A good friend once told me that a writer should write what is happening around, not just pure fiction. As an amateur who gets intrigued by the words from a friend like him, it got me thinking. But to write reality means to socialise a bit, which I am awful at. Thanks to Kevin Sreenath's photographs, I am happy to tell you all that I am launching a new photo-series-story 'ONE DAY LESS', and a new part will be posted every friday. The photos will be taken by Kevin and the story will be written by myself. All the photos are scenes from our own city; and they will all be candid, i.e no actors or models are used for creating this series. Thanks to Achyuth C. Sekhar, Kevin Sreenath, Sanjana Sarma and many others for their immense support in this.

ONE DAY LESS

Takun, a little less known street that lied in the heart of the city held the key to many stories. There were either no roof, or broken ones. If you lived in a broken one, you were rich. And that’s what they called me; but no one knew the only reason we had a roof was that Abba was a construction worker. I rarely see Abba now a days, he comes home way past midnight and leave way before sunrise. Abba had always kept our tummy full, especially mine and Appu’s. Appu is what I call my Abba’s Abba. His pride was an old cycle, and having a cycle meant having a huge car. Then again, no one knew the struggle that existed every day so that it’d be one less day of survival. 

“Miriam Yousuf, don’t go outside after seven!” Ammi yelled as I silently stepped out to take my toy. I must have been three or four then. “We don't go after seven in the night. It is the rule of the street.” But I never knew what would happen after seven at night. Out street was filled with many mysteries. Unresolved unwanted mysteries. 

The house I lived in was old, made by Appu himself when he moved away from his home after a fight. The only thing that faced from my room were three grills that separated the window from the outside world. It used to be Appu’s, but now he says it is my chance to face the world. I’d look through the window everyday, dreaming to go out and explore someday. Ammi would barge in and yell “Don’t stare out there too much. You know you are bound to live here Miriam!” Ammi always believed in her old cultures and though, so did Abba. But Appu was running behind technology. Run with the world was his favourite motto, and he did run, nay chase the world with his bicycle. 

“Miriam!” Appu had called me one day when I was four years old, staring out the window looking at the broken roofs. They needed to be fixed, I told myself. “Come here, I’ve got a treat for you.” Those were the only words that I needed to hear to get excited. It was either another story book or another dairy milk. 

“What is it Appu?” I asked as he fixed his little white cap on his head just before his prayer. As expected, it was a new story book. 

With the best smile he could put forward, he asked her: “I am going to the city tomorrow to buy some materials for your Abba to work on. And I am going by cycle. Do you want to come with me?” 

As Ammi’s eyes dawned on her with a death stare, and Appu’s smile encouraged her to say yes; all I did was stare at the book and processing the thought of seeing the world. “Yes!” I said excitedly. Ammi’s eyes were now directed to Appu, but Appu’s smile was all that needed to melt her heat.