Divya's Writing portfolio

Writing Portfolio Divya Ramasamy Venkatesamoorthy

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Contents 1.Letter to Gopal - page 3 A letter to a fictional character-1203 words

2.Opinion piece- page 6 A short opinion piece about hate speeches-603 words

3.Travel piece on Kutch- page 8 A short piece pondering the landscapes of western India(with photographs)-584 words

4.Guest Blog post on Cities - page 12 A piece inspired by Italo Calvino's Invisible cities(illustrations also)-963 words

5. Short story-43 minutes - page 18 A short story on 4 different scenarios and an imminent explosion

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1.Letter to Gopal 21-Jan-2018 Kodaikanal

Dear Gopal, I owe you a big apology. From the bottom of my heart, sorry. You are my first real protagonist and I let you down but not letting you out into the world (even though the 'world' at this point is a small virtual classroom in the internet). I did try desperately, believe me.

We had a discussion in class about how writing happens, not in ideal conditions, but alongside the chaos that is life. I don't think I can find a better example of that than my own situation at this point.

Often, when I am lost, angry, incredibly happy or sad, I write letters to my friends. I couldn't think of a better person to write this to, because you are real to me. I have spent most of the past week having conversations with you in my head.

On Wednesday, I had a rough draft of your story ready. Even though I was tired from the two site-visits I had in the day, I managed to fill half a page with the outline of the story. I had given you a brother and a sister, in-laws, and a gluttonous appetite. So far, I was happy with what I had written. Did you know you were inspired from my great grandfather?

On Thursday, however, things took a turn for the worse. There is a person I would like to tell you about. She is my co-worker R. Even though I am sitting inches away from her in my hotel room right now, I am confidently writing about her because she told me once, "You know, I never read if I can help it. I would rather be normal!". So I am safe as I am sure she will not attempt to read this even if she does happen to glance into my screen. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't be friends with her. I have nothing against her --just that I would not naturally gravitate towards people like her. But we unite under a common enemy boss. Thursday was a busy day, and I couldn't sit down with you until 9' o clock at night. As soon as I opened the computer, my eyelids drooped and a tiny voice inside told me, "You know, you will write better in the morning!" I should have known better. I should have silenced that voice right then.

Morning arrived. I managed to add exactly two sentences to the initial draft before the voice told me I would write better in the evening (I know, I know...sorry). But I spent the entire day thinking about you, which was an improvement. I went to Yelahanka on a site visit, came back, sent some mails, told my boss I will not be able to come to a meeting on Saturday afternoon as I had a class. The conversation that followed went something like this: "What class?"

"A creative writing class" 3|Page

His eyes widen, then he frowns.

"Why?" "Because I like writing!"

"You know, I have written a book. I could have given you a lessons in writing! Most of the newspaper articles you see these days are trash!"

Swallowing my urge to tell him that I didn't exactly want to write for 'newspapers', I opened my mouth and then closed it because I wanted to tell him much too many things that will be disagreeable to him.

"So you won't come for the meeting tomorrow?"

"No sir, sorry, As I told you I have a class in the afternoon..."

"Didn't you take a day off last week too, because your eyes were red?"

"I did sir. I had to go to the doctor. She said it was an infection. She gave me an ointment and drops" "I don't see why you had to go to the doctor, I could have told you that!"

I swallowed again.

----This is what I would have liked to say: "I can't come for the meeting because it was scheduled all of a sudden on a Saturday (when we work half-days) afternoon, and I can't give up my class which doesn't clash with work timings(I signed up for it only after checking that). And no, I don't agree that you could give me a class on creative writing! I tried reading your book, and it was....well, doesn't 'tried' just say everything?"

But I didn't want to get fired.

------I stayed back at the office to finish up the work for the next day's meeting. However, I had a productive Friday night, and I got a lot written about you. By the time I slept, you had dreams, conversations with your brother and in-laws, and a delicious dinner.

I had to leave to Kodaikanal on Saturday night on a site visit. After class, I only had time to grab my luggage from my room and leave to the bus station.

