TheBanyanTrees April2010

From the Editor’s Desk:

Ever since TheBanyanTrees started spreading its roots, we have been

toying with the idea of an abstract theme.

What if, we asked ourselves, what if we pushed the envelope and gave

our writers an abstract theme? The theme that is nothing but a

thought. We asked our writers to create content around that thought.

That is how April's theme of 'An Empty Box' came in to existence.

Our writers have come up with a variety of very creative content cre-

ated around the thought, 'an empty box'. When you read it, think

about what you would write , if you were given this theme. Hop on

board and be mesmerized with the content. We sure were.

Here's presenting to you, 'An Empty Box'.

Shored………………………………………..Debleena Dasgupta

Unclaimed Baggage ………...…….…………..Aditya SriKrishna

Boxed……………………………………….Macademia The Nut

Imminence……………………………….Raghuram Godavarthi

Prize winning entry from creative writing work-

shop…………………………………………….…….....R.Swetha

Draupadi………………...………………………………..Manasa

The not so empty boxes……………………...Nivethitha Kumar

Dude Where is my Coffee?....................................DreamVendor

Hello, I’m from the United States of America …...Priya Venkat

How Empty is an Empty Box……...Archana Ramasubramanian

Just an empty box …………..………………. Dhivya Arasappan

Contents

SHORED

I‟ve travelled to the shores of men,

Travelled beyond the seas;

The world is such a festive fair,

Bright lights looming everywhere,

Whetting dreams bold and bare,

Billowing, never to cease.

My mast stood tall, my flag flew high,

My journey seemed unending;

Each nook and cranny had I searched,

Atop the towers had I perched,

Had pushed my sails until I lurched,

And watched the flame ascending.

Gems and jewels strewn about,

Grabbed them lest they vanished;

Each dawn spelt a gilded chase,

My face etched in frenzied craze,

Stopped not I to cast my gaze,

Upon the walk I banished.

From time of yore have I sung,

The song of wretched lives,

Hauled too did I the trove of might,

Slept in power many a night,

Thrived in sniggering, dark delight,

That quietly, masked, arrives.

I trod upon the cringing men,

Felled both friend and foe,

What kith, what kin, all skittle clan,

My stride guides me to grander plans,

My shadow flickers, dim and wan,

As alone on I go.

SHORED

Past my purple coloured days

I lie now spent, ashore;

My ship has sunk, my flag is torn,

The trove has rotted, all gems gone,

The king is dwarfed to a mere pawn,

My torch burns no more.

An empty box, all that‟s left

Of me, a dismal stance;

Bereft of all jewels am I,

Those folks with whom I learnt to fly,

My soul utters a plangent cry,

And looks at me askance.

And were I to rise again

And cross the tides of fate,

A chest to hold my humble past,

My yawl would glide in oceans vast,

Awning sky would see my last,

An empty box my weight.

- Debleena Dasgupta

UNCLAIMED BAGGAGE

How much does your life weigh? Imagine for a sec-

ond that you're carrying a backpack. I want you to

pack it with all the stuff that you have in your life....

You start with the little things. The shelves, the

drawers, the knickknacks. Then you start adding lar-

ger stuff. Clothes, tabletop appliances, lamps, your

TV.... The backpack should be getting pretty heavy

now. You go bigger. Your couch, your car, your

home... I want you to stuff it all into that backpack.

Now I want you to fill it with people. Start with cas-

ual acquaintances, friends of friends, folks around

the office ... and then you move onto the people you

trust with your most intimate secrets. Your brothers,

your sisters, your children, your parents, and finally,

your husband, your wife, your boyfriend, your girl-

friend. You get them into that backpack, feel the

weight of that bag. Make no mistake—your relation-

ships are the heaviest components in your life. All

those negotiations and arguments and secrets, the

compromises. The slower we move the faster we die.

Make no mistake—moving is living. Some animals

were meant to carry each other to live symbiotically

over a lifetime. Star-crossed lovers, monogamous

swans. We are not swans. We are sharks.

Ryan Bingham (George Clooney) in Up in

the Air

What could the full-time corporate down-

sizer, also a motivational speaker, possibly

be talking about? Obviously not about find-

ing a huge bag that can physically hold all

the stuff he mentions. Not the minor fact that

we are all sharks and definitely not swans.

