Cooking seems scary to me. The house could burn down, or you could use the wrong ingredients and end up killing yourself. It was my first time alone, cooking from a very unpopular recipe. It sounded tasty so I thought why not try it out!
The last ingredient had a very tongue twisting, unique name, that I had found at a shop tucked at the corner. The moment I added it, rainbow colored smoke started filling my bungalow.
If you look up ‘Racism’ in the dictionary, it would show that it means prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism directed against a person or people based on their membership of a particular racial or ethnic group, typically a minority or marginalized.
“You’re doing it wrong.” I jumped. Mother rolled her eyes, “The strokes should be horizontal. Not vertical,” she said.
“Oh!” I said as she took the paint brush from my hand, demonstrating the correct way.
“I spent all these days trying to grow a few roses for your grandmother, but they always die. The ones you grew lasted for weeks. Maybe you can help me.”
It was my birthday and I held a party the day after. All of my friends and relatives were overflowing with gifts for me. They were all great, except for one – the exotic shampoo.
It was called ‘Elements’. It was given to me by my school friend Estelle Jackson. When she gave it to me, I immediately started to open the wrapping paper, because Estelle gives amazing gifts. When I opened it, I screamed, ‘I LOVE HAIR PRODUCTS!’. I opened the cap and took a sniff. It smelled heavenly! I hugged Estelle and thanked her for the gift.
Avani Joshi was born to two mothers. Hers was not the conventional family. She was a pretty and happy girl. When she first went to school, she kept a low profile because she knew that she could be ridiculed because of having gay parents. But a new talent gradually grew within her: Physical Education. In the first grade, she picked up a baseball bat. It was marvelous for her! She also excelled on the cricket pitch. A few days later, she was introduced to football, and she played like a professional at the very first moment. When she started basketball a week later, she became a star. She was soon a popular girl due to her sports skills and made lots of friends in school.
The ringing of bells and the chanting of priests echoed resonantly through her ears. The smog from the fire was soaring higher and higher in the air. The waft of incense sticks hovered in the room. The instant Neha came out of the room, she felt as if she could finally take a breath. Nobody understood how troublesome it was for an atheist to be a part of a pooja. For her, it was like being somewhere she did not belong. She didn’t understand the purpose of believing in God because she could believe in herself and that belief was what mattered to her. Although, she didn’t have much choice. Most of the times, when anyone heard about her being an atheist, they would get startled; all the more because for people around her an ideal girl should have been following their rules of devotion. Her mother believed that religious worship was crucial as she thought that God was the only one who could protect her at all times.
At Beyond the Box, we are constantly thinking of ideas to give something unique, refreshing as well as challenging to our community of writers. Two to Tango was one such endeavour to encourage the participants to work along with another writer as a team and bring about a creative synergy. 66 teams participated in this one-of-its-kind contest and the winners were chosen by an eclectic jury panel comprising of prolific authors Ramendra Kumar, Shilpa Suraj and Apeksha Rao. Below prompt was given to the writers and they were asked to narrate the same story from two different points of view.
Continue reading Two To Tango By Soma & Haritha – Special Mentions
Another day passed by with another medal for the Corry Saints High School trophy room. A close call for the basketball finals, but they brought home the trophy with a score of 20-18. Finally home after a laborious, tiresome week of training, Sophie slumped onto her bed, her face red and sweaty. Hours passed and she hadn’t moved an inch. The tick of the clock became faint as Sophie dozed off, slipping into her own world. Her alarm buzzed at sharp 5 and jolted her awake.
I wake up to find myself handcuffed to the hospital bed. The drug they injected me with to tame me seems to be wearing off. Ugh! This again. Better to get it over with, I guess. I drag my free hand into my bun and retrieve a small blade. As usual the dumb police never bothered to check in there thinking a man’s bun would just be a fashion statement. I twist to my side and turn the blade in the keyhole clockwise. My hand comes free. I learnt to pick locks when I was young, one of my many talents. I shake my hand hard to get rid of the stiffness and get up from the bed.
Tushar was your regular 16-year-old teen. He studied at a school near his home and walked to school every day. One Wednesday morning, there was a thunderstorm. It seemed to describe his mood better than he could. His parents were having another stupid and petty argument, while his grandparents had put on the television for the entire building to hear. With the amount of noise coming from their house alone, he wouldn’t be surprised if they won a prize for the noisiest household on the land. Along with all that, there was school pressure because their teachers were barely giving the children any time to study, and he couldn’t concentrate at home with the television turned on 24/7 at a blaring high volume.