I am in Kodaikanal now, and I have had a long day, although not very hard. Do you know what happens when you have to work on a Sunday, but you full well know that you have every right not to? I think you do. You do know what it is like to be exploited don't you? You, in your twenties, worked in the house of your sister's in-laws. There were several times during the six years that you spent there, giving up your entire youth to grueling labour, that you thought of quitting. I know your situation mirrors mine, although I work in much better conditions than you.

Even though Kodaikanal is cold and beautiful, I think I would have liked it more if I had come here on my own accord. Today, R., the office accountant and I went to the construction site in the 4|Page

morning to inspect the progress in work. After finishing it up by 2'o clock in the afternoon, we went to Coaker's walk -- a walking route with foggy views, Bryant Park -- a place I am sure heaven will look like (if there is one, that is). At last, we finished with a cycle ride around the lake. I am not saying I didn't enjoy it. I did. A little. I am just saying I would have liked it better if I had spent my Sunday in my room, finishing up your story.

If I sound bitter, that is because I slightly am, at this point. It is 10:37 PM now. Except for R.'s rhythmic snoring, everything is silent and I can finally hear my own thoughts. Now that I think about it, all wasn't bad today. In the morning, when the bus was slowly heaving up the mountainous route, I saw the most beautiful sight. The first rays of the sun hit the high mountains and it shone golden orange. As the bus was moving along the winding path, the glowing peaks wove in and out of view and for a moment, I was indeed truly happy. I have heard of a similar fiery glow in the Alps mountains when the sun sets. I would like to go there one day, to the Swiss Alps and see what they call the Alpenglow. But for now, Kodaikanal will do.

Love, Div

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2.It could happen today

I don’t remember enjoying history class when I was in school. In fact, I detested the subject, as it involved a large amount of memorization of dates and names of people places and wars-something that I wasn’t very good at. There was nothing more to it than that. At least that was what we were inclined to think.

Unlike Hitler, I didn’t have a memorable history teacher.

As a result, until I joined college, I (and also many of my friends), had only a vague idea of what the first and second world wars were about. This is not to say that I was well-informed about everything else in those boring history books, but the lesson about the world wars were my least favorite, and back then, I was too thoughtless to see any real connection between the Anne Frank’s Diary that moved me, and the World War II. So, it was a subject tucked away in the back of my mind, resurfacing now and then and disappearing altogether. It’s been three months since I finished college, and I’ve had a lot of time to myself. That set off my preoccupation with reading and watching movies about subjects that I was curious about- and one of them was the Holocaust. As I went deeper and deeper into the subject, I was overcome with disbelief, horror and shock.

I would like to add another post on some these books and movies that triggered this post but before that I have to get it out of my chest that although the Holocaust itself was chillingly unbelievable, the circumstances which led to it had an uncanny resemblance to many incidents in the present world.

What was most horrific about all the material on the Holocaust is that, it seems as if it is possible that it might happen today. If we compare speeches of political figures across the world, somewhere, someone is telling people that someone else is responsible for their troubles, that their own glory has to be ‘restored’, that the only ‘solution’ is to keep the perpetrators of evil out and keep their own city/state/country ‘pure’ and that there is nothing greater than their own language, culture and genes.

Some of us may feel very secure about our places in this world and it may not be so for many other people around us. While we take this situation for granted, it may only be a matter of time until we ourselves are the victims. We should remember that the World War II happened within a span of 6 years and millions of people who were against the Hitler regime were killed along with the Jews.

What were Hitler’s powerful speeches made up of? Mere words. Words that you and I use on a daily basis. It is important to remember what happened, because it may happen again, and it is key to nip such ‘hate speeches’ in the bud, whoever it may be directed against. It is important to trivialize them, to make 6|Page

them irrelevant, and direct focus away from them, because a World War may happen again. It is important to do so because hatred against people is like cancer waiting to break out. It is all around us.

One hate speech can trigger a disaster.

I would like to end with this: To be privileged is to have freedom. While we think we are safeguarding our freedom while inflicting restrictions upon others, what actually happens is we restrict ourselves. Our privilege is nor permanent. It is fragile. It can only be strengthened by offering others the same privileges that we have.

