Native Place/Isidorian

Week 1, In class Assignment


Visiting my Grandparents

I would wake up at the crack of dawn to the blaring horn of the train to watch the sunrise and the horses out in the field. At the station, familiar faces would greet us, announcing that summer had officially begun. For the next two weeks, I would spend my days lounging on the diwan, sucking on popsicles and mindlessly watching a game of cricket I didn’t understand. In the evenings the kitchen would be busy with Nanima cooking up our favourite food; the aroma would waft into in the whole house turning all of us into hungry pigs. We would lay out the mattresses at night and play games like charades into the wee hours of the morning. Before I knew it, my frail grandmother would be squeezing me into a hug it would be time to go back home.

Life as an Isidorian

I open my shop at 11 am and dispassionately brush off the dust settled on the polished wood of my most expensive violins, the sea shells gleam in the morning light. In my profession, I encounter the most interesting looking people visiting from foreign lands to soak in the sun. To them the city is an exotic wonderland because of its beautiful beaches and lofty towers. They lose themselves to gambling in the day and to the women at night but to me the lustre of all these things has long since faded. It’s funny how these explorers who have seen so much of the world are still drawn to the same old things like moths to a flame. My days are drab and drawn out. The only highlight is when the door chimes as a giggling, sun-tanned couple walks in striking a conversation about how their travels led them to my city and willingly overpay for some trinkets that would buy my evening drink at the bar.


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