The short and the short of it

Breaking with tradition

Diwali is a celebration of good over evil, darkness over light and knowledge over ignorance. In India, Diwali surrounds us with excitement, extravagant shopping, fire crackers, exchanging gifts, feasting on lavish meals, wearing new clothes, buying jewelry and lighting up homes and neighborhoods with oil lamps. Streets are transformed into a whole new world, bustling with life, glittering with dazzling light bulbs, the air oozing with cheer, laughter and the spirit of festivity. A long stretch of holidays at work and school makes it possible for everyone to meet and greet loved ones living far away and spend quality time with those near and dear. Celebrations begin early in the day and last for days after the festival is over, leaving precious memories to linger in our minds. After moving to the United States in 2015, my definition of Diwali changed drastically. Though I followed all the traditions as I had in my home country, the feeling was never the same. The five-day festival that...

Welcome 2021

A shimmer of light is crawling in, giving us hope to break free from the darkness that has engulfed us in different ways, since the start of the pandemic. This was a year when illness, unexpected death and hate raised their ugly heads, shocking me beyond belief. The year 2020 is finally reaching its end. 2021 is gently tiptoeing into our lives, carrying the promise for better things. I have been struggling for the best words to describe this hugely challenging year. I recently learned about a carinaria shell through Anthony Doerr’s book, All the Light we cannot see. A carinaria shell is simultaneously light and heavy, hard, and soft, smooth, and rough. This is exactly how this year has made me feel. I feel like I have turned into a carinaria shell: heavy with pandemic fatigue and yet, wearing a light smile, thinking about the possibility of the bringing in newness, I feel rough around the edges and still soft enough to soak in the goodness that brightens ...

My Not So Favorite Pupil

Teaching Surinder English was a nightmare. His handwriting was like ants doing a cabaret, pronunciation was a mystery since he avoided speaking to me in English and his marks were stagnant, like the puddle of rainwater, that never dried up. I dreaded correcting his test papers. His spellings, lack of structure in the sentence and the empty words filling up the page was no less than a horror movie. I was more than just worried and worried for myself, more than him. If he did not score well in the mid-term exams this year, the principal was going to be upset with me again. I would be beyond upset, not able to forgive myself for not being a good teacher. Honestly, I was doing my best. He was an average student, scoring fairly well in all subjects, except the horrifying ENGLISH. I stayed back after school hours, trying to make him read story books meant for younger kids, encouraging him to watch cartoons with English dialogue and sweated over translating every word in English from the ...

Writersmind.Surabhi

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