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Life is a long, wondrous and continuous introduction to yourself.

The act of creation — it leads me to unknown places. Only to make me realize that all was known, always. And yet, I live every day with the hope that I’ll explore, create and grow into someone new. Because what’s life if not a long, wondrous and continuous introduction to yourself.

In this journey, music lives by my side. I find melody in my writing, and a lot of writing in my melodies. Sometimes, I hear songs in the bubbles of boiling tamarind water. Or in the stroke of red paint over the canvas. Or in the giggles of a child after a good joke. Tunes find their way even into my boredom, curiosity and the thoughts in between. And a rhythm taps into my sorrow, so it can take the leap to laughter.

Such is music. Such is life — yours and mine.

Hello!

The twins

I took the first bus that morning, I had to be on time — it was selection day. I dashed to my class, threw my bag onto my desk and ran toward the playground.

The fog blurred my view, but I noticed that the girls were lined up. “They started the game already?!” To my relief, it was just a warm-up. I relaxed and joined the queue. The girls had their blazers on, just like I did. Our skirts could barely save us from the cold wind but the knee-level socks and our woolen scarves were good to keep us protected. And kho-kho would sweat us out anyway.

They were to pick the five best girls out of today’s match, and everyone was eager to watch the twins make it. “Not without facing me.” I said to myself.

I was the best, I believed it.

Eight of the girls in the chasing team lined up, side-to-side, facing westward. Then, like a choreographed performance, each moved a feet away from girls on either side, at the exact same moment. Four girls in alternate positions turned to face eastward, and in one breath, all of them sat down on their knees. We were all prepared and I was ready to make it to the top.

As the runner-team, we had to send two players first. As expected, the captain chose the twins. I was glad — I got the time to watch their game and plan mine.

The physical trainer, or PT Sir, as we called him, blew the whistle and the game began. The twins stood calm, swayed intermittently, their eyes on the chaser even as they came face-to-face at arm’s length. Then, as if she read minds, the twin slipped in the opposite direction, just beyond the reach of the tagger. The surprised chaser ran toward the pole to turn around.

“Kho!”

The chaser tagged another team member who was right in front of the other twin. “Ha! that’s it, she’s out.” I looked at the captain to check if I was next to run.

“Wooohooo!” The captain said.

I looked at the field, still held by the twins.

“Kho!”

“Kho!”

“Kho!”

The chasers tagged each other, desperate to catch the girls — the twins escaped every time, with little movement. I knew running and speed. This, whatever the girls did, mesmerized and horrified me.

“Play your game girl, it’s the best.” I cheered myself up. I knew it would end soon and I’ll show them how it’s done, when it’s my turn.

The twins played for 30 minutes that morning, without being touched. And I heard the whistle again — cue for us to chase. Only, it sounded like the end of time.

I would have outrun the twins that day, I would have made it to the team — If only you had the chance to see it.


Writing practice, workshopKavita Srinivasanwriting, childhood, ego, competition