Ryan Bingham is talking about the baggage

we carry. In the forms of people—minor, un-

important, major, important—wealth, de-

pendencies, liabilities, compromises,

successes, failures, regrets and so on. And

how we don't need to carry it. Or probably

should not. Ryan Bingham lives his life that

way. He wants you to live it that way be-

cause that makes it easy for you and every-

body around you. He wants you to carry

nothing but an empty box.

What do you get when you draw up a pros

and cons list of travelling with the bag-

gage? You put up with people, whether you

like them or not. You put up with every-

thing they dole out to you, whether you like

it or not. You get to share your joys and

sorrows with them. You feel your happiness

grow many-fold when shared.

Or you could be someone who doesn't like

sharing even the not-so-intricate details of

your life with other people. You are better

off being left alone in that case. You may

be a loner.

You probably keep to your books, your mu-

sic, your car, your pets, your computer and

so on. And you really don't find life worth

living for other living things. Apart from

your pets. That‟s why the whole baggage

theory cannot be blindly followed.

It's an extremely individual perspective.

The importance of people in life comes

from an individual's need for acceptance

love, care, and mutual respect for one another.

And yet there are individuals who think they

are better off without any form of emotional

human interaction. Their relationships are not

layered but are born out of a mechanical de-

pendency on one another. And it is opened

and closed as easily as opening and closing a

bottle. One such seemingly innocuous rela-

tionship is explored by Alex (Vera Farmiga)

and Ryan, but that is until Ryan realizes that

he got too sucked into the relationship, ignor-

ing the agreed albeit unspoken disclaimers.

In real life, Christopher McCandless tried

something—though not entirely similar—that

was not in the realm of what is generally con-

sidered to be civilized human interaction. He

moved away from people, away from a life of

trivial pursuits, and inched closer to nature. In

the movie adaptation of his life, Into the Wild,

Chris says he wants to face the blind death

stone with only his hands and his head for

help. We don't know for sure what he learned

and what he realized. But conventional wis-

dom has us believing that ultimately the real-

ity must have dawned on him—he must have

realized that happiness is real only when

shared. The movie adaptation leans towards

this interpretation. But we will never know

the truth. And even if we did, it might make

little sense to us, for we would never know

the real McCandless.

Christopher McCandless died alone in the

Alaskan wilderness. In Up in the Air, Ryan

Bingham believes that everyone dies alone

ultimately, and so there are no incentives to

take away from things like love, relationships,

and people. Sometimes you are defined by the

company you keep. But what if you keep no

company? Do you become a statistic? Some-

one who also lived. Someone who had no

one to live or die for. The question is

whether that someone can be replaced

by something. It's an automatic choice to go

for flesh, blood ,and soul instead of some-

thing metaphysically intangible. Ryan Bing-

ham lived for his frequent flier miles. Five

million miles was his target and that was the

only focus he had. Chris McCandless lived

to embrace nature in its rawest form; that

gave him his high. The question we need to

ask: would you rather be defined by a desire

that involves you and only you, or will you

go for a greater collective good born out of

relationships that, in this day and age, come

with all that baggage. The Holy Grail would

be something that combined the best of both

worlds.

Ryan Bingham and Chris McCandless were

not conventional men. They obviously were

not for conventional wisdom. That is why

both of them are perfect case study material.

The secret to living without baggage is to

find that one thing that gives you the feeling

of home. Some people spend their whole

lifetime trying to find it. Some people don't

experience any enlightenment even after

finding it. For Chris, it was in the wilder-

ness. For Ryan, it was all about being up in

the air:

The stars will wheel forth from their daytime hiding

places, and one of those lights, slightly brighter

than the rest, will be my wingtip passing over.

- Aditya Srikrishna

BOXED

You may not believe it now, but the Box

once contained precious little sparkles. Spar-

kles, which made it glow with an iridescence

that drew everyone to it.

People were curious. “What,” they won-

dered, “is making it shine so?”

But there were others who were not happy.

“We cannot let the Box become so popular,”

they said, “It‟s we who much possess the

sparkles that are within the Box! It is we who

must glow!”

So they plotted and schemed to break the

Box and take away its sparkles. They waited

and waited, until one day they found the little

Box all alone. They took it up a hill and

threw it down from the top. The Box fell hur-

tling down. It hit boulders, rolled over thorns

and stones and slid to a stop at the edge of a

huge lake. But it did not break.

This enraged the people further. “Use a

hammer!”

“No use a saw.”

“Set fire to it!” they yelled. But the Box re-

mained unbreakable - battered, torn, and sul-

lied; but still locked and glowing.

Suddenly they heard voices. The others were

coming in search of their Box.