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3.Beauty of the desert

From the minute I set foot in Kutch, many, many questions bombarded me. How did people choose to live in this place? What keeps them here? How come these people are so good at handicrafts? What in this dry landscape inspires them? These were just a few of them. But the most pressing and biggest question of them all, to me was this:

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How do the people there, who live in such a dry area, a place that is extremely hot, where water is hard to come by, live a life so filled with art and colour? These people have to battle with extreme weather almost the whole year. Sure there is a little bit of agriculture here and there, but for the most part, this place was dry. Half the area of Kutch was covered with the Rann(the white desert) and the rest of the area didn’t have much of green either.

Personally, I’ve never found deserts appealing. I wondered how these people chose to stay in a place so unsympathetic to life itself. Not only did people live here but also made the most of it. These people were artists. Artists who created so many things — Tie and dye, block printing, embroidery, leather work, silver jewellery, lacquer art-you name it, they make it. Life here looks so colourful. Their clothes, their houses, the way they arrange their belongings inside these houses, every single thing they do is artistic. Someone said, “to see a Kutchi woman walking is to see a well — choreographed dance. It is so delightful to watch!”. Yes, to watch these women , in their richly embroidered blouses with their long skirts swaying as they walk, is indeed a pleasure.

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I though the desert was oppressive and yet here I saw life in all its glory, thriving. How? One day I did find an answer. Auto rickshaws there, were often built with a back seat and I happened to travel in it once. As the auto sped forward, stirring up the dust on the dirt road as it went, I saw it — the desert so lustrous and glowing. I maybe exaggerating. But the image flashing before my eyes even now denies it. That day, the landscape spread and expanded before me. Somehow, this view seemed like a wide panoramic view, wider than any other view I have ever seen. Maybe because there were no tall trees or buildings blocking the view.

There was only orange sand and a few little shrubs here and there. And as I looked at it, it hit me. Nature is magnificent in all its forms, be it the sea, ocean, river, mountains, tropical regions, snowy regions, even the desert. Even the desert is capable of enticing you and giving you thrills. I awed at it and realised that this too, like all other forms of nature, could make me happy. It took me that one bumpy rid in the back of an auto rickshaw to make me realise that the desert could be beautiful too.

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As for my question, I met someone, a fellow architecture student from Assam, whose theory appealed to me. She said to me that it was surprising that in places like Gujarat and Rajasthan where the landscape is not very colourful, people wear colourful clothes and in a place like Kerala, where every inch is green and the tropical climate gives it all the colour it needs, people traditionally wear whites and off-whites. It is surprising indeed how nature balances itself.

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https://hashtagurbanismblog.wordpress.com/2017/04/07/through-calvinos-eyes/ A guest post I wrote for a friend:

4.Through Calvino’s eyes.

I was introduced to Italo Calvino’s Invisible Cities in a hostel room one rainy night. Four of us sat together and read aloud his ‘cities’. The boundless imagination with which they were conceived filled us with excitement, curiosity and wonderment. It wasn’t as if I understood it completely, but that again added to its lure. I had forgotten the heights that imagination could possibly reach. After a long time, I found something that was this free of any boundaries or restrictions.

A few days ago, I came across this post and found it very interesting. It also got me thinking. Are his cities purely ‘imaginary’? Couldn’t you see that, in many ways, we have built around us, cities that are as chaotic, as wonderful and as strange as the ones Marco Polo speaks about? So, I decided to do an exercise –to try and look at cities the way he sees them, to try and find invisible cities within our cities.

This is a bizarre thing to do, and I tried to be as open-minded and imaginative as possible while doing this.

The Phoenix City: I have to talk here about the famous city of Boux. Around it lies the desert. As you approach the city, you find that the city has been born again, from destruction. The city stands in the midst of its own rubble.

And like broken limbs are patched up with casts and plaster, its buildings show signs of wreckage. Every once in a while Nature comes in all fury and shakes up the city, leaving nothing, and every time, it rises again, not without wearing its wounds proudly for others to see.

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The Phoenix City of Boux The Phoenix City of Bhuj

This was inspired from the city of Bhuj, where I spent four months. Bhuj was the epicenter of the earthquake in 2011. The Kachchh region has always been susceptible to earthquakes and has been facing major earthquakes every hundred years. We have heard many stories of abandoned cities and cities that were totally destroyed by a natural calamity. But Bhuj is the Phoenix city.

