It was a White Night—Part I

I was standing in ankle deep snow, trying to gain some semblance of understanding. The moon was hanging overhead, a luminous orb streaming light in my direction. The straps of my backpack were cutting through my shoulders but I was too cold to feel any pain. There were no streetlights because there were no streets. Just snow covered pathways leading into darkness. Not a single soul in sight. But I was not alone in this nightmare. My friend was a few paces behind me; same backpack on her shoulders, same confusion in her mind.

Self-recriminatory thoughts formed a line in my head and marched in a loop. Why did I choose to come to the Grand Canyon in end-December? Why did I not reach before sunset? Why couldn’t I be normal and book a hotel room instead of a random stranger’s trailer-couch? What if s/he turned out to be a psychotic mass murderer? What if s/he was not at home? What if s/he did not have place for us? Why didn’t I have a plan B? Why couldn’t I be normal and book a hotel room instead of a random stranger’s couch? Which idiot chooses the Grand Canyon, in winter, for the first couchsurfing experience? Why couldn’t I be normal and book a hotel room instead of a random stranger’s couch? Why was I doing this to myself?

Pushing aside the voice in my head, I tried to concentrate on the task ahead. Baby steps. Find the trailer village. Find the street. Find the trailer. Knock. Wait for the door to open. Let’s hope not to rinse and repeat.

It was cold, I was hungry, my friend was very nervous, I had the contact number on my phone but the battery was dead. Staying rooted to the spot was not helping. So we decided to move. Chose a random direction and started walking. In the dim moonlight we could make out the silhouettes of RVs and trailers. The wooden sign boards, half buried in snow, displayed an alphabet. This couldn’t be right. I was looking for street numbers. Maybe we were in the wrong trailer village. How many trailer villages were there? Will the shuttle still be running at this time? It then struck me, clear as the night sky we were standing under—what I had assumed to be a Roman numeral was actually a Latin alphabet. Armed with this knowledge and the hope that I wouldn’t end up sleeping in the snow tonight, I started walking. Though the snow, in the dark night, shivering with cold and fear of the unknown. Reached the end of the lane, made a turn, found the wrong street. Cut through the space between the trailers, frantically counting all the boxes, looking for the wooden sign boards. Finally reached the trailer we thought was The One, white and silent. Jumped the fence, managed not to fall flat on my face. Still silence. It seemed like no one was home. All I could hear was my heart hammering in my head. I took in a deep breath and knocked.

 

Written in response to the Daily Post Weekly Writing Challenge-

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2014/01/06/weekly-writing-challenge-cliffhanger/

Ghosts of Dec24 Past

It’s not December 24 anymore cause I was too lazy to get this down yesterday (Merry Christmas! by the way). To compensate, I will write about both days in two different years.

I spent Christmas last year on a Greyhound bus from California to Nevada. It was on a trip taken with two other people during Winter Break. We chose California (with stops in Vegas and the Grand Canyon) thinking it would be warmer than Chicago. It was (we missed snowstorm Draco which brought the first snowfall to the city after 290 days of no snow). But it was not the Florida warm we were expecting (another one of the STIDs). On Christmas Eve we took the morning YARTS bus from Merced to Yosemite (the California trip was a road trip with the car substituted by the bus) and spent the day spotting coyotes, drinking egg nog latte, sending postcards (special Yosemite postmark!), attending a service at the Yosemite chapel, wading through knee-deep snow in the moonlight to catch the bus back, and then freezing our asses off waiting for a 1:30 am Greyhound to LA. You read that right. From 9 pm to 1 am, I sat in an open bus station in freezing cold (by my low standards atleast), waiting for a bus to take me out of Merced. I had grossly overestimated American consumerism and Californian weather, thinking places would be open on Christmas Eve, it wouldn’t be cold, the returns from saving a night’s rent would be greater than the costs of catching a midnight bus (STID # 3). Plus I was being adventurous.

Needless to say, I got on the bus, unfroze myself and reached Las Vegas on Christmas day sometime in the afternoon. We spent Christmas Day checking into the hostel/hotel and then walking around the famed Strip. The lights in The Strip are dazzling. I hadn’t been to NYC by then and the New York-New York hotel was impressive, with the roller coaster ride and all. More impressive was the Statue of Liberty model in a gift shop made completely out of M&M’s. In the far distance, you could see the pyramids and the Sphinx, the Eiffel tower, Mandalay Bay, Caesars Palace. We walked from MGM Grand to the famed fountains of Bellagio and then walked back, encountering many cartoon characters on the way. No gambling, no alcohol and no shows. 