Run they whispered. We will find another

way to get the Box alone again.

So they began to spread rumors.

“The Box contains sins,” they said, “It‟s the

devils own trap.”

“It will be the downfall of us all,” cried oth-

ers.

Slowly but steadily, the crowd around the

Box dwindled.

“There can be no smoke without fire,” they

all said.

Day by day people stopped visiting the Box

until, one day, it was all alone.

“Why don‟t you like me anymore?” it cried.

“Go away!” yelled the people and pelted it

with stones.

Two tiny teardrops rolled out of the Box.

As they trailed down its side, a secret latch

popped from within and the Box slowly

opened.

The watching people drew back with a col-

lective gasp.

“Sorcery!” they whispered as they backed

away.

For a second or two nothing happened.

Then, out rolled two of the most beautiful

things they had every seen in their lives -

the sparkles that were inside the Box.

They shimmered and blazed with an un-

earthly radiance.

The people ran to posses them. They

fought with each other to be the first to

claim the two sparkles. But when they

looked up the next time, they were gone!

“Where are the sparkles??” they asked the

Box.

“What were they?”

The Box said nothing at first. The people

advanced angrily towards it demanding an

answer. And the Box began to speak.

“You were my people,” began the Box,

“My very own. The two sparkles were

planted inside me because of the way you

made me feel.

One was called Happiness, the other

was Love.”

“Today you‟ve taken both away from

me. You will never revel in my glow

again, nor will you ever possess your

own little sparkles!”

Saying this the Box turned away and

walked. It didn‟t know where to go but

it kept walking. It walked from the only

family it had known. It walked from its

friends.

And I walked and I walked until I could

walk no more.

I had no tears left to cry… just a hollow

where I once held love for my people.

I am just an empty Box now.

Macademia The Nut

IMMINENCE

Imagine the pain of a leaf, bearing upon its tip,

the very last drop of rain

is it the pain of separation?

or is it the last bit of pain suffered from carrying so many raindrops?

Imagine the creak of a door hinge, about to be shut for the day,

and locked up for the night

is it a sigh of relief?

or is it yet another gasp at being swung about all day?

Imagine, the thudding of a felled tree,

upon the unrelenting, hard ground

is that the final utterance of an unrewarded life?

or does the tree finally express its anguish at having to stand mo-

tionless all life long?

For voices never heard, for actions practiced only in shadows,

and for thoughts formed only within cerebral walls

there is but one release - Imminence

and such is the travesty therein!

the overwhelming cry of chaos, the chitter-chatter of change

drowns all other sounds in its crashing wave

none can ever truly distinguish

an utterance from anguish

relief, from disbelief

separation, from transportation

In the gushing wake of Imminence

life hereto, and hereafter, could very well just be

an empty box, devoid, desolate, disparate

- Raghuram Godavarthi

Writing has always been a passion for us at the TheBanyanTrees. When we started

this venture, one of our goals was to promote, if not introduce, the pleasures of writing

to students. As a first step, one of our editors, Anuradha Chandrasekaran, went back to

her alma mater, Jawahar Vidyalaya Senior Secondary School in Chennai, to conduct

TheBanyanTrees' first writing workshop. The March issue of TheBan-

yanTrees featured an article in which Anuradha talked about her experi-

ence of interacting with the young adults of Jawahar Vidyalaya and also about the subse-

quent creative writing competition we conducted. We awarded prizes to the three best

entries and will be publishing them, one-by-one, in our April, May, and June issues.

Here is our third-place entry:

If I were Harry Potter

How would it be to be a part of a fantasyland? It would be a yes for all those annoyed by

the normal hectic lives that they are forced to live in.

Well, it is not bad to at least dream of it when nothing of this sort is possible in reality.

One character whose way of life I envy is Harry Potter. I have always dreamed of being

a part of the wizarding world where the lifestyle is enviable by us (muggles).

Everyone wonders at one point of time why he/she was born as a normal human being

and not as one with magical powers. Things we toil for day and night are simply

achieved with the wave of a wand by Harry Potter. A magical word and a whoosing of

the wand and tada… your work is done.

If I were Harry Potter, just imagine! I would be ruling the world. Anything would be

possible for me. I would fly in a simple broomstick instead of standing in queue to get

air tickets for a flight. I would dream up magical spells and use it to make me successful

in a snap. I would be a Quidditch seeker instead of sitting here watching a boring cricket

match on television.