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The Excess city With every single item you could possibly think of, this city forms a maze of streets, all overflowing. There is nothing you can’t find here- Sweets are sold in shops with a grand staircase and blouses laid with precious stones and lace are found on the street. In many ways this is a city of desire: The very desire that sages warn us from – material desire. Everything is displayed and everybody is called in to touch, feel and buy. It is a city of overwhelming excess.

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The Excess City This idea was born from roaming around Commercial Street in Bangalore. There is literally nothing that you can’t find there. And while that may sound nice, it was an overwhelming experience for me.

The city of Surveillance: Everyone walked as if they knew where they were going. Confident, smiling and greeting each other warmly. Every now and then someone or the other stealthily looked up towards the ‘eye’ and quickly looked away from it. It is hard in this city to not be aware of the ‘eye’. These are everywhere. They follow you out in the street. They follow you out in the office, when you go shopping, in the restaurant, everywhere. I can’t casually state that I think this is unnecessary. It wasn’t the most comfortable city.

Everyone stole moments away from the ‘gaze’ and relished them, while acknowledging that the surveillance gave them ‘security’.

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The City of Surveillance

The city for Anyone.

Leaving the city of surveillance to come to the city for Anyone was a contrasting and liberating. Here you could find the ‘liberals’, the lovers, the drinkers, the social deviants, the outcasts- anyone and everyone.

There weren’t many rules. Nor were there any responsibilities. The city lived by accommodating these ‘outsiders’ who found this haven. Well, for them, it was haven. But a person from the surveillance city would feel like a fish out of water and wouldn’t know what to do.

It was the ultimate freedom city, where no restrictions of any sort were in place. Here most common ‘illegel’ things were legal. Cities like these crop up when the existing ones squeeze out of them the people whom they consider as ‘undesirables’.

The city of Signboards: It was hard to focus here. My eyes wandered restlessly, trying to settle, but that was impossible. There were signs on roads, on buildings, set in, jutting out….there were even people walking about with sign boards on their backs. Where they felt signboards didn’t do the job, they resorted to flyers or shouting.

The city, to me seemed to have an excessive attention seeking character. But that was the way its people 15 | P a g e

survived, competing with each other, to have bigger, better ways to capture the attention of passers by.

Sometimes, I felt they were descending into madness, trying to come up with new ways of capturing attention. The kind of madness that made them hang a board on a human and made him walk up and down the road.

The City of Signboards

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We live and work in cities. Everyday, we travel through the same roads, and it becomes easy to take things for granted. Yet, is that all? Aren’t cities man-made wonders? Aren’t they like huge machines, chugging through the centuries? Cities today have grown, with them new habits and lifestyles have formed and this means what we take for granted now might have been a very surprising, even laughable phenomenon at another place and time. I would like to leave it there, and hope you will find ways of looking at the place and the time we live in, through a different lens.

[Divya RV, the author and illustrator of this beautiful interpretation of Italo Calvino’s seminal work, “Invisible Cities”, is still grappling with the process of becoming an architect while juggling with writing, traveling and adjusting to the ubiquitous ‘PG’ life in the city. ]

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5.43 minutes 03:30 PM Sudha's grocery bag weighed so much that she put them down three times before she reached the parking lot.

"Where is this boy?" she muttered. Panting, she put down the two bags on the ground and took her cell phone out of her purse.

"Hallo! Karthik, where are you? I asked you to stay here! I will be sure to tell this to your father when he comes in the evening!....Yes....I am waiting near the car. Come quickly!"

She stood, covering her head with her duppatta to shield herself from the harsh sun. Presently, a tall boy who looked as if he might be nineteen, came walking towards her, munching a vada.

"Your father works even on holidays...but you...can't even help your mother carry some bags!"

Karthik didn't seem to mind his mother's yelling. He put the bags in the backseat and started the car, as his mother climbed in, still complaining.

When they reached the house, Keerthi was watching T.V. "Did you buy me the chocolates? "she asked, as she came forward to take the bags.

