Aug 04: Welcome to Africa

So far i have written 3-4 posts under Project 0811 and so far, this is proving to be the toughest. I am back to square one. Where I know I have to write a piece and I am clueless what to write on. I am out of stories, anecdotes, ideas, data that I have no clue what to write. Ideally I want to write a short story, in 500 words, but then nothings coming to my head. And starting today, I wanted each blogpost to have a picture/photograph that best sums up the post! But then, dear sire, we need to have a post in the first place!

Let me attempt a short story. Ok heres the deal. I shall find a random link on google and write a piece of fiction inspired by the content on that page. I googled and I found Let me generate a random website link. Drum rolls, confetti blasts, here we go! So it pointed me to And heres the story.

"You dont understand me at all. I cant tolerate you guys for even a minute now. I am going.", said my daughter. She is 13. And I had caught her red handed while she was trying to steal money from my office. Moment she said, you don't understand me, something snapped inside me. I could clearly see what would she do once she leaves home with that money.

She would go buy an ice cream. After all, like father, like daughter. Then she would go for a walk till she reaches the dockyard, which is about 100 meters from our bungalow. No one else but us, call the bungalow, bungalow. This used to be a chawl till about 5 months back before I bought the entire place and created this sprawling landmark.

She will then board the vessel docked farthest from the shore, scared that I might find her and fight with her again. She would get curious with all the instruments, compass boxes, wheels, navigators, maps, logbooks, pens, radio sets, levers, cranks, the tunnels and will get lost in her world where she would play the pirate and fend off the crusaders. She has to be the pirate. The kingpin. Nothing else would do. There is something intriguing about being on the other side of the law. I, I even went to the extent of patching my right eye.

Without her realizing it, the ship would set sail. It would take her to Africa. I could see that cloth banner, that read the most dreaded words I had ever laid my eyes on. Welcome to Africa. She would be surprised at first. Then she would feel lost at a place where everyone is topless, dark, smelly, humid and cold. Then she would be surprised for a bit.

And when the reality would hit her, she would not flinch, leave alone crying. She would be brave. Probably braver than her father. She would take less time, far less to make her fortune in the land of black gold. I dont know what business would she pick but whatever she does, she would survive and reach the top of the game. All the while, slogging, to teach her father a lesson. No other emotion makes a person work harder than hatred.

And sooner than later, one fine day, just like that, she would decide to head back home. And see that banner, the Welcome to Africa banner, for the last time. Ever. And come back, to claim her place. To erect the tallest skyscraper the city had ever seen. At a place where I built a majestic home. Where my parents rented a 6 feet by 8 feet, shared toilets with 30 other "homes".

I could see everything. As clear as you could see things.

History, as they say, repeats itself. I was determined to keep history at bay this time. Just this time. For once. I fought back the tears, ran after my daughter. And dug my head in her neck and allowed that lone tear to roll down my bearded cheek. And I had no clue, who was more surprised. She or I.

This is day 04 in a series of 31 daily blogposts. Other posts are here.
Note to self: Need to fix my woulds and wills, coulds and cans, so on and so forth.

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