I would be on an adventurous mission, tracking my enemy Voldemart who craves for my

blood and not be someone who has nothing interesting happening in life.

If I were Harry Potter, I would solve numerous mysteries, figure out ancient secrets and

would be the „boy who lived‟, „the chosen one‟.

If I had been Harry Potter, why would I need to dream up all this?

- R.Swetha IX F, JV

CREATIVE WRITING WORKSHOP: PRIZE WINNING ENTRY

Draupadi by Manasa

The rays of the bright round moon slant

across the beams of the narrow room. I lie

on the best blanket they have to offer me,

next to Kunti stretched out on my side. She

is fast asleep, snoring, slightly flatulent.

She’s the noisy kind, not the noisome one.

That’s a relief.

Let me mention here that this is the first

time in my life that I have slept next to

someone; slept in a room with six people

rather. Back in the palace, Shaktima used to

sleep with me till I was 6, but then I insisted

of a room of my own. No one minded. I was

never afraid of the dark like some kids. I

was not afraid of ghosts and monsters un-

der the bed. I am not afraid of many things,

actually.

But here I am now, unable to sleep on the

first night in my new surroundings. My

husbands snore lightly, sometimes in

rhythm. That’s right, you heard me right,

my husbands. Every one of the five of them.

I guess I should fill you in on what hap-

pened this evening.

Our makeshift chariot rolled up outside a

row of mud huts. Each of the huts in the

row was indistinguishable from the next. I

could sense people in the huts peering out;

their eyes on me, but no one actually

stepped out. I wondered if I was still in

Panchala, whether I was these people’s

princess, whether they knew me, whether

they knew that their princess was to marry

the mighty Arjuna.

Arjuna held out a hand to me and helped

me down from the chariot. Bhima made to

go into the house, but Arjuan stopped him.

‚Let’s wait for them,‛ he said. ‘It would be

unfair if we showed her to mother without

all of us being there. After all they helped

us win her.‛

‚Us?‛ Bhima laughed. ‚Brother, you won

her. Next, you would be saying let’s marry

her together,‛ he winked at me.

I laughed. I was growing to like Bhima al-

ready, that rough and ready face, the twin-

kle in his eye, the wide smile. He went and

sat under a boulder, tore a piece of grass

and chewed on it.

I stretched my arms and walked around

aimlessly, looking at nothing in particular.

Arjuna was solicitous. ‚Would you like to

sit down a bit?‛

‚No, I’m fine.‛

‚I’m sorry you have to wait here so. We

want our brothers there when we introduce

you to mother. The five of us stick together,

no matter what. That is the only way we

have survived.‛ Arjuna paused. ‚After fa-

ther died, mother raised us single handedly.

And it has always been such that we stayed

together, under her wise guidance.‛

‚I understand,‛ I said.

‚Are you sure you don’t want some water

from the well, maybe?‛

‚Well?‛

As we stood there, we heard hooves, and in

a moment we were joined by two horses.

Episode 5

There was something about the offhand way he

mentioned the well, mother and my being tired in

the same sentence that was a little disturbing. Why

show me the well? So that I could draw water from

the well? Don’t take me wrong, I am not a stuck up

princess who thinks doing chores is beneath her

dignity. Considering that I had never done such

things, and considering that I was marrying, but

you would never know it, a prince.

But it was the offhand way that he said it that

irked me. ‚Oh, you are the woman, you must work

for us now.‛ Somehow, drawing water from wells

had never been a part of the picture of my marital

life.

Yudhistrarode the first one, the twins were

on the second. The horses were evidently

from my father’s stable.

‚Good that you waited for us,‛ said

Yudhistra, as he dismounted. He was a man

of fair height, a pencil thin mustache grac-

ing his upper lip, a riot of boyish curls on

his head. Yet it was the eyes which gave

away the maturity of his person; sad owl’s

eyes.

Nakula and Sahadeva jumped down to, and

Sahadeva rubbed down the horses lovingly.

‚Gifts of your brother,‛ he said to me, with

a wide grin.

‚Really?‛

‚Yes, it was becoming a bigger fight than

we expected. Drishtadymna told us that he

would take care and told us to get away,‛

said Nakula. ‘So here we are!‛

‘Good, now we can go in and tell mother,‛

said Yudhistra. Sahadeva was at the back of

the house, putting away the horses and the

chariot, but Yudhistradid not seem to miss

Sahadeva. Moreover, the horses were

neighing and whinnying, so that alerted

Kunti to our arrival.

