My Writing

Here is where I will post my best masterpieces.

Writing Prompts

http://riyalexicographer.blogspot.com/2014/06/writing-prompt.html

Poetry

Don’t Wish, Do.

By Riya Kalra

Many a wish remains unfulfilled,

Many a dream remains one.

No love of adventure yet instilled

In the heart that has everything won.

Why wish when there is more to be done?

Explore the world without any rules;

Finish what endeavor you have begun,

For those who don’t are no more than fools.

Brooding and sulking hurts no one but you,

Hurry—time is flying.

Happiness has its own unique hue;

Nothing in being supine.

Break through the walls;

Go, start your quest;

No tragedy shall befall

If you perform your very best.

Seize the day for if you slay

The crafty dragon named Time,

You will succeed at every deed

And your life will be sublime.

Live like there is no tomorrow

And you will never know a sorrow.

Always There

By Riya Kalra

The dusty yellowed pages

Smooth leather covers the small treasure

I am about to unearth

The portal to another dimension

My breath catches in my throat

My heartbeat quickens and pounds in my ears

Love pours out

I have found my home

I am not alone in this wide world

For I have the company of

My best friend

That I share with everyone yet call my very own

A book.

Prose

Here is an excerpt from a story I started...

Chapter 1

“Good morning, bitiya. Did you sleep well?” Sapna opened her eyes and rubbed them groggily. Her mother was sitting by the foot of her bed, smiling down at her. She had pulled the curtains open, and the sun was pouring in through the windows. Sapna’s mother liked to call her bitiya, an endearing Hindi word for daughter. “Yes Amma, I will come downstairs soon. What’s for breakfast?” Sapna asked excitedly. Her stomach was growling. Amma, her mother, smiled. “Your favorite!” And she hurried downstairs.

Sapna leapt out of bed and ran to the bathroom. She hurriedly showered and dressed, then flew down the stairs as the enticing aroma of breakfast wafted up to meet her. “Pancakes!” Amma exclaimed as soon as Sapna entered the kitchen. “With syrup?” Sapna inquired. “With syrup,” Amma replied, and Sapna enveloped her slender mother in a warm hug.

The feast was all laid out on the table when a knock sounded on the door. Sapna ran to open it and found herself being lifted into the air and spun around. “Papa!” she screamed with ecstasy. Amma stood by the window, smiling, as the sun slanting in turned her hair a beautiful shade of gold. Putting Sapna down and coming over to Amma, Papa embraced her, and she laughed. “Come now, you must be tired. You are just in time for breakfast!”

The family dug in. After they had all satisfied their ferocious appetites, Sapna asked Papa, “So how was your day at work?” Papa often worked overnight for little pay. “Well, one of our clients found a bug with the software we provided them and I spent the night fixing it.” Amma sighed. “Sapna, why don’t you go upstairs and work on your painting? Papa and I have to talk about something.” Hanging her head, Sapna obediently went upstairs.

“A touch of blue there, and now her hair. Hmm...let’s see...blonde! Yes, blonde.” And with a few smooth, quick brushstrokes, the painting was finished. Sapna stepped back to admire her work. A pretty blonde girl with startlingly blue eyes the color of the sky stared back at her. Sapna always dreamed of going to America. She knew it was the land of promises, where no one worked overnight for just a few rupees. Where children ate pancakes and candy every day, where they frolicked to school on clean buses that drove on clean streets in clean cities. Where students at high schools put textbooks in lockers and went from class to class, learning from teachers. Where they didn’t have to go to the library to check out a huge stack of forty books to learn what Sapna wanted to learn. Adults and children lived in harmony. They swarmed crowded cities with loud music and beautiful beaches, clean beaches. Snap out of it, thought Sapna. You’re never going there. “Hi! What’s up? Howdy, partner!” she said, in a Southern American accent, giggling to herself.

“Sapna? Beta, come down please,” Amma’s voice floated up to Sapna’s room. She went down and took a seat at the dining table. Amma took a deep breath. “We have made a decision, Sapna.” Sapna stared at Amma inquisitively. “We have decided to send you to a high school in America.”

