Fishing Rod : Short story collection

Cat on the lily pad

I saw a cat on the lily pads. It looked so scared of falling into the water that I couldn't enjoy the pond scenery at all. It was actually a sight to behold; a pretty creature on a pretty leaf, surrounded by pink lilies and cranes. I wonder why it walked itself into such a troublesome path and then it falls on me. Am I not doing the same?

I wake up in a trance, it was another strange dream. Not scary in the least, but strange. "Lily pads arent strong enough to carry the weight of a walking cat." My mother said to me. "But it must have been pretty." It was pretty, yet I wasn't sadistic enough to enjoy it's suffering. How long has it been since I left my house and went out? I dont remember or I dont want to remember. The world is suffering wave after wave and here I am still in a trance. I wake up only to fall asleep again, I eat only to dissolve hunger and even ice-cream tastes bitter. The scene from my window hasn't changed much, but Im still not used to it. If I was used to it, I wouldnt stare so much at the monotone buildings in search of answers. I didnt even ask any questions.

I am not hopeless. I do have things that are supposed to be done; I have deadlines and dreams too. But something about the masked men, masked in another layer of masks, distanced via a virus scare me. I was the extrovert of the classroom, all cheery and the yellow daisy in a bouquet. Then I realised I wasn't a flower, I was an unrecognised bud. Just before my blooming season, the sun betrayed me and the storms appeared. I couldn't bloom on the green grass, but on the pond among lily pads. A pale and sophisticated lily.

It read 8:00 am on the screen, the screen that I am used to. It is ironic that I search answers in the never-changing scenery, and ignore the diverse internet. I miss the times when I would struggle to read time on an analogue clock, and now I just read at once from the computer screen. It seems surreal, we have grown so much. I got dressed well after such a long time. I dont look magnificent, but just enough to make my mother click a picture and send it to my grandparents. "You look pretty today."

I ate a toast with strawberry jam and it wasnt bitter today. I tasted the sweet red on my tongue just like I used to. I used to be surrounded by people and now I am not, its not that bad.

Perhaps it began when the flooding started. When I couldn't see the grass or sunlight I was used to. Those were the days underwater. I did see a few colourful fish, which were intriguing for some time. But I couldnt forget the blue sky. Mother said, "Pretend that the blue water is the blue sky. You will be a little more happy." I couldnt compromise and ended up weeping. It was useless to shed tears under water. But how would I know that? Water acts like a mirror only from the surface, but when underneath, its a pretentious mirage.

I wouldve cried forever, until something caught me in shock. I could feel a small familiar light on my cheeks. "Darling you're taller than me now." I was still under water, but a little closer to the surface. It was a new hope, everyone started getting vaccinated and it wouldn't be like this forever. The big things we missed for a year, started happening in small scale. Not the big grand festivals, but smaller ones. We celebrated spring not rejoicing much, but in hopes of a better bloom next year. We hoped to get out again, soon.

I have grown a lot and today, I feel myself on the surface again. Its not the grassy field full of bees and dandelions, but we have our own share of orange fish and frogs, striking white storks and lily pads. Sometimes a cat walks in. It isnt as open as it used to be, we still have restrictions from the flood. But its better than before and beautiful in its own way. I am not thankful to the storm that made me a lily; but maybe this is what I was meant to be. I did cry a lot and it was painful, but now I have a story to tell the next generation.

The time on the screen reads 8:15 am and I hear sounds already. I hear hurried voices of the other lilies I grew up with. Not physically together, but I feel close to them. They went through the same flood and it feels familiar. I turn on the camera and smile, its genuine.

"All the best." said my mother.

"Thank you." This time I reply and get an almost teary face.

" .... will now present their poem, 'Cat on the lily pad'. "

And then I begin.

If the flood morphed my dreams from a public speaker to a poet, I will work towards it naturally. I felt I went crazy in the first year of pandemic; I refused friends and family to get closer, built up a shell and cried. I'm thankful, not to the flood but to the decision I made to let my mother in. I am still waiting for the bright sunlight to fall on my new self, the clouds are still there but there's also hope. And maybe you are curious about what poem? Its nothing much...

Cat on the lily pad, walk yourself out of it.

You can do it!