Skip to main content

I ask, you write 5

Great going. Thank you for participating and please don't forget to vote. Here's the next question for which you write a story in explanation.

It was the same thing every morning. Jo would slam down the alarm, turn over to the other side and go back to sleep. And invariably, she would curse herself for turning up late for work. Today however, she had a fool-proof plan. What was it?

Please post your stories in the comment section and try and keep them short. Thank you.

Comments

monu said…
It was the same thing every morning. Jo would slam down the alarm, turn over to the other side and go back to sleep. And invariably, she would curse herself for turning up late for work.

How she would then wish that there would be no mondays....How she longed to be with him, chatting up nonsense and laughing like a kid at all those nonsensical jokes....If only weekends never ended, she would sigh, as she soon as she got up...

Today however, she had a fool-proof plan. Afterall it was his birthday, wasn't it? And how would she do all that she had planned to do to surprise him, if she got up late???

And so she woke up, Love surging through every cell in her body..
:)
Annon said…
Jo got herself one of Gauri Nanda´s inventions - Clocky, the alarm clock that runs away and hides when you try to slam down on it.

Here is Sepia Mutiny on Clocky:

http://www.sepiamutiny.com/sepia/archives/001247.html

Jo loves her clocky now. Buy yourself a clocky, all you sleepyheads!
A4ISMS said…
It was the same thing every morning. Jo would slam down the alarm, turn over to the other side and go back to sleep. And invariably, she would curse herself for turning up late for work.
Now, that would not do tomorrow. She had to be at the airport at 6.30 to receive the Chinese delegates and take them around to their plant in Jebel Ali. Eureka! She gathered all the books from the cupboard and stacked them, one above the other, Starting with Tuesdays With Morrie and ending with the Complete Works of Shakespeare. The tower of books wobbled as she balanced the timepiece precariously on top. Good, she thought. Now when it rings, I’ll grope around to switch it off and the whole tower will come crashing down on me, waking me well up!
With a contented sigh she drifted off to sleep, not realizing that she had forgotten to set the alarm in the first place.
Shyam said…
Jo was tired of being late for work every morning. Today, however, she had a foolproof plan – one inspired by a Tom & Jerry cartoon. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and she was a brilliant engineer, after all. She spent an hour Sunday evening rigging up an arrangement using a simple pulley system that would result in a small bucket of water, balanced on the mantel over her bed, spilling its contents all over her face at the right moment. (Don’t ask me how she worked it out – I’m no engineer).

Jo was very pleased with herself - for once she would be at work on time, ready for her performance review – as she snuggled down on the sofa to watch an hour of “America’s Next Top Model” on TV before going to bed.

Alas for Jo – she fell asleep right there on the sofa halfway through the programme and didn’t wake up all night.

PS. Her pulley system worked, though. It took Jo the rest of the week to dry out her mattress and bedding.
Caffeinism said…
This time she had a fool proof plan. Inspired from the Tamil song “Sangeetha swarangal". One that her friend forced her to watch and for once she was glad that she did. She decided she would call him up and stay on phone, sweet nothings and all, till it was 5 in the morning...

So she would be sleepy through the day and have huge bill to pay, but what the hell she would at least be not late to work again that one day...
Saumya said…
It was the same thing every morning. Jo would slam down the alarm, turn over to the other side and go back to sleep. Invariably, she would curse herself for turning up late for work. She worked the shift starting at 3 a.m., and every day she was late, she was making somebody else's work day longer.

She had tried telling Jo a hundred times to first nudge her before going back to sleep, but he wouldn't listen. He is like that with alarm clocks, his mother confided in her.

Jo was like that - he had his little quirks that made him lovable. He refused to give up the alarm clock side of the bed either.

Today however, she had a fool-proof plan. He left for work at 9 a.m, and got about at 8:30 a.m. She bought 6 alarm clocks, and set them at various times ranging between 3 a.m and 8:30 a.m.throughout the house to ring at different times. Now, he had to get up to switch off the alarm clocks. She however, relied on none - she set herself a mental alarm, and was up and about on time.