"Yes, yes...now just put away everything from the bags dear...", Sudha said, lowering herself into the sofa with an exhausted "Ishwara...". She changed the channel to watch her midday soap.

Keerthi pulled out her chocolate bar from the bottom of one of the bags and settled down on one of the living room couches. Sudha turned to look at her daughter, who seemed to have not heard her mother's instructions a few seconds ago.

"Keerthi! What did I just tell you? Wait till I tell your father!...You will only listen to him!" " Amma....It is a holiday today! don't ask me to work!" Keerthi wailed. " Learn to do some chores around the house Keer..." " Shhhh", Karthik leaped across the living room and landed on the sofa, next to Sudha, his eyes fixed on the TV. He had a horrified expression on his face. Both mother and daughter turned towards the television, where instead of her usual serial, was now a red screen flashing the words: ATTENTION: NUCLEAR MISSILE HEADING TOWARDS CHOLAGIRI. PLEASE HEAD TOWARDS SAFETY. THIS IS A WARNING ISSUED BY THE GOVERNMENT.

03: 42 PM " I don't understand! What?" Alex asked his friend. " This is not a joke Alex!" Adi said, his face contorting with panic. " But why? How?" Alex still didn't understand. He stood with his house door ajar. Unbelievable as it sounded, it didn't seem too out of ordinary. Ever since the nuclear plant was set up, the town people had braced themselves for a disaster that a day in the far, far future will bring.

Alex moved fast towards his balcony not bothering to lock his front door. Locked doors wouldn't stop a nuclear bomb. " Is it a legitimate threat?" he asked. " This is not time for one of your rational discussions! The PM has announced it! The news is everywhere. They say it will fall as close to the power reactor as possible. The effects will reach the city!" His roommate was sweating and panting as he relayed the news. Alex didn't react. The horror of the situation slowly began to sink in and panic set in like a cloud over him. He could see people running in and out of buildings down below.

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Any time now, all will be gone. He thought immediately of Maria. With a sudden jolt, he realized that his first thoughts when he learnt he was going to die were not of his parents or his brother.

He felt a little ashamed of himself. They were all probably sleeping. It would be past midnight in California. They would learn of his death in the morning. Images of his mother wailing and his father crying paraded in front of his mind's eye.

"What shall we do?" Adi asked, still breathing heavily, but now sitting in one of the two plastic chairs in the single room.

"Nothing. We die." Alex smiled. It sounded funny when he actually said it. His thoughts went back to Maria. He had told himself it was a crush, an obsession...but to no avail.

He had first seen her sitting at the front desk of his office, when he came for his interview. He hadn't thought much of her then. But over the two years that he had spent in Cholagiri, he had come to like her very much. She gave him an eye-twinkling smile every time he passed the reception, which he did more and more often in these days. They sometimes left office at the same time, exchanging brief sentences until they reached the gate and went on their separate ways. He always smiled at her when he saw her in Church and she always acknowledged it with a slight nod, too afraid to flash her 'office'smile sitting next to her mother and father.

"What is your last wish Adi?" he asked, rocking his flimsy chair to and fro, looking into the distance. He barely listened to what Adi said next, because he was thinking of his own last wish at the moment. He reached for his phone and started typing frantically.

03:50 PM Mr. Maruthachalam was a crude man. Atleast that is what Anand thought. Two days with the industrialist had drained him of all his mental energy.

Anand was a soft-spoken man of thirty, who was now taking over his father's textile manufacturing business. While he had no trouble at all in managing his own mills, he did have trouble talking to people. He had come to Cholagiri to fix up a business deal with him at the request of his father.

He had for far too long harbored a sheltered world-view of honesty and integrity. When he was thrust into the world of business, he got to meet people who shattered this view, one at a time.

For two days, he had heard Maruthachalam boast of his non-compliance of rules , how he had gotten around pollution control regulations, how he had 'taken care of' officials when they came to inspect.

"So! It looks like we're going to be partners! Huh lad?, Maruthachalam thumped him on his shoulder. Anand smiled weakly, as he got up from his seat.

"Go tell your father the good news! He will be grateful to me! ....What is it Devendra?"

