Window, an illustrated memoir

Window

an illustrated memoir

volume 01/ issue 01/ `110

people

in retrospect

as one travels

overcoming fear

editors’ note

A

on the first edition

lluring folds of the Himalayas, a sharp smell of pine, tiny strawberries hidden under layers of pine needles, fresh water rushing down, all of it, I love it. All my journeys to the mountains talk about me in very different ways. I have experienced and come to terms with certain things that the mountains contain. I have grown with every trip made to the mountains.

In this publication the majority of the areas that, I have visited are in Uttrakhand. The few stories, which are documented, are the most profound memories, which I have. The incident or the learning may be common or short, but the context in which I experienced the incident is what makes it close to my heart.

Shivani Prakash

Contents people

in retrospect

01 silence Shivani Prakash

and trust 13 language Shivani Prakash

03 remembrance Shivani Prakash

light 15 no Shivani Prakash

accident 04 an Random Person

decisions 20 tough Random Person

wheat 05 fresh Links Character

24 death Person Random

over the city 09 all Random Person

25 shelf-life Dummy Name

contents

up 26 growing Shivani Prakash

32 firefly Shivani Prakash

birds 27 dumb Bubul Singh

whistle 33 theBubul Singh

28 highways Sweater Weather

hills 34 valleys, Random Person

4 30 article Links Character

37 a test Links Character

31 waterfalls Random Person

38 dandelions Character Links

jan - march ‘13

overcoming fear

window

as one travels

people

01

Silence

A

fter driving down from Darjeeling we reached Kalimpong. We stopped at a guesthouse near Doctor Grahams’ homes.

We sit for lunch in the common dining room.

There we meet a mother and her daughter. The daughter had a lean build. She was dark and had straight short hair. Her nails had been painted maroon sometime back and now the paint was

She look ed lik e those kids who would ne v er talk to fat, ugl y looking kids. chipping off. She sat with her legs folded underneath her. Her mother was huge. She had tiers of fat underneath her neck and a mole on her cheek. Her hair was much shorter compared to her daughter. For some strange reason I thought the daughter had been adopted. I became fond of the girl as soon as I saw her. She was alive.

Running around. Eating uncooked Wai-Wai bought from the small shop close by. She seemed like those kids who would never talk to fat, ugly looking kids (me).

see a small shop hiding among the trees and the scraggy girl at the shops counter ordering the owner around. Before I could cross the greenery she came back holding two packets of chicken flavoured wai wai and she had already started walking back towards the guesthouse. I followed her. She had reached the kitchen and given one packet of noodles to be cooked and had disappeared again. I wanted to be like her.

She had her own world built around her. What she did with her time; where she went; the wind in her hair; all of it, I wanted to be it. How she could talk to that guy and I couldn’t. Along with the fondness, came jealously. Later that evening I asked her to fill out details in the phonebook, which I carried around with me. We were leaving the next morning. I searched for her so that I could say goodbye and tell her I’ll write to her once I’m home. But I couldn’t find her. We went to eat breakfast at a joint close by and by chance I saw her leaving from there. I waved my hand at her to bid her goodbye. I never wrote to her once I reached home.

window

After lunch I went down to the T.V. room to pass my time. As soon as I enter the room I see the huge mother sitting there calling out “Swetalina!

Don’t go too far!” and I see the little girl running out of the room without acknowledging her mother. I go and place myself near the huge mother.

She notices my presence, which is tiny in her comparison. She says, “She is uncontrollable. And she keeps eating that wai wai without cooking it.

Now she will come back even dirtier.” I offered her small smile and said, “Her stomach will get spoilt.”

She gives me the T.V. remote and leaves. I kept flipping channels. After sometime a guy walked in.

He was handsome and tall and obviously elder to me. His enormous eyes had a hard look in them.

He looked at me. Before he could say anything, the girl jumped into the room. “Thomas! Lets play badminton!” she cried. He asked me if I wanted to come. I nodded my head and walked behind him while the girl ran outside.

The grass had grown too tall and it needed trimming. They started playing. The breeze was a bit too much to play badminton. The shuttlecock kept deviating from the path it was supposed to follow. Thomas’ mother came out and asked him to come in and help with something. He replied, “In half an hours!” I stood there; looking at him with narrowing eyes and told him that is ‘half an hour’ and not ‘half an hours’. He looked back at me with emotionless eyes and replied, “No. I’m correct.” His tall build told me that I should shut up, so I shut up. He handed the racket to me and left to help his mother. Swetalina looked at me and I looked at her. And then she smiled and asked me if I wanted to eat wai wai. I nodded. With a sudden jolt of energy the racket left her hand and she started running towards the side where we were not supposed to go, towards the end. I got a fright.

