B1) Develop a story in about 80 to 100 lines with the following beginning.
It was a chill winter morning
Answers
TIPS FOR STORY WRITING :
Mix up your writing.
Write every day.
Set milestones.
Understand basic story structure.
Use the active voice.
Kill your darlings.
Read other writers.
Write to sell.
Write now, edit later.
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STORY :
this year the winter sure felt like one! It was years since it felt this cold. Delicious memories of the forgotten chilly winters of his native hometown in Sitapur district of Lucknow surfaced. Memories of shivering involuntarily despite burrowing deep under the heavy razai*, watching everyone’s breath coming out in a fine mist, chomping on freshly plucked corn cobs roasted over hot coals while savoring the spicy rub on it, gorging on piping hot jalebis and kachoris, sitting around the bonfire with friends till late night throwingfirewood into the blaze to warm them and the carefreeness of youth. Subconsciously Viru’s mouth had watered just thinking about all those tasty winter treats from years ago. Hugging his thin blanket more closely, he thought; time to buy some thicker ones — something he had never felt the need of in the ten years he had lived in this city of dreams. He had laughed to himself every year, seeing the yearly pretense of a winter in the city, with all the shops proudly displaying winter-wear at the slightest dip in the mercury.
Like millions before him, he had come to Mumbai many winters ago to find himself a better future. His father had reluctantly let his only son go ahead to seek his own fortunes. He probably didn’t envisage a particularly bright future for his son in the meager and non-thriving farming legacy, which the family had pursued for generations. His mother and two sisters had packed him enough food to last his train journey and probably enough for the next fortnight or so, their way of venting sorrow at his going away. All of them had been to the station to see him off, as he bravely smiled at his father and teased and joked with his sisters and mother to ease the tension. But as the train started moving, none could control the gush of tears — of anxiety and grief, the pangs of separation and uncertainty. He could still remember the anxious faces peeking out of the shawls and mufflers, but also those woebegone images were now overlapped by happier ones, of fresher memories.