Postcard from today


lunch with 2 students in the canteen. unexpected. wise. a hearty break from my usual grumpy self at the desk who always wants to watch something as she stuffs face with food. lunch with students, in the canteen – good idea. listened to them, told them stuff.

back at my desk, i spoke to a student, a champion, a winner through and through – a kutti little Marquez breaking history one kickass story at a time. i wish she never stops writing. later, another girl whose smile invites me to smile back, regardless of what i am thinking, and another girl – who is translating a tamil short story whose sentences land on each other like the pleasant oomph of cement upon cement. i felt like writing after a long time.

later, still at my desk, i read a line by gabito that made me ride back with the most agonising desire to spend each night working on a short story.

“i have always believed that good writing is the only happiness that is enough in and of itself” – Gabito

i am now realising that there is a reason why i am setting questions papers with so much enthu. i am writing them like short stories.

now, i am reading the fragrance of guava by  Plinio Apuleyo Mendoza – a long series of conversations between him and Gabito. now i am dying, i am new, i feel reborn with a greater desire to write and keep writing.

here’s gabito again – quoting hemingway from whom he learnt a great deal about writing short stories. “a short story, like an iceberg must be supported by the part you don’t see – all the thought, the study and the material collected but not used directly in the story”

i’m here again, to say how grateful i am to learn from students, from this profession, my darlingest gabito, and my riding self that is more rewarding to me than my writing self or even my fuckall living self.


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