‚Who’s there?‛ we heard a female voice

sound from the interiors of the house.

‚Mother, it’s us!‛ shouted back Bhima.

‚Look at what we have brought home to-

day!‛

Mother Kunti’s voice sounded from inside

the house again. ‚Whatever it is, share it

among yourselves equally, children!‛

Bhima and Arjuna started laughing convul-

sively. Nakula joined in too and even

Yudhistra was smiling. ‚No, mother,‛ said

Yudhistra, and motioned me to follow him.

‚This is what we got home,‛ and opened

the door. I walked in first, followed by all

the brothers.

A thick haze of smoke by the fireplace

parted to reveal a woman, old, yet beauti-

ful. The elegance of her youth had not left

her; the lines under her neck were the only

indication of her age. She was frail boned

and pale skinned, with her certain haughty

air about her eyes.

This woman, trying to make a fire in a mud

kitchen and cook for five sons (and a daughter-

in-law), was no doubt a queen.

‚A woman?‛ she laughed. ‚What’s your name,

child?‛

‚Draupadi‛

‚Ah, the daughter of Drupada, the Panchala

princess. I knew your mother, Draupadi, a fine

woman she was.‛ She turned to her sons. ‚A

fine alliance, boys. So was that were you went

when you said you went hunting?‛

‚Yes mother, though Arjuna was the one who

hunted her,‛ said Bhima, grinning.

‚No matter, what I told still stands. Arjuna,

you do understand, don’t you?‛ She turned

her face to his and gave him the Look. ‚Share

her with your brothers, I will arrange for all the

five of you to be married to her soon.‛

I stood there, dumbstruck.

There were discussions before the decision was

made final. Kunti and Yudhistra went outside

and talked first. I could hear Bhima’s voice

when it was his turn. ‚But Arjuna won him. It

is not fair to him.‛

Nobody asked me if it was fair to me.

Arjuna refused to look at me, and I sat silently

in a corner, taking in my surroundings. Five

husbands! How would that work anyway?

Who was she, Kunti, to impose all of her sons

on me when it was one of them who had won

me by right, and when, indeed, it was one of

them that I was interested in?

While Kunti spoke to Bhima, I waled over to

Yudhistra and Arjuna sitting at the back of the

house, talking. How would I get to tell him

what I wanted to? I cleared my throat.

The two men looked at me, Yud almost embar-

rassed, casting his eyes to the ground almost

and Arjuna giving me a weak smile. ‚I’m sorry

it’s so confusing,‛ he said, always the well bred

cavalier.

The words rushed out of me before I had the

time to think.

‚Do you think I could talk to you for a sec-

ond?‛

They were addressed to Arjuna. But Yudishtra

sprang forward first. ‚Yes, my lady, please feel

free to be open with us. We shall not do any-

thing against your wishes.‛

I hesitated for a minute, not sure what to say.

fixed my gaze on Arjuna steadfastly.

Never have I seen a man’s face fall so fast; that

was Yudishtra. ‘Go on,‛ he murmured, and

left us in the shadow of the big tree.

‚It’s not fair. Why don’t you talk to your

mother?‛

‚I can’t,‛ said Arjuna. ‚You don’t know my

mother. She always has her will. I can’t go

against her. Bhima went against her and mar-

ried that forest girl. She made him leave her

behind. I can’t leave you behind.‛

The last few words caused my head to reel for

a minute, but I gained my composure. ‚But I

can’t be a wife to you and all your brothers as

well!‛

‚Well, if mother wills it so, then it can’t be any

other way. We will see what we can make of

the situation.‛

This man, this warrior that men from the tips

of the Himalayas all through the spread of the

Ganges were afraid to duel with, the son of the

legendary Indra, was this the man who stands

before me so, wishy-washy, not able to make

up his mind? Afraid of standing up to his

mother? Indeed why did he even need to have

allegiance to her? Was he not a grown man?

Could he not, with his prowess, carve a king-

dom for himself anywhere on earth as he saw

fit? Would he rather share me with his brothers

to maintain the integrity of their family rather

than give his woman her due and assert his

own independence? Did he even care for me,

or (for the first time doubt started creeping in)

was I just another trophy?

It was at that moment that I felt my most help-

less and vulnerable. There was nobody that I

could turn to, nobody else in the house that I

trusted. My father or brother would not care; I

was the wife of the Pandavas. More strength

for them when my father would attack Drona.

But I was wrong, of course. I saw the strutting

peacock feather first and knew from the jaunty

walk who was around the corner. Kanha, of

course.

