At my weekly writing group, we’ve been using prompts to nudge us out of our respective writers’ blocks. I had forgotten how enjoyable this exercise can be. I encourage anyone who has not tried this before or even if you have, to give it a shot. You can look for prompts online or create some on your own. Here are a couple I worked with these last few weeks.
Write about something that you would never do…
Jump out of a plane voluntarily is something I would never do. Never do again, that is. I am afraid of heights and not particularly comfortable with flying. So it must have been because I was newly married and wanted my husband to think of me as adventurous that I decided to take the plunge. The rickety old plane took off and there was nothing about the experience that seemed safe. The plane had benches, not seats with belts and the doors did not close even as the Twin Otter sped down the runway and heaved off the ground. The slightest tilt of the plane and we would have been scattered all over the sky before we splattered on the ground.
I sat there smiling bravely at my husband through clenched teeth. Thankfully he didn’t know yet that I would never smile that way under normal circumstances. He got the signal to jump first and as he dropped effortlessly out of the door, I thought that might be the last I ever saw of him. Oh well, maybe I shouldn’t bother jumping after all. I wouldn’t have if I wasn’t strapped to the instructor who was now pushing me to the door for my first tandem jump. I tried to reason with him that I did not need to do this any more, but this is precisely the turn around they’re trained for. Over my protests he pushed me to the edge and the next thing I knew we were in the air. The moments after that were fragmented as my mind tried to grasp the abnormality of the situation. Chaos within, loud shuddering without, as we hurtled down rapidly. Disjointed images-- the plane above, other divers below, falling fast, a body of water below, patchwork of farms, the horizon at odd angles-- until I heard the faint voice of the instructor get clearer and louder as he repeatedly yelled in my ear to pull the toggle to open the parachute. I don’t recall who eventually yanked it open but I remember the sudden jolt of the ropes tug my brain back into producing a continuous picture. The parachute fluttered open above us and almost immediately all was calm. I was still alive….as was my husband.
Looking for something we’ve lost...
When people start drifting toward the edge of the platform, you know the train is coming. The closer it gets, the closer to the edge of the platform the swarm of people move, like they’re glued together. Once you’ve decided that’s the train you want to board, you do not have a choice. You cannot change your mind. I hear the soft swooshing sound of the train punctuated by the thumping of my heart that is getting louder as the woman behind me slowly pushes me forward. I in turn nudge the woman in front of me. Now I see the forbidding façade of the train. If you’ve ever seen the front of a train up close, it seems more intimidating than if you saw it from a distance. Collectively, we feel a gust of wind as the train speeds by in front of us. Although it’s slowing down, it is still dangerously fast for us mortals. Much before it comes to a stop, people closest to the edge of the platform grab the handlebars of the doors and throw themselves into the moving train. Here, for the uninitiated, I must mention that the commuter trains in Bombay don’t have fancy doors that open only once the train has come to a stop. No. We live on the edge. There’s a wide open space where a door would be for those inclined to being alive. But in this situation, I cannot imagine a train with a door. By now the group of women and men in front of me have already boarded and found coveted window seats even before the train has slowed down. Before I know it, it’s my turn. I zero in on the next door handle and grab it as it whizzes by. I have caught it every time for the last few years. The thought that I might miss it someday and get sucked onto the track has never occurred to me.
Depending on my mood I would either be in front of the crowd or skirt the periphery at the back. If I was fairly close to the edge of the platform, chances are I would get a breezy window seat so that would set the pace for a relaxed day. But then there were days when I felt energized and excited about an idea for the magazine I worked for and on those mornings a window seat just wouldn’t do. These were the days when I waited for everyone to get their window seats, all the other seats, let them fill up the aisles to capacity and when the last group of people filed into the standing space near the doors and the train gave that familiar jolt before it gained speed within seconds, is when I grabbed the handle to the door. Being the last one on the train is the most exhilarating experience of my time in Bombay. You have a strip of space for your feet at the very edge of the door, as you stand half out and half in the train. Not suffocated by the sweat of the person standing next to you. The wind blowing in your face as the train bolts down the track with a rhythmic sway. Trees, shrubs, fences, buildings, shops, dogs, cows, children playing by the track, whiz by in a blur. As the train approaches the next station, I see a similar swarm of people that I was just part of at the last station and I look for a good time to jump off the train. I don’t get to my destination till six stations later but this is the price you pay for fresh air- you jump off and on the train at every station or you would cause a riot by obstructing the entrance.
More than a decade later, I no longer think of myself as invincible. When I visit Bombay, the crowds make me nervous and the smell of sweat and urine in the air makes me queasy. The days when I could spend an hour’s commute with fishermen and their morning catch of pomfret and prawns are long gone. As a resident of a first world country, I sometimes wish I still had the ability to enjoy less than perfect conditions.
