Presently biding my time : working to make said big dreams come true
As I secretly follow my dream of : travelling, eating as many chocolates as I want without getting fat and most specially, one day making a change in the world through my writing
As good as : hoping to get as good as all those strong, independent and free women out there (like Chimamanda Adiche, Beyonce Knowles, Sheryl Sandberg and the like)
Part of the : Creative Writing Mentorship Program from 24 January – 11 April, 2015
My Blog : www.theprotego.wordpress.com
About being a part of Anita’s Attic Creative Writing program
Anita’s Attic absorbed more than just twelve Saturdays of my life, it was more like twelve whole weeks – and I have discovered and learnt and experienced so much. I cannot express how glad and fortunate I am to have been part of this workshop – that too at this point in my life. I am lucky to have been exposed to the inner workings of the writing world and the publishing industry so early, and have the opportunity to get all my questions answered by some of the best in this field. I have learnt so much by interacting with Anita ma’am– the most important one of all was that writing involves not only a creative, dreamy mind and an imagination that runs away with things, but also a structured and organised thought, and a discipline to pull it all together into a crisp story. I am so thankful to Anita ma’am for going through my writing, week after week, helping me hone my skills and trim my sentences. What was more, there were ten other creative minds along with me on this journey, and interacting with them has really given me new insights and points of view. I will carry on all that I have learnt at Anita’s Attic, and utilise it in my writing and my methods of story-telling. It has been an experience that I will hold very close to my heart for ever.
Harini’s Bio
Harini Rajasekhar is a student currently, and is quite unsure of what she wants to do next. But one thing she is sure of- she wants to write! She has written all sorts of gibberish from the time shewas very little, and has now learned to write about more meaningful things. She wrote her first children’s story ‘Ziana’ at the age of ten (which was published three years later), and has had articles published in the TOI students edition, Manorama’s Magic Pot and her school magazines. She has also recently taken to blogging, and quite likes it. She is now working on bringing out a collection of short stories. Besides writing, she loves to swim and eat cupcakes.
An Excerpt from Harini's Latest Work
The Bathtub
Water gushed into my mouth, water burned my open eyes, fought my eyelids as I tried to screwthem shut. Green water, swirling and splashing – my choking gasps were clouds of bubbles. I couldfeel his hand on the back of my neck, his fingers crushing my windpipe. I tried to get back up but heonly pushed me down deeper. I was kneeling on the cold bathroom floor, and my knees felt like theywere about to crack under the pressure. My fingers struggled frantically to remove his grip. My temples began to throb and my eyesight started to blur. I felt light-headed, a darkness began to creep in through the corners of my vision.
My thrashing ceased, my hands floated down through the green and rested, palms down, on the floor of the bath tub. It was cold and smooth, and criss-crossed with shimmering light reflected through the sea green of the water. I remember how he had laughed at my desire to buy a bath tub.
“It’s like bathing in your own dirty water!”
I had imagined a white walled bathroom, with champagne coloured tiles and shiny taps and faucets,all bathed in golden yellow lights. And an ornate oval mirror that hung above the sleek sink, opposite to the big bathtub. And oh, for that bathtub, what plans I had had. Scented candles and aromatic bath oils, white foam thick on the hot water.
But not this. Never this.
My eyes closed. The first time he hit me, I was too stunned to speak. And I didn’t speak – and no one knew.
“You’re so lucky , he gets you such beautiful things!” exclaimed my aunt, as she unfurled heavy silk saree out on the bed.
“And that too, without you even asking!” My mother ran her fingers over the dark pink silk and the gold mango patterns.
“You remember how she used to go on and on about her bathtub fantasies? Well, right after they got married, he got her one!” my mother said to my aunt.
They both laughed.
“I really hope Priya gets someone just like him.” Said my aunt.
I smiled. I turned and quickly whispered a prayer for Priya to never get a husband like mine.
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