‚I saw the feather walk into the house through

the doorway, and talk to Kunti. Poor boy, how

tired he must be! There were no horses or

hooves, he must have walked all the way over.

I ran to the back of the house to get him some

water from the despised well.

Sahadeva stood next to the well, looking at his

own reflection, or at least trying to. He started

when I called his name. ‘Sahadeva, Krishna is

here. Could you please show me how to draw

water from the well?‛

‚Certainly, Draupadi,‛ he said. I liked the way

he used my name, without the averted eyes

and inhibitions of his brothers. He was a boy,

closer to my age than the rest of them, very

conversational. ‚I don’t like this business one

bit, Draupadi. Really, why is no one asking

what you think? Do you want to marry all of

us?‛

This frank youth, drawing water for me, cer-

tainly pleased me. I warmed to him at once.

‚No, Sahadeva. Much as I like and respect all

of you, I don’t know if I can find it in me to

treat you all with equal fervor were I to be the

wife of you all.‛ I hesitated.

‚I will take up your case with mother, Drau-

padi,‛ said the boy to me. ‚She does these

things at times, and I am sure she has her rea-

sons. But your desires cannot be blown away

just like that. Besides would we be happy with

a wife who is not happy with us?‛

I said nothing, but smiled, and took the pot of

water into the house, struggling under its

weight. Sahadeva taught me the correct way to

hold the pot. As I walked in to the house, I no-

ticed Yudishtra standing by the door, lost to

the world. To be Continued ...

Dude Where is my Coffee? DreamVendor

"Empty box." That is supposed to be the flavor of my coffee this month. I scratched my head, chased bubbles

in the air, stared at the empty Coke can, buried my broken tooth, and finally found an empty box … to

empty my mind in. A daring attempt at verses (wouldn’t be brave enough to call it poetry yet).

PS: Adding sugar to this serving is not going to make it any better!

They said...

They said – if you like something, set it free.

It will come back to you, if it was meant to be.

I put my dream in a bubble and let it go.

They said – when you are in pain, let go and feel the rain.

I spent a lot of time trying to let go, but it was all in vain.

I sat under the shower all day, holding an umbrella, in my bathtub.

They said – put your memories in an empty box and stow it under your bed.

I tied them all in a golden thread and put it under my pillow instead.

I emptied all my worries into that box and floated it in the river.

They said – when you cannot move ahead, seek God.

I prayed, day and night, so I did not have to be a lightning rod.

I began to move again, gradually, backwards.

They said - music is the perfect panacea that heals.

All night, I stayed awake, to see how it feels.

I put the volume low and my spirits high.

They said – to empty your mind, write it down.

I did it, pages after pages, like a clown with a frown.

I ran out of paper and ink just to realize my life’s missing link.

They said – if you are feeling blue, call a friend.

I browsed through my phonebook, one page after the other, hoping it would all end.

I picked up the phone but did not know what to say.

They said – take some sugar with your pills to make it less bitter.

As if the magic potion will not make you look like a quitter.

I trashed the pill, threw the sugar in my Mojito and called myself a winner.

They said – if winter is here, spring cannot be far away.

I sat by the window, with coffee and cookies, to watch the flowers sway.

I never had a garden outside that window. I drew one on the window instead.

They said – so many things about life, love and loss.

I heard everything and thought enough was enough.

I said – Shut the F up!

- DreamVendor

One by one, we moved each one of them.

Carefully so as to not break or mishandle the contents of the boxes.

For as ordinary and dowdy they seem, they contained within them, a large chunk of our lives.

Like it or not, our whole lives can be packed in to boxes. With each packing and unpacking, comes reliving the moments, sipping nostalgia along with some tea, and telling, retelling stories. Tens of stories and many memories later, we had finished unpacking.

As I looked at the numerous empty boxes lying around, I couldn't help but think, how they helped fill the entire house. They had transferred all their wealth to the empty house, thus making it our home.

Empty boxes? I think not.

The Not So Empty Boxes Flash Fiction by Nivethitha Kumar

- PRIYA VENKAT

IC 981 is set for departure at 10.30 p.m. from San Francisco International Airport on a Monday. The check-in counter is abuzz with the incessant chat-ter of NRIs on a home-bound journey for a vaca-tion. The conveyor belt takes in the suitcases, bags of various sizes and colours, one by one, stoically. Monotony does cost one a lot!

