How to drive cupid’s arrow straight into its target, without spending a lot of time having to think about it, or… how to have a short romance and a long marriage.
Posts by: Frieda McRae
As she approached her house, she heard wails. Turning slowly, there she was; her mother lying motionless on a cot. Her father pulled her school-bag from her back, but she couldn’t feel anything.
I was a fish caught in a net. No, it was worse. I was a spider caught in its own web. I strolled down the dirt road I was accosted by two village women who brandished their tongues and ran their epistles right through me.
He always showed up in my office, brought in by an angry teacher. We’d have a chat, he’d solemnly promise to be good, and off he’d go. One day it was different…
…I walked outside. Once I outside, I thought, now what? I had no idea. At that time, there were no mobile phones, only pay phone booths, which were beneficial if the person you were trying to contact had a phone. We had no phone at home, so I had a problem… bursting into tears could be a solution.
Here I am in the centre of the universe. Where? It’s located in a village in India, in a sunny, cosy corner room on the east and south side of my house, a very small room, packed with all sorts of paraphernalia. Photos, song files, pens and pencils, my desk, a sitar, a piano keyboard, a trunk and a large ancient wicker chair stuffed with pillows and furry blanket —all part of my universe. A website was born from my universe; the universe is extending rapidly! I love to write. It helps me think, review, gaze at life yesterday, today and tomorrow. I pen my thoughts… but only in black ink. I would never think of using a blue ball pen; it would be like eating a wet ball of synthetic bread… simply sacrilegious. Creativity would be squashed. I plan to write mostly about me, my experiences, my thoughts, etc. Boring? Once, someone told me I had written “I” seventy-two times in a letter. Being terribly embarrassed I immediately started counting all the “I’s” in the letter. It was devastating to discover he was right. It was insulting. My immaturity arose to great heights and he never received a letter[…]
“I have a story.Would I tell my story?I love to tell my story; it inspires me so much.” Raghav I am Raghav and this is my story. Punjab, in the northwest, borders Pakistan and is rich in agriculture. It boasts huge fields, large combines and farm machinery rarely seen in other states. Uttarakhand, is known as “the mountain state,” because the Himalayas rise out of it. Dehradun is its capital. The mountain people are proud, living in shadowy valleys and sunlit snowy heights. Ancient villages lay hidden, deep within the steep and shifting Himalayan peaks. In these states, Punjab and Uttarakhand, my story begins before I was born. My Punjabi Grandfather was considered wealthy because he owned land and cows. But more than that he had a healthy sum of money given from the army as his pension. Grandma died early in their marriage and left him with the responsibility of raising their young son. Grandfather was an irresponsible father and instead of teaching and disciplining his son, he spoiled him and that spoiled man became my father. I suppose Grandpa just didn’t know how to be a parent, or perhaps he didn’t want to put all the time and[…]