finding herself.

She was in a tiny little cafe. It was the kind of cafe that looked nondescript from the outside, but had an elegance to it on the inside. She had ordered a slice of chocolate cake that cost twice the amount it weighed, and a cup of Earl Grey Tea. She readjusted her scarf, as she opened her little black book.

It was drizzling outside, and as she traced the outline of a passing cloud, she felt like a cliche.

Her marriage had ended recently. She had flown to this quaint little town, to ‘find herself’. Only, in the midst of her little adventure, she realised finding herself was getting quite expensive. She couldn’t walk around here, making quirky pseudoacquaintances who taught her life lessons, unless she got a job. Since she’d been a student all her life, she did not know what that would be like. But it seemed to involve a lot of responsibility, and she’d rather be a cliche than take responsibility.

Contemplating that maybe, she had found herself after all, she’d decided to leave town the next day.

This was her last day here, sitting by the cafe window, pretending to be engrossed in her work while her thoughts ran wild.

Her deft strokes brought the page to life, and suddenly she was engrossed. She became the sketch, as her tea grew cold. It overtook her self consciousness, as her head was bent over the page, and she colored the eyebrows of the woman in her picture. She could feel the uneasiness in her stomach clear up, as her heart soared with every honest detail- and

and her pencil lead broke.

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excerpt.

So I kind of wrote my first short story ever. It’s about a girl who runs (track) and then stops running and how a part of her goes away with it. Very cliched, I know. But it’s a start because it’s the first ever story I’ve actually managed to write in an Indian setting. This has been more difficult that anything, for some reason. Writing about what I’ve lived, breathed and experienced is way harder than infusing elements (hazy emotions and vague longings) of what I know and am into something I’ve just (at most) seen and read about.

Plus, it’s actually PG rated. Very very rare. If my mom asks me what I’m writing again and is all “What’s the use of not showing your stuff to anybody?” I have something to show her. Ha.

Excerpt below.

I remember the day of The Accident, though it’s perhaps the distorted, dramatically intense version that clings to my memory. I wish it weren’t so clear in my head… what happened to things fading with time? To the happy endings that were assured after incidents like these?

Perhaps it’s the only thing I have to cling on to. Perhaps I never knew problems before that.

I’m leaning against the back door of my house that faces the main road… I’m just another girl in the big, polluted, calm, sheltered, tiring yet charming city otherwise known as Chennai…

I used to be someone else… someone who didn’t blend in so easily… who was strong enough to meet obstacles and not run away… who had friends to push her towards the spotlight even if modesty and awkwardness made her reluctantly shrink away…

I used to be someone. A girl. An individual. Where is she now?