FAR AWAY IN THE SKY, above clouds and birds, the plane flew out of Ramya’s reach. Whenever Kartik and Sharanya shouted her name while rapping their rickety wooden window from the outside, Ramya knew they either had to fill pails from the well and milk the cows, or someone had seen them stealing coconuts from the neighbour’s yard, or something exciting was happening; and the only exciting spectacle they could be guaranteed on a daily basis in their tiny remote village near the south coast of India was watching a plane fly by.
In their small mud house, with its leaky thatched roof and rough-walled partition demarcating two rooms – accommodating four adults and three children – there was no place for a television. There was no means for one, either. But the children would huddle to look at pictures of airplanes in frayed school textbooks, or in a picture book someone had bought during their latest trip to the nearest city, which happened to be four hours away by train. When, at four, Ramya realized the plane wasn’t a vehicle of gods as her grandma had told her, but something man-made for people to fly in, she started waiting for the day when she would get to be one of those people. Until then, the three of them would write their names and wishes on paper and make a plane out of it. But Ramya’s plane never went farther than the little mound near their house. So, she made a
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O. Hunt is an Indian Canadian writer. She has an MA in English with a specialization in Literature and Cultural Studies. She writes literary as well as genre-based fiction, and when not writing, she spends much of her time reading, listening to podcasts, and admiring the beautiful Canadian outdoors. She lives in Mississauga with her husband and this is her debut short story. https://www.facebook.com/share/1F8HHA4rrx/