 

On Christmas Eve, 2010 I was taking exams in Herzliya. Not only did the school make us take two exams that day, with a mere 15 minute break in the middle, we weren’t even told the schedule of the exams. So I got to know which subject it was when I opened the question paper. Our plan was to spend Christmas in Bethlehem so once we were done with the exams, we got on a bus to Tel Aviv, transferred to a bus to Jerusalem, met the remainder of the group there, walked over to the Arabic bus station near Damascus Gate and got on to another bus to Bethlehem. I could see the separation barrier snaking though the terrain but don’t remember crossing it, or seeing any checkpoints on the way. The bus dropped us close to the Manger Square. My shirt said “God is too big to fit into one religion” and one the nuns we asked for directions commented on it. Nothing bad, just this judgmental look-over. Not a good time or place to proclaim my atheism.

We checked into the ‘House of Peace’ hostel, dropped our stuff and then set out to explore. The Church of the Nativity (the place which marks Jesus Christ’s birthplace) was out of the question so we were just roaming around in “downtown” Bethlehem. Manger Square was brightly lit and decorated with Christmassy stuff, lots of people, lots of security guards making barricades, lots of live Christmas music. I made a dinner out of falafal in pita bread and patiently waited for Mahmoud Abbas’ cavalcade to arrive. He, along with other West Bank dignitaries, comes to Bethlehem every year to attend the Midnight Mass. When he finally did arrive, the crowds swelled so much that I don’t think I even got to see him. One of the girls in my group did brave a lot of groping (her words, not mine) to secure a picture of him on her DSLR. I did catch a glimpse of the second-in-command though. We left for the hostel with the others making plans to come back to attend the Midnight Mass. I stayed in bed (mattress of the floor) and read Sophie’s World until I fell asleep.

Christmas morning I got up bright and early and set out to explore. My first stop was the Church of the Nativity. There was hardly anyone around (it was six in the morning) so I was able to peacefully admire the church. I didn’t go all the way to Grotto of the Nativity (the underground cave where the birth is supposed to have taken place) but sat in the pews and soaked in the morning. Later I went to see the adjoining Church of St. Catherine. My favourite part in the whole complex is the Door of Humility which marks the entrance to the church complex. The original archway was broken and filled with stones to leave behind a smaller, rectangular entrance. The point is to make people bend when entering the church. With the head bowed down, instead of being held high.

Next I tried to find the separation barrier to see the “world’s largest protest graffiti”. I’m a big fan of art, specially since I can’t draw myself. I tried really hard but I couldn’t find the wall, despite the Lonely Planet map. So I went back for breakfast and to see if anyone had woken up. We ate toast/ jam and pita/hummus, settled our bill (with lots of haggling for being cheated), and left for Manger Square. The queue at the Door of Humility was long enough to put everyone off the idea of visiting the church, so we left to find the separation barrier. And find it we did. There is lots of inspiring art on that wall and none of it is anti-Semitic (here I’m assuming that wanting to bring the wall down is not Antisemitism). We walked along the length of the barrier, clicked lots of photographs, and then proceeded to cross the security checkpoint. Waiting for us on the other (Israeli) side was another queue, this one for the buses back to East Jerusalem. By nightfall we were safely back on the Mediterranean coast.

P.S. My friends got nowhere near the Church of the Nativity on 24th night. They stayed out till 2 am, trying to find the place where they wouldn’t be cold and would also be able to hear the Mass. No such place exists. Please book your tickets well in advance if you want to attend the service.

 

 

This post is in response to the Weekly Writing Challenge-

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/23/writing-challenge-ghosts/

Incomplete

Within a week of her death, my father dreamt about my grandmother. They were sitting in the garden in front of the house, entertaining guests late into the afternoon. He remembered her getting up and walking towards the house, holding the walking cane in her right hand but not using it. My mother too dreamt about my grandfather within days of his death. They met in the state office building where he was waiting to meet with the CM. When she asked him how he was, he said “it doesn’t smell anymore”. I dreamt about death too. In my dream, I murdered someone. I don’t remember how I did it or why I did it, only that my victim was a beautiful woman.

This post is in response to Weekly Writing Challenge: Collecting Detail at http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/16/challenge-collecting-detail/

Mongoose Love

A family of mongooses lives beneath my grandfather’s house. This is a story about a day in their life.

Early one winter morning, a train of mongooses scurried across the garden. Baby mongooses following mama mongoose. The birds had fallen silent. The fog had cleared and the neighbourhood was slowly waking to life as these three went about their business. They crossed the driveway and came to a stop in front of the boundary wall. It was time to begin the lesson of the day. The mum picked up the first kid and deposited it securely on the ledge. With the second in tow, she ran up a small tree and reached the top of the wall. Pretty soon the family was reunited under the barbed wire fence running atop the boundary wall. Led by their mum, the kids ran the entire length and disappeared from view, towards the unknown adventures that awaited them. 

 

This post is in response to the Snapshots Weekly Writing Challenge- 

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/02/weekly-writing-challenge-snapshots/