His assistant had burst into the conference room, "Nuclear attack....Warning...we ...now!"the assistant collapsed on the floor clutching his sides, panting.

Anand tried very hard to make sure of the authenticity of the news. He browsed for a sign, any sign which would prove this to be a wild rumour. But no. It was even in the government website.

He thought of quickly getting to his car and driving away from the city. How much time did he have? He did not know.

"Devendra, ask the driver to get my car ready. We are going to the resort...You too Anand!"

Anand looked at him in bewilderment. Maruthachalam leaned in and said in a low voice,"I have a built- in bunker. You know, just in case...We could hide out there" He was very surprised at the generosity. He nodded. In five minutes, they were speeding away on the highway along the beach.

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"Your father will be very grateful indeed. First I offer to save his sinking business...then I save his son's life!"

Anand knew at that moment that if these were the last moments of his life, he didn't want to spend it with this man. He also knew that if these were the last moments, he needn't care about any business deal.

"Thank you sir. If you stop the car, I will get down here!"

"What?"

"I would have told this before, but we weren't dying then. I think you are a vile, wicked man who exploit others to come to the top. See you in hell!"

Smiling a little, he slammed the car door shut and walked towards the beach.

3:57 PM Maria huddled close to her mother as the family knelt down in their prayer room to say their last prayers. Her grandmother was fingering her rosary and her little sister clutched his father's hand as he read from the bible, asking the lord to forgive their sins. As her father's voice droned on, Maria prayed to herself. " Dear lord, I have hurt people in the past for which I am truly sorry. Forgive me my sins. I pray please! Please don't let it hurt! Please let it be quick!"

Just then, her phone beeped. Normally, she wouldn't be allowed to touch her phone in the middle of prayer. But today, no one heard her phone, and in a distracted moment she grabbed her phone and opened the message.

She almost chuckled out loud as she read the message. It was from Alex, a guy who worked in her office. It was a long, sloppy confession of his love for her, how he felt brave enough to tell her in the brink of death...and did she love him too?

"Who would have thought?" Maria muttered. For a moment she almost forget the situation they were in: the imminent explosion that would blow everything to pieces. She kept her phone down and bowed her head down again. " Dear lord...." .

All of a sudden, a wave of guilt washed over her. Maybe it was the approaching death or maybe her fear of hell...a voice whispered in her ear, " Don't be so cruel! You are about to die! So is he.

At least answer him!" She took her phone again and started typing, " Mr. Alex, I am sorry but I do not share your feel..."

The voice in her told her," Do you really want to make someone unhappy before they die?" " But I have to be truthful", she said to the voice. " Imagine, your very last words on this earth would shatter a poor boy's heart! Was he really that bad?"

"No! I'd rather not answer!"

Maria wished the missile would hit them right then so that she didn't have to go through this dilemma. The clock was ticking and her anxiety grew every second. Any minute now, they would be blown away.

In a swift motion, she took her phone and typed two words and sent it.

"Me too".

4:01 PM Devendran was sweating profusely as he paced the conference room. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. Should he talk to Lalitha? Or to Sudha? Or the children? Or just die here, alone?

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He knew as he whipped out his phone that there had always, always been a part of him that had been itching to tell this to them. Confess. Get it over with. He contemplated calling them. After about 5 minutes, he started typing out a message: "Dear Sudha, Karthik and Keerthi, I love you all, but I have kept something from you. Please forgive me. Sudha isn't my only wife....

4:13 PM Sudha sat in the bathroom, with one arm around her sobbing daughter and another over her son.

Not knowing what to do, they had taken refuge in the bathroom, which had no windows, not even a ventilator. "This won't keep it away" Keerthi sobbed. Karthik was desperately trying to contact his father. " I am not able to reach him" he cried. Sudha was silent. Just then, Karthik's phone beeped and Devendran's message popped up on screen.

At the same time, the sound of a loudspeaker echoed in the street outside: "CITIZENS OF CHOLAGIRI, PLEASE DO NOT PANIC. IT WAS A FALSE ALARM. I REPEAT. IT WAS A FALSE ALARM. NO NUCLEAR MISSILE IS COMING THIS WAY. YOU ARE SAFE"

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