The Leaf Chronicles V

Leaf 1: Can you wipe the dew off today?

Leaf 2: No.

Leaf 1: That was a rhetorical question.

Leaf 2: You can’t ask me rhetorical questions.

Leaf 1: Ok. Wipe the dew off.

Leaf 2: You can’t order me around.

Leaf 1: Ok. Please wipe the dew off.

Leaf 2: You can’t order me around politely either.

Leaf 1: That was a polite question.

Leaf 2: You can’t ask me polite questions.

Leaf 1: Will you just wipe the dew off!

Leaf 2: The only reason I’m not divorcing you is the children!

Leaf 1: We don’t HAVE any.

(On a potted plant at Ambara)

Suzanna

2009-01-16T03:06:00.000-08:00

Tcherr’s Tale

It was a dark and stormy night. Tcherr didn’t realise it was the lightning that woke him up, he thought it was a bad dream. And now that he was up, he thought he may as well get a drink of water. Standing next to the window with the glass in his hand, he wondered why he had that bad dream the previous night, it wasn’t like he was an evil person to have such an evil dream. The horror of it, he shuddered to relive it. The images were vivid. The same dream every day. A child sits on his lap. The child is already scared and Tcherr can feel it, he can sense the fear that sends shivers down that tiny soul’s spine. Then the child clutches Tcherr’s arms, digs his nails into it, and starts wailing. Tcherr wonders why the child can’t just get off him and do the crying, but eerily enough, the child was strapped onto Tcherr. It wasn’t like Tcherr wanted the child trapped like that, but that was the way it was. A dentist’s chair was probably the worst thing to be.

(On the dentist’s chair)

2009-01-16T00:24:00.000-08:00

2009-01-16T00:23:00.000-08:00

2009-01-16T00:20:00.000-08:00

2009-01-16T00:18:00.000-08:00

2009-01-16T00:17:00.000-08:00

2009-01-16T00:16:00.000-08:00

2009-01-16T00:15:00.000-08:00

2009-01-16T00:13:00.000-08:00

2009-01-02T03:29:00.000-08:00

It’s winter.
The frosty breeze and the goose bumps it gives.
The late mornings and the early end of days it brings.

The warm sweaters and the musty smell they hold.
I wonder if it’s me or just the weather that’s making people cold.

It’s winter.
I wait for that warmth that people transmit.
The days when the classes are full and there’s a noisy chatter all around it.

The winter days make me yearn for something I’ve forgotten, you see.
It makes me wish for the warmth that comes from you sitting on me.

(On a chair at the Spastics Society)

Ambika

2009-01-01T21:02:00.000-08:00

The ship that sailed many seas and discovered many lands. The ship whose name was Dinosaur (inspired by you know what). The ship that no one's ever heard of wasn't as big as the Titanic. And it wasn't as small as Santa Maria, (the smallest of the three ships that Christopher Columbus owned). But it was big enough to weather many storms and a few whirlpools. The captain of the ship along with his crew took good care of it, stopping whenever they thought the ship needed a break.

One bright, un-stormy day the ship stopped by itself. The captain hadn't put down the anchor nor had the crew. They looked for an iceberg but it was summer and there are no icebergs then. The icebergs usually melt away in summer. Then they checked the ship's engine, which was working perfectly too. They wondered what this strange phenomenon was that had made the ship stop. The captain finally sent some of his people to dive into the sea to check what if there was something holding the ship back. When his crew members swam down, they saw a huge monster. They thought it was a dinosaur but dinosaurs can't live under water. Therefore they decided to call it the sea monster. The monster was holding on to the bottom of the ship with its huge teeth dug into it. The monster then lifted its head, making the ship look like a tiny toy in its mouth. Most of the crew fell off the ship, some died in it. The others floated away, like me, the door that shut the captain's cabin. But the ship was broken into pieces by the sea monster which is probably why, like the dinosaurs, the ship too is now extinct. And i survive as a door.

(On a door at Spastics Society)

Ambika

2009-01-01T20:56:00.000-08:00

Do you hate the sound the chalk makes when people write with it on me? I don't. It's like I'm being scratched. And it feels good to be scratched occasionally; especially when you don't have hands you can scratch with. Hmmmm…. I feel good just thinking about it. The next time you write with a chalk and it screeches don't stop. Just think of it as a favor that you're doing for a handless black board.

(On the blackboard at Spastics Society)

Sakshi Gaurav

2009-01-01T20:52:00.000-08:00

The story of a tree

Pitter patter, pitter patter she watched the rain fall in front of her house, ruining her little flower garden. It had been raining for 5 hours now and the water level was rising rapidly. The little petunia plants were uprooted already and were now floating aimlessly on the water puddles.

She lowered herself to protect the remaining garden from facing the same fate that was bestowed on the little petunia flowers. Wet strong wind slashing water against her face, her hair now wet with the rain water on her feet. She stood upright again and shook the water away from her hair, sprinkling it gently on the saplings around her.

She looked above waiting for the sun to shine through her hair and fall on the water puddles below, creating glitterati and drying away the access rain water.

She looked down and breathed a sigh of relief to see a part of her garden still intact.

A little sparrow swirls around her, touching her softly and then sits on her shoulder.

She draws her arms closer to the bird to keep her warm from the wind. The sparrow then moves closer to her and rubs itself against her. She slowly opens her heart for the sparrow to step in and stay for the night. The hollowness of her heart was now full and she bloomed.

(On a tree)

Anna

2008-12-29T22:45:00.000-08:00

He’s been here for the past 40-odd years. Just standing here in this corner, watching, listening.. Just being. No one notices him anymore. Not the books, not the people, not the rest of the shelves. He has seen many librarians come and go. Librarians are so fickle these days – not like those of old. He doesn’t talk much. Not that shelves, in general do much talking. But he doesn’t talk even during the night when the books come to life laughing, jumping around and freaking out. The only ones who’ve heard his voice are the staid, old red leather bound volumes – who don’t talk much themselves, except to each other. The rest of the shelves ignore him for the most part – they like to bicker amongst themselves about who’s got the most number of books or the thickest books or the tallest books .. you get the point.

He doesn’t talk much. So you won’t know that it hurts him when you pluck books off him with careless abandon. Or about his ticklish spot on the left side of his third shelf. So do be careful, yeah? He’s been here for the past 40 years.

(In or near a shelf at the British Library)

Anna

2008-12-29T22:42:00.000-08:00

Saravanan looked out and realized he could see nothing – it was all dark outside. He sighed. His stomach grumbled – he was hungry. When would she come? When would he get some food? What does a guy have to do for some grub? He sighed again. As he paced up and down, he heard a small sound. He looked outside, again. It was all dark outside. When would she come? When would he get some food? What does a guy have to do for some grub? He sighed again. And then looked outside again.

Who said goldfish have short memories? They just think about the same things all the time.

(On a fishtank)

Ambika