries and adventures to come. And they did.
Hinges, they were. Things turned on those hinges. Doors opened and closed, avenues bloomed before my wondering eyes, horizons unfolded, mountains gave definition to the skies, window frames gave meaning to what lay outside. “Excitement” is too mundane a word to capture this bubbling undercurrent of quiet, tightly-contained feeling.
New ideas, new people, new expectations, new challenges, new ways of being, new kinds of hard work, new learning came on the heels of this frisson.
I’m not sure whether the frisson caused the changes, or a glimpse I had of the future caused it. What does it matter if one caused the other or the other caused the one?
Things had been quiescent for me, these past few years — not so now.
Not sure what the next decade will bring. All I know is that they have to be different from what they’ve been recently.
For the frisson is back. And I cannot bear the waiting.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Waiting, excitement, frisson, future, glimpse of one's future
Apr 3, 2013 Original Poetry, Parenting/ Home-schooling / Family Music and other Notes
Catapult – A Poem
©By Vijaya Sundaram
I watch the sun’s beckoning fingers
Inviting my daughter and me to go out
And play. The lure is undeniable.
I resist, resolutely. I shall not go out.
No, I shall not. I want to be lumpen.
My plea? Too tired. Too worn out.
Not for me the beautiful sun
Nor for me the brisk air
Of near-Spring, teetering
At the edge of winter,
Still tilted in Winter’s wake.
I insist on staying indoors, always
The rebel against that which is good for me.
I used to be good, you know.
I was good. I looked good.
I was young and aware of it.
So, I carefully did these:
Walk, eat right, count my calories,
Be healthy, do lunges and stretches.
Now, un-Cinderella-like, with the years
Flown by, I find that I’ve turned
Into a pumpkin, and do not mind.
My daughter doesn’t mind that we are home.
She’s had her sun-stint earlier today,
With loving and dutiful Dad.
She played with Bella, a beautiful dog
She romped about
On wood-chips and grass,
Happy to be almost at Spring’s door.
I wasn’t there. I was told the bare
Details: Playground, dog, Bella, romping.
But I might have been there.
I saw them all, clearly.
For I hallucinate scenes
Clear as day, scenes which move
Like movies of yore, slow long
Camera angles and panning.
I see everything: My child,
Bella the dog, her fond owner,
My fond husband watching our daughter
Adore the dog, and the blue, blue sky above.
I hallucinate most things (but I know
It’s in my mind), because the stories
Always unfold thus, and all the colors are
Extra-saturated and brighter than real.
Now, as I watch, bemused, nonplussed,
My daughter prances about the house
Cat-faced, with a mask she made herself.
Cow-like, she moos, then cat-like, she slinks
Towards me, catapulting into my arms.
Stunned, I allow myself
To be borne away on the wave of her
Eight-year old magic.
Once, she asked me:
Would you love me if I were a boy?
I shall always love you.
Would you love me less if I were a teenager?
I shall always love you.
Can I stay with you and Dad forever?
I shall always love you.
I love you, Mom!
I shall always love you.
“I don’t want to grow up,” she states
Seriously, full of purpose and intent.
“I won’t! I want to stay a kid
Forever, and be free.”
Part of me agrees.
Another part says,
What of the you who’s waiting to be?
But for now, we stay far from the catapult
Which flings us into the distant future.
Time enough for growing up.
For right now, a child of eight
Claims my entire attention
And dances in the spotlight
Of my love for her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~The End~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tags: #Childhood, #Daughter, #Life, #Love, #Mask, #Mother and Daughter, #NaPoWriMo, catapult, dog interactions, future, Growing up, innocence, Play, Playground