2008 - Glendale Community College

More documents

Recommendations

Info

Sheila’s Stairway to Heaven by Natalie Seils Cyanotype 40
a hard plastic, numbered token, to be