Everytime she visualised another alarm clock setting off, she smiled and everybody wondered about her good mood. Oh....she was a sadist!
Anonymous said…
Jothi was tired of turning up late for work. The singing alarm clock, the soft incense from her appa's pooja room and the warm, glorious smells from her amma's kitchen always made her want to go back to dream land.

Frigging work, frigging maniac of a boss, she muttered under her breath. Not today though. She will not be late today. She had thought about this for a while.

Jo turned around with a satisfied smile and closed her eyes.. how she loved sunday mornings.. sigh..
It was the same thing every morning. Jo would slam down the alarm, turn over to the other side and go back to sleep. Not today. Enough was enough. She laughed. Those moments came rarely. Too rarely, she thought. She smiled again - finally, she was going to do something about it. No more late days.


The old man sipped on his morning coffee and a line in the newspaper caught his eye.

"Sharada?" he called out to his wife.

"Sollunga"

"You remember that girl Jo who used to live down the street? The policeman's daughter? The pretty one who started acting in those TV serials?"

"Yes yes, our Sowmya used to play with her when they were children"

"Well, it says here in today's paper that she shot herself yesterday morning with her father's service revolver."

"Paavam..."
...Not today She had a fool proof plan.

She would tie one end of a huge rope to the clock's second needle and before significant time could pass, she would have to search for a strong unshakable pillar to tie the other end. The idea was simple, if she would stop the needle from rotating, that needle of Time from where everything started, the needle which pierced in to her youth every morning causing her excruciating pain. If she could stop this needle once and for all, all would come to a stand still.

But where would she find that pillar, that remained at rest always. The pillar of Perfect rest with only Ether besides it, the Universe running away from it. Where could she find it...or was there one even?

Her quest began
Jay said…
"Amma, I am sorry for being such a pain. I know I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. More so infront of Shree citthi last week. I promise to learn cooking during the weekends just like you wanted me to. I will even stay at home this Saturday."

With that, Jo's mom woke her up every morning; just like before.
itchingtowrite said…
today she had a fool proof plan with her for not getting late to work. she was not going to office today. she had decided to sleep over this one day and laze at home with husband and kids away on work and school...
version 2-
she had placed the alarm clock far away so that she had to get up to reach it
signedout said…
“Who is the one person who wouldn’t fail me?”

“How about Kicha thatha? He always goes for a walk at 6 in the morning?” Suriya quipped.

“Hmmm. Good idea. Eh, wait. Bad idea. He is a big nyabaga marithi case. He wouldn’t even remember where I live, even if he remembers he has to wake me up.”

“Then how about Lakshmi akka. She can wake you up when she comes to work.”

“I would be surprised if she comes to work before 10. Come on, we should be able to come up with one person in this entire universe who can wake me up.”

“Just think harder. There has to be some one …”

Their thoughts were interrupted by a voice at the door, “Akka, intha maasam paal baaki….”

“KUMAR!” they quipped in chorus.

She went to sleep peacefully that night. She had a fool proof plan for tomorrow.
theanalogkid said…
It was the same thing every morning. Jo would slam down the alarm, turn over to the other side and go back to sleep. And invariably, she would curse herself for turning up late for work. Today however, she had a fool-proof plan.

she kept the alarm in Mo's room with whom she shared the apartment without telling her. she kept a small little note attached to it which said "Mo, i have had enough with this life. am tired being prodded around in this wicked world. i will remember all the fun we had as i go to sleep today. i think its time for me to leave. when you find this note, i will be dead".

her plan had worked.
Divine Ravana said…
It was the same thing every morning. Jo would slam down the alarm, turn over to the other side and go back to sleep. And invariably, she would curse herself for turning up late for work.
Today however, she had a fool-proof plan....
She QUIT!
Sachin R K said…
It was the same thing every morning. Jo would slam down the alarm, turn over to the other side and go back to sleep. And invariably, she would curse herself for turning up late for work. Today however, she had a fool-proof plan. What was it?

She had tuned her tape recorder cum radio cum clock to belt out the latest Himesh Reshammiya hit ( whatever that was ). If this wouldnt have her waking up in horror, nothing would.

You Might Also Like

Voicing Silence 1

There is no nice way of saying this so I will say it as brutally and as unvarnished as it needs to be said. I was sexually assaulted when I was ten and a half years old. While I recall the precise details of what happened that night, much of what happened in the immediate aftermath, I have little memory of. In the days and months that followed, I became increasingly angry. I would smash things, kick people, yell, scream and throw a tantrum at the drop of a hat. I was labelled difficult and called names. Rakshasi was a regular epithet and it clung to me like an dirty scent.

There were so many incidents of rage from those years and most involved destruction of some sort. I once lost a card game and went about meticulously ripping up an entire pack of cards much to the amusement of the gathered extended family. There was some other minor provocation which ended in a lovely red dress which was a gift from abroad being shredded to pieces, again to a mute audience

Word got around that I wa…

Voicing Silence 7

(To get a background on this series, I suggest you start with the first post here and then scroll up)

Headphones recommended




(Click on image for link or click here)
Written and narrated by  Abhi Arumbakkam
Animation and edit  Lucy Lee
Sound Louise Brown
Music Nefeli Stammatogianopoulu & Stelios Koupetoris



Sivaji, Jayalaitha And Us

I first noticed it when Sivaji Ganesan passed away. As someone born in the 70s, much of my growing years was marked by the rituals of Sunday evening Tamizh cinema and Friday night Oliyum Oliyum. And Sivaji Ganesan was a permanent fixture in them. Anyone who was melodramatic was a 'Sivaji' and rhymes like 'Sivaji vayile jilebi' were very much part of our book of nonsense rhymes.

So much so, I remember being fourteen and being part of the school drama team enacting a popular scene from Sivaji's Thiruvilayadal. It was a plum role that we all vied to play. Sivaji played Lord Shiva in the movie and in our minds, he might as well have been immortal. So years later, when news broke that he had died, I was in utter shock. Heck, I was not even a fan. Apart from Motor Sundaram Pillai and more recently, Thevar Magan, in every one of his movies, I felt Sivaji had outacted the entire cast. As if to tell the producers, you've paid me a lot, so let me give you your money'…

Tide - 17

Part - 17 “Are you waiting for me, Kamakshi?”, asked Padmaja a little breathless from climbing the stair case. She had never been particularly slim. But lately, she had noticed a tightening of her blouses, particularly around her upper arm that she taken to using the stairs over the lift.
“Hmm? Everything okay? Why do you want me to keep quiet? What is the matter, Kamakshi?”, Padmaja reeled off questions with mounting alarm.
“It's nothing”, hissed Kamakshi between gritted teeth guiding her neighbour by the arm away from her own door. “Come in to my house. I need to tell you something, Padmaja”.
And once inside, Kamakshi's behaviour was even more erratic. She said something about a letter and answering and now meeting someone and the man waiting for her at home.
“Where?”, demanded Padmaja.
Kamakshi silently pointed her finger at her neighhour.
“Where? In my house?”
Kamakshi nodded.
“Have you gone mad, Kamakshi? I gave you the keys in case you don't see me for days a…

What Would You Do?

This afternoon, I went to our local leisure centre to use their steam room and sauna. I had an hour to kill before it was time to collect my son and the leisure centre is across the road and I couldn't think of a better way to spend a tenner and so I went. No sooner had I settled into a corner of the steam room than I heard a voice ask me, 'are you from India?'. Yes, I nodded before it struck me that if I couldn't see the person clearly neither could he. Yes, I said. To this he (by now I could make out a dim outline of a man) volunteered in a very heavy accent 'My country Bangladesh' and then went on to ask me if I lived locally and if I was living with my family (yes and yes, I answered) and told me that he worked in a local Indian restaurant as a chef and that I should visit them if I hadn't already.