Airline formalities and procedures completed, IC 981 is now zooming in mid air. Silence prevailed in the cabin, interrupted only by an occasional cough here or a hushed giggle there. SuddenlySuddenly a burst of chaos and commotion! Loud voices, boisterous laughs, familiar clings, and excited movement! WWell, it was all happening in the underbelly of the airplane. Inside the baggage holds of the airliner. And there’s no prize for guessing who was causing the cacophony. For the suitcases were the noise-makers. Lo and behold, the boxes were now TALK-ING!

Yes, you read it right! The boxes were now talking! How can you afford not to talk when you are at a party?! The grand gathering of suitcases had sparked off a celebration of sorts! People … er, sorry … the suitcases had things to say too. So let’s just listen to them.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/salihan/3498543731/

The green old monster at the center adjusted his specs (arrogance clouded his sight) to get a better view of the crowd in front of him. He trumpeted, “Well, I’m a green card holder living in the US for more than two decades." While jealous glares darted across from the red valise, he continued, “I pity the guys who run out of theirtheir visa term and have to pack their bags for good." He was definitely genuine … at being sarcastic. Arguing in defense, the red valise (evidently out-of-visa) said, “Guess all is for good. At least you get to live with all your near and dear ones. And you are not forced to express love through cyberspace." His words tried to cover up his dis-appointment, but his tone betrayed him. It implied:oh-my-God-I-wish-I-had-a-green cacard-too! Falseness at its best, one could say! Butting in at this point was Ms.Bluey Bag whose fake accent spoke volumes of her. The much-desired American accent was constantly evading her, despite her perseverant attempts. Mother Tongue Influence is a sin, according to her. And ‘sounding Indian’ was shameful! Voilà! The breed of Never-Regretful-Indian (NRI)!

AAmidst this pomposity, there was Mr. Orange Trunk opening up a deliciously smelling foil pack. It was the famous Indian Dosa. But instead of wolfing down the succulent spread, he was fidgeting for something in his pouch.

HELLO, I’M FROM THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!

- Archana RamasubramanianAn Empty Gift Box is to fool..An Empty Lunch Box is a chance to escape the routine..An Empty Black Box adorns trendy living rooms..An Empty Jewel Box is a girl's delight..An Empty Complaint Box brings on a Smile.. An Empty Tool Box is innovation..AAn Empty School Box is real education..An Empty Cereal Box is health gained..An Empty Paint Box leads to delighted eyes and soul..An Empty Charity Box creates a helping hand.. An Empty Watch Box is an Artist's..An Empty Thought Box is bliss..An Empty Heart Box is a fresh new life..AAn Empty Time Box is an Earned perspective..An Empty Mind Box leads to ultimate happiness..An Empty Life Box is a Lie...An Empty Box is a Beginning never an End!

HOW EMPTY IS AN EMPTY BOX ?

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Finally, he got hold of it. With a triumphant smile, he pulled out a fork and a knife! While the knife raided the dosa crisscross, his fork rolled up the pieces to his mouth. And the aftertaste?! Could not linger long, for the ‘magic’ touch, the typically Indian finger touch was missing. AAdding to yet another NRI idiosyncrasy was the swelled head, Ms. Black. Reflecting her disdain towards anything Indian was her lacklustre, scratched exterior. Her constant complaints of dis-organised traffic on Indian roads, unpunctual transport systems, and straying cattle acting as speed bumpers made an endless list. Siggghhh! LittleLittle does she remember that at one point of time she was part of the same pandemonium. So why make a fuss now?!

However, in contrast to the verbal din so far, there was one silent spectator in a corner.

All of a sudden, aware of this observant pair of eyes, all heads turned towards him. Initial mur-murs grew into louder statements. Before long, the big talkers branded him Mr. Empty Box with

nothing to say, or perhaps brag of.

EEventually, the so called empty box, Mr. Modest Brown spoke. In a casual, unassuming tone he enumerated, “As a responsible NRI, every year I invest considerably in India. I offer community service during every visit. I donate generously for the welfare of my countrymen. Ultimately I sought after the land of opportu-ninity to create opportunities back home." Pin-drop silence. None dared to speak thereaf-ter. He was doubtlessly no loudmouth. Instead, he was indeed an inspiring paradigm worthy of emulation. It is needless to say that the suitcases mirror the characteristics they have seen so far in their lives - that of their owners. What owners speak, suitcases repeat! Like owner, like boxes! AAfter luggage claim at the destination, Mr. Brown turned around to give one meaningful glance at his counterparts. Empty boxes make the most noise.