I ran towards her only to see it wasn’t a cliff. It just wasn’t a slope either. She continued jumping down. I continued after her with great difficulty.

After covering like five of the those high steps I

jan - march ‘13

people

people 03

Remembrance

W

omen, dressed in sarees, which ended above their ankles, carried freshly harvested wheat on their backs. The fresh green of the wheat was pleasing to the eye. Their feet were worn out and adorned with silver payal. They wore cheap rubber slippers, which were smaller for them. Their teeth were stained because of chewing tobacco. They were laughing at some remark that was being passed in pahadi. The wheat was being carried up hill.

I didn’t know where it was being taken or what purpose, to be eaten most probably. We walked along with them. My parents chit chatted with them while I walked behind them pulling the seeds off the stalks and eating them happily.

It started raining heavily. The wind was strong. An umbrella wouldn’t suffice. So we stood under a broken down shelter with our mountain friends. The father was amusing. The little boy with us was filled with life. He couldn’t stop smiling. His sister contained similar feelings.

We had two caps with us which had “business world” written on them. Father put one on each one’s head. Our mountain friend had brought a lantern along with him. Touched by my father’s gesture, he gave the lantern to us. The lantern still lies with us. It has a holder to place a candle in it. The candle used the night of the storm still lies in it, half burnt or half melted.

in retrospect

language, trust ing near a farm that grew under root vegetables. I remember sitting cross-legged on the loose dark soil and trying to help the young girls remove the weeds.

While I sat there trying to dig through the soft soil I kept talking in English to my sister. Just like my parents talked in front of the housemaid, I too wanted to talk in English in front of people who didn’t understand English.

“

Later that evening my parents talked to me about how those people trusted us less now because they understood that I was telling something to my sister which I didn’t want them to know. They felt as if we were hiding something and were there for a hidden agenda. A simple lesson which I learnt that evening.

jan - march ‘13

I remember sitting cross-legged on the loose dark soil and trying to help the young girls remove the weeds.

window

e had been driving for hours. From a polluted city we drove past harvested sugarcane, then through dry sugarcane, then we crossed factories, which process the sugarcane. The smell that came out from the factories reminded me of cow shit. I still can’t bear that smell.

It would nauseate me. Now I’m used to it. Getting out of the plains was one crazy ride. It was jam packed with trucks and cars going to and fro.

Especially during noon, the small villages that we crossed were busy with life. People would be out on the street, some working and some passing there time.

The moment soon arrived when the world outside the car windows starts to change. The plains were coming to an end and the road started ascending. The greenery increased with every kilometer that we covered and finally we reached Chakhrata.

It wasn’t as mountainous as I was expecting it to be. We were camp-

“

W

in retrospect 05

nolight

The darkness and what the darkness brought with it. The dense, never-dying forest and what it hid.

T

he car gently stopped. The softness of silence and a sharp smell of pine with interruptions of cigarette smoke hovered around me. The sun had already been setting. An orange colour of the setting sun and the dark green of distant mountains soothed my eyes. The forest rest house stood there like it had been standing there before our independence. It had two rooms, one for the guard and the other for travelers. The latter had been occupied with the guards’ friends.

He’s shoos them out while my father fills the entry register. The guard requests us to wait out for ten minutes. My parents sit on the heavy wooden chairs placed on the wooden flooring while I stood there mesmerized by the beauty of the dense forest. I can hear him moving the few chairs here and there, trying to settle the room inside. He walks out trying to hide ashtrays and the smell of the alcohol consumed the previous night with the blankets in his hand.

We start putting our bags inside. I go towards the bed. I see the once white now yellow bed sheets. My eyes waver over the rest of the place. The dim yellow light in the room made every other colour uncertain which in turn made me uneasy.

I looked at the fireplace. The scorch marks talked about the last time that it was lit. I walk into the washroom to see snails crawling and spiders hanging from the ceiling. There were no buckets or bathing stools kept there. The mirror had a few red bindis stuck on it. The tiles made the washroom even colder than the room.

I lie down in bed. Tired after the days’ journey, only to feel afraid of sleeping. I felt that there was something wrong with everything in that room. The pillow didn’t feel right.

in retrospect

The mattress on the bed felt as if it was against my body. I couldn’t get myself to pull the blanket over my ears to block the cold out. The moonlight cast shadows in the room and partially lit the ceiling. My elder sister lay peacefully beside me. She had her back faced towards me. I lay still. Staring at the shadows cast on the ceiling, in the hope that I would fall asleep. But sleep was far away from me. I figured my mind has an unknown agenda. I just couldn’t sleep. I tried waking my sister up, but all in vain. She refused to budge. I kept pushing her but she lay there like a dead body. I stopped shifting around. I thought I could sense something near my legs. It went away once I was still. The bed-sheet was damp. I stared the ceiling.

jan - march ‘13

window

Waiting for my nightmare to approach me. My bladder called me. I had to go to the washroom, alone. I kept pushing my sister. She snapped, “Shut up” and silence. Gathering all my courage I sat up. I put my feet on the wooden flooring and move them around to search for my slippers. After wearing them I go towards the washroom. There was enough light to guide me till the washroom door and inside. I wouldn’t dare to switch the light on. The moonlight felt brighter because of being reflected on the cold tiles of the washroom. I move towards the commode. The fear of something perplexed me. What I was afraid of was and still is indefinable. The darkness and what the darkness brought with. The dense, never-dying forest and what it hid. The darkness and the forest formed a labyrinth. The fear stopped me from even trying to imagine what they possessed. The question “What if ?” hovered over my head. I wouldn’t even think about screaming for help. What would they say? And what if they never got up?

“

“

Staring at the shadows cast on the ceiling, in the hope that I would fall asleep. But sleep was far away from me.

as one travels 07

Growing Up I

“ “

rest house overlooking apple orchids and lofty mountains hidden by mist and clouds. That night, as always, my sister and I accompanied our parents while they shared a drink in the verandah.

We sat there eating salted peanuts in the cold soaking in the darkness and the tiny lights dotted in the sky. I generally mentioned that how others looked so beautiful and I don’t. That was the day when my father told me that I am beautiful in my own way and so is everyone.

Every time I remember this trip to Kilor, I go back to the time when I didn’t like myself. I hated the way I looked. Pathetic. Round. Every time I smiled I despised the way my nose turns into a round ball. My hair. I never came to terms with the fact that I was growing up and I still haven’t. All up hill journeys are tiring.

All up hill journeys are tiring.

t was amazing to see how the huge Qualis that father drove could fit in the narrow mountain roads which we’re meant for walking or for Maruti 800’s. We reached a point when the car had to be parked. We were looking for the forest department head quarters so we could take the permit for staying for a few nights in the forest rest house.

We walk along an even narrower path than before. After walking for a few minutes we reach a wall, which had a bougainvillea plant growing against it.

The bougainvillea plant was not the usual deep pink shade which I had seen while I grew up. It had purple and yellow leaves. The head quarters looked like one of the houses. The glass in the windowpane had started melted.

My father went in to take the permit while my mother; sister and me sat and waited on narrow benches. We were offered tea in plastic cups, which weren’t white. I declined my share. My father walked out talking to some man with the permit in his hand.

The man sat with us in the Qualis and guided my father throughout the way. We kept moving on a narrow winding path till we reached a dead end. And there stood a beautiful forest

overcoming fear

Firefly

And then I saw a tiny light hovering above me in the blackness.

It peacefully floated around in the darkness.

window

jan - march ‘13

W

e were driving back from Binsar past the rhododendron flowers. We reached Mukhteshwar. My ears were in a bad shape because of the sudden pressure change.

I felt like my eardrum was going to burst open.

While I held my hands against my ears I looked outside the window and tried to remember my previous trip there. Most of Mukhteshwar is reserved forest area. We kept driving downhill and then we finally stopped at the government rest house. The rest house had small rooms each named after a colour. The view from the rest house was mesmerizing as always. The light faded away quickly. The power got cut. Everything around me except the village, which could be seen from the rest house, was dark.

I lay down in bed. For some strange reason the off white sheets felt clean. As always I stared at the ceiling in the hopes of sleep to approach me.

But sleep was far away. And then I saw tiny light hovering above me in the blackness. My sister lay awake too. She whispered me name and asked me to shoo away the tiny light. But I saw no reason.

It peacefully floated around in the darkness. The fear of the dark, which was instilled in me, started dwindling. To see my sister being scared brought a small amount of peace to me.

Window

an illustrated memoir

Young minds across the country, contributing their experiences, to make a whole new experience. “Window� is illustrated, written and edited by students in India. Their experiences, introspections, retrospections documented in the form of illustrated short stories is like a window for us into their lives.

Send in your entries to window@gmail.com.

To subscribe. call 01122248056 or email us at subswindow@gmail.com.

Published by, DJ Academy of Design.

All content, illustrations and layouts by Shivani Prakash.