Three Windows in a Week
This flash essay is part of a collaborative, constrained-writing challenge undertaken by some members of the Bangalore Substack Writers Group. This month, we used the prompt, ‘A Window Into…’.
Image credit: Siddarth RG, Siddarth’s Newsletter
Tuesday evening
Seven thirty in the evening, B is standing outside her office building, waiting for her taxi ride. White Suzuki Dzire comes on the other side of the road, makes a u-turn and stops next to B. She says, ‘3547 OTP, thank you Sir.’ Like a good Ooru girl, she makes small talk about the Bengaluru weather- ‘Bahala chali eganthu’ (Very cold these days). H, the driver looks at B in the rearview mirror, smiles and says ‘Channagi Kannada mathadthira’ (You speak Kannada well). B: Kannadavaragi Kannada madthadodalli yenide (Being Kannadiga, what is the big deal in speaking Kannada).
The next twenty minutes goes by with H telling B about his wife and her love for books- Kannada, English, fiction, non-fiction - you name it. H talks of how his wife writes limericks, poems and short stories, and even sends it to newspapers and weekly magazines. H says his wife visits the local library on a regular basis, helps their child with homework and that she is a loving partner, curious and intelligent and that he is very proud of her.
B’s destination has arrived. She asks for the payment scanner. While paying the fare, B notes the account is in the wife’s name and laughingly remarks- ‘Hendathi accountge hogutha?’ (Will the payment go to your wife’s account?) He beams and says, ‘Hoon Madam, mane avare nodkondthare andmele, avarige hogbekalva?’ (Yes Madam, when she looks after the household, shouldn’t she get the money too?)
‘Parchisi’ by Tabitha Percy
Thursday morning
L tells G, ‘We will not be in town from tomorrow till Monday, please come on Tuesday. Aapke liye chutti! (you have a holiday!)’
G pouts, ‘Ma’am kaisi chutti? Beti ki exam chal rahi hey. Monday khatam hoga. Tuesday aur Wednesday chutti milegi? Thoda ghum phirke aayengey. (Ma’am, how is it a holiday. My daughter’s exams are going on till Monday. May I take Tuesday and Wednesday off? We will go on a short trip)
Next Thursday, G comes back, brimming with stories of her trip to Dhanushkodi, the unbearable heat of Chennai and bearing beach baubles for L. G’s adrenaline rush from standing at the tip of India and ‘seeing’ Sri Lanka, pales in comparison with whatever L did on her vacation.
Untitled by Savitha Anand Benagi
Friday evening
A book discussion on a breezy terrace, with a Marathi author, a Malayali chef and a Gujarati moderator. The book being discussed is a translation of the author’s book archiving the food habits of his ancestors, lest his children forget. Why does his community cook and eat what they cook? Why do they not make pickles? Why do they not use oil, spice or onions?
The author is excited to share his history. He says he wrote this book from a place of love, not to hurt the sentiments of anybody else. The moderator valiantly (but incorrectly) translates it as the author’s brave attempt to course-correct history. A French audience member asks the author if he is a cook. The author says he is a journalist, who decided to cook.
The evening ends- a young audience member feels *seen*, a fellow Maharashtrian reminisces about puran poli being one of the recipes in the book; the audience leave the event enthralled with the author’s account of history through his culinary culture. Same sky, same country, different hungers.
‘Catnip’ by Scherezade
We spend so much of our lives, thinking of our own self, being the Protagonist of our own lives, with all the others being there in our lives to only help us actualize our own being. Then there comes a time / lag / tear in the fabric of *our* reality – a peek into the life of our fellow human- when we look out the window of our ivory ( or charcoal) tower … only to realize (however brief the realization may be ) that ‘Hey, maybe I am here to help that random person actualize their life- maybe that random person is the Protagonist and I am the side character/ friend/ co-worker/ relative / customer/ boss/ random person to the Protagonist’s story.’
Sonder | The awareness that everyone has a story*
French sonder, to plumb the depths. Pronounced “sahn-der.” Can be used as a noun or a verb, as you would use the word wonder.
*Definition from the dictionary of obscure sorrows.
Here’s a list of other flash essays by fellow Bangalore Substack writers-
The window that looks back, by Vaibhav Gupta, Thorough and Unkempt
A window into the vegetable market by Rakhi Kurup , Rakhi’s Substack
A window into permission for freedom: The FIRE Number by Shruti Soumya, Same Here
A window into the fixity and flux by Amit Charles, AC Notes
A window into a person who shivers on stage by Mihir Chate, Mihir’s Substack
A window into a life on a sabbatical by Ritika Arora, Ritika Arora – Medium
A window into bendy morals by Amit Kumar, EarlyNotes
A window into Kalimpong by Karthik Ballu, Reading This World by Karthik
A window into what makes a great Quiz Question by Rajat Gururaj, I came, I saw, I floundered
Still Looking By Spandana, Spandana’s Substack
A window into a screen-less day by Saniya Zehra Saniya’s Substack
> Hoon Madam, mane avare nodkondthare andmele, avarige hogbekalva?
:) Made me smile. Also because I was able to understand it in Kannada :)
This is brilliant. Loved the take on Sonder :)
And how well you connected it with different windows and a glimpse into it. The bonus were the paintings that added to the visual relief. Keep going.