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Just an Empty Box - Dhivya Arasappan

It was 3:15 pm, and Mrs. Silverman dismissed her third-grade class for the day. Mina grabbed her backpack and started walk-ing back home. “Hey Mina! Wait up,” she heard someone scream out behind her. It was Celia, the new girl in class. “Want to walk back together? My house is just around the block.” Celia asked. Mina looked the new girl up and down. She was different from all her other classmates. Her clothes looked like hand-me-downs, her hair was tied up in two messy pigtails and her bookbag looked like it was from a thrift store. Hesitantly, Mina agreed to walk with her. “So, where do you live?” asked the new girl. “I live on Oak Street, just ten minutes from here,” answered Mina. “I“I think that’s just two streets after mine. You want to come home and play sometime?” asked Celia excitedly. “I’ve got a big castle that we could play in.” That got Mina’s attention. “Really?” she asked.

““Yeah. I’m Princess Ursula, and I rule over the entire kingdom. You could be my sister, Prin-cess....” She paused to think of a name.

“How about Princess Isabella?” Mina finished. “Oooh, I like that name.” AllAll the way back home, Celia talked about her beautiful castle. She talked about the spiraling staircase and about the tower where Princess Ursula sat and watched over her people. She told Mina about the moat surrounding the castle and the wooden drawbridge that kept intruders out. Mina just couldn’t wait to see it. This continued for the entire school week, till Saturday. On Saturday afternoon, Mina walked excitedly to visit Celia at her house, for the very first time. On Saturday afternoon, Mina walked excitedly to visit Celia at her house, for the very first time. Her friend greeted her at the door. When Mina walked into the house, she realized how small it was, certainly a lot smaller than her own house and a lot of her friends’ houses. But she didn't give it much thought—all she wanted to do was go outside and play in the castle. Celia led her to the backyard and said, “Here it is! Princess Ursula’s castle. “See, there“See, there’s the drawbridge. Up there is the tower,” Celia pointed out. But Mina didn’t understand. She looked around the backyard. There was no castle there. All she could see was a large empty cardboard box. Why did Celia keep pointing out things that weren’t there? Was she playing a prank on her? “Stop it!” Mina interrupted. “Why did you lie to me? That’s not a castle. That’s just an empty box! “Why don’t you get a real castle instead of pretending that this stupid box is one?” she asked angrily. Celia looked at her friend and smiled. A knowing smile. “Because“Because with the box, this week, I can be Princess Ursula in a castle. Next week, I can be a pirate in my own ship, and the week after that, I don’t know, maybe a chef in my play kitchen,” she said. “It’s not just an empty box, Mina! Not if you look at it right!" Celia pulled the still puzzled-looking Mina towards the box. "Come on, give it a tr"Come on, give it a try," she said, hoping that one day, her friend would see the magnificent castle that she did.

contributors

Short writing: Just an empty box : Dhivya Arasappan Boxed — Macademia The Nut Hello, I’m from the United States of America — Priya Venkat The not so empty boxes — Nivethitha Kumar

Cover page design - Anuradha Chandrasekaran

Poetry

Imminence—Raghuram Godavarthi

Shored — Debleena Dasgupta

How Empty is an Empty Box — Archana Ramasubramanian

Columns Dude where is my Coffee – Dream vendor

Draupadi – Manasa

Unclaimed Baggage – Aditya SriKrishna

Magazine Design Anuradha Chandrasekaran Dhivya Arasappan Nivethitha Kumar Editorial Team Anuradha Chandrasekaran Dhivya Arasappan Nivethitha Kumar Webiste design Nivethitha Kumar

Mail us your feedback and contributions to [email protected]

Picture Credits

Imminence http://www.flickr.com/photos/spiritual_marketplace/2128816884/sizes/l/ Shored http://www.flickr.com/photos/pedrosimoes7/170348903/sizes/l/ Unclaimed Baggage http://www.flickr.com/photos/libertinus/410903364/ http://www.flickr.com/photos/ramansharma/3470748570/ Hello, I am from the United States of America http://www.flickr.com/photos/salihan/3498543731/ How empty is an empty box? http://www.flickr.com/photos/rberteig/432164103/in/set-72157600023355906/ Just an empty box http://www.flickr.com/photos/27524212@N04/3618960098/ Draupadi http://www.flickr.com/photos/vaticanus/2073661803/ http://www.flickr.com/photos/26119123@N03/4244397394/

Mail us your feedback and contributions to [email protected]