Having exhausted his arsenal of polite questions to ask a rank stranger, he fell silent. Shortly, I left the steam room to take a shower before dipping into…

Tide - 7

Part 7

Dear Mrs,
With regards to your advertisement in last Sunday's Hindu. My name is Mr.S.G.Santhanam. I am 65 years old. I retired in 2007 after 40 years of service in the Indian Railways. My daughter and my son are both married and settled abroad. I am in good health except for slightly high blood pressure. Last year I have undergone an operation for a growth in my retina and now my eyesight is better than it has ever been. I follow a strict vegetarian diet (no oinions no garlic) and I have managed to bring down my cholestrol levels also. Recently I have suffered from pain in my hips and my doctor has adviced me to go for a hip replacement operation which I am due to have some time in the next month. So if you reply to my letter, I can arrange to meet you before I check in to the hospital as I will have to be in bed rest for 6 weeks after my operation. I have also attached a photo of myself with this letter. This was taken before I had my new set of teeth.
Your's sincere…

Voicing Silence 4

(To get a background to this series of posts, I suggest you read the first one here, the second one here and the third one here)

Some years ago, my mother mentioned to me that she had attended my sexual assaulter's Sashtiabdapoorthy and I was appalled. This filthy beast was a pillar of the society and had had the temerity to invite my parents to its (no human pronoun for it) birthday celebration. Suffice to say I was apoplectic.

It was also around this time that the whole sordid episode of Jimmy Savile came to light and I had a thought. I began to wonder if I could take my abuser to court on historic sex abuse charges.

For days I fantasised about dragging the filthy piece of shit to court and have it look me in the eye as I would recall in graphic detail what it had done to me. Then, I would watch with glee as it lost its house, its job, its status in the society and delight in the gradual unravelling of its life.

I would have my perfect revenge. I would be able to show it that i…

Voicing Silence 3

(To get a background to this series of posts, I suggest you read the first one here and the second one here.)

In the intervening years since my assault, the whispers grew ubiquitous. Hushed conversations from scarred friends who all talked in coded language about what had happened to them. I should have stopped becoming angry but I just couldn't. Instead I channeled all my rage into the blows I rained on the random stranger who once groped me as I was walking past him one evening when I was in my early twenties. The nonchalance with which another pervert thought he could get away with pinching my breasts made me chase after him faster. But I could rarely sustain the rage which would blaze fiercely and frequently but never long enough for anything positive to emerge. There were no planned course of action to follow through, it was largely fire fighting on a daily basis.

And then something happened a decade ago which reminded me of what triggered my anger all those years ago. I won…

Voicing Silence 2

(To get a background to this series of posts, I suggest you read the first one here)

I realised, almost instinctively that what had happened to me was not a one-off. A casual conversation with a cousin revealed that she too had been touched by the same person. She didn't give me details but all she said was, "that one, him, you know...he's a devil" and gave me an almost imperceptible nod. A secret code that meant that she knew about what had happened to me too. It was our shared language of shame, wrapped in silence and consigned to the deep recess of our minds.

Every now and then the incident would get an airing but I would almost dismiss it by making light of it. During joint studies with classmates from the 11th and 12th standard, two of them talked about the improper touching that had happened to them as children with an almost casual aloofness that I added my incident (for it was now entombed and labelled as Exhibit A in my mind) to the mix. Being abused was so…

Voicing Silence 5

(To get a background to this series of posts, I suggest you read the first one here, the second one here, the third one here and the fourth here)

For years I had been wondering how to articulate my trauma. And then, a little while after I'd moved to the UK, I'd done courses in documentary film-making and had started telling factual stories. Could there be a possibility there? What purpose would retelling a personal story in all its gory detail serve? And is this what I wanted?

In 2013 I watched Yael Farber's Nirbhaya in Edinburgh to an auditorium full of sobbing men and women. I found its portrayal in all its attendant specifics and bit too real. Even the actors playing it had each suffered horrific abuse and it was their own story that was being told. It was discomfiting and I knew I didn't want to go down that route.

A year or so later, I met with Leslie Udwin, director of the documentary India's Daughter, the day
after it had been banned in India. Leslie was de…