Sapna immediately jumped up from the table. “What? America? I can’t believe it! Sachchi? For real?” She pranced around the table once, then hugged her parents tightly. Amma smiled, but her eyes were filled with sadness. “But you will have to leave your grandparents, friends, and pets behind.” Sapna stopped and frowned. “But Arya is my sweet, sweet goat! She won’t do anything wrong. I promise she’ll be good,” she pleaded. “No,” said Amma, turning away from the table and busying herself with a greasy pot. And that was the end of the discussion. Sapna’s unconditional love for Amma told her to keep her mouth shut, so she quietly stepped out of the house.

Here is an excerpt from a book I was working on.

Prologue

Sparks flew as the train raced towards the couple. The young woman turned around just as the train exploded. It was entirely reduced to smithereens, no longer the sleek black locomotive it had once been. Deserted, the tracks were strewn with broken railroad ties. Nothing remained of the couple except for, miraculously, a wailing baby.

Chapter 1: The Beginning

Jazz hummed as she smoked her cigarette, strolling along the railroad tracks. She was far from home, having walked about ten miles in three hours. Suddenly Jazz froze in her tracks. Before her was a scene that her teenage mind could not comprehend. A baby, wailing loudly, lay before her. Not knowing what had come over her, Jazz burst into sobs. It was the first time she had cried in over  three years. Ever since her mother had passed on, she had closed her heart to all affection. Friendless, she kept her nose buried in books, trying to escape from the world she knew too well. The cruel world, one with no sympathy for anyone, had never been kind to her. As she watched the poor infant feebly sniffling, her hard heart was reawakened. Jazz ran up to the child and grasped it in her arms, sobbing harder than ever. Immediately the baby was silent. Jazz slowly began walking, holding the baby tightly. The farther away from home she got, the more heartbroken she became. Suddenly the baby began coughing. It coughed and coughed, never stopping. It began to wheeze now. Jazz, a bit unnerved, switched it to the other hip. Finally, she realized that it must be her cigarette. She tossed it away, hoping it would stop, and it did. Jazz kept walking.

Forty-five minutes later, thunder boomed and lightning crackled. Rain poured down in torrents. Jazz’s auburn tresses of hair were plastered to her shoulders. Both the baby’s and Jazz’s faces were streaked with mud. Jazz shivered. She coughed. So did the baby. Jazz coughed again. The baby coughed. And coughed. And coughed. It coughed once more, and Jazz noticed that a small puff of smoke was released from the baby’s mouth and nostrils. Jazz ceased her walking and sat down on the edge of the curb. She stroked the baby’s head, patted its back, then becoming frustrated, shook it vigorously. This helped to release what was lodged in the baby’s throat. The smoke-filled baby regurgitated a ball of fire, but it was quickly extinguished by the pouring rain. Shocked, Jazz leapt to her feet. She stood petrified, staring wide-eyed. She scooped up the baby and began to run. Winded after a few minutes, she stopped to take a breath. Suddenly, a shadow darted by.

Jazz hurriedly glanced around. Another shadow appeared. This time the figure approached her. As it neared the spot where Jazz was standing, petrified, she could make out a fedora and a long black coat. As if she had looked into the eyes of Medusa herself, Jazz remained frozen as another shadow approached her. They came closer and closer. Yet three more figures emerged out of the gloom. Suddenly, Jazz was face to face with five giant men, or so they seemed. Looking closer, Jazz noted a large beak-like nose, a lipless mouth, and small, beady eyes. These were in no way men. The tallest one, who appeared to be the leader, drew a revolver from a girdle under his coat. Jazz’s eyes widened, and her hands flew up to protect herself. The gun clicked, and the man pulled the trigger. Out of the barrel came a ball of fire which hurtled towards the baby at top speed. Jazz dropped her arms and snatched him up. The fireball exploded and was doused by the heavy rain. The man spoke. “Give me the prince and no punishment will be dealt. If not, you will be burnt to a cinder.” Jazz, confused, replied,”There must be a misunderstanding. I carry no prince, but a baby whose life I have saved, and do not plan to let you take him.”

“Hand over the prince. He breathes fire, no?”

“How do you know that?” Jazz began to become suspicious.

“You do not know of this prince’s horrific capabilities, and yet you do not hand him over?”

Now the figure shoved his face in Jazz’s and hissed. Jazz could smell his putrid breath, and she backed away. The figure wrested the baby out of her arms and he and his four companions took to the air, their coats billowing around them like long curtains. Jazz let out an ear-piercing shriek and fell to the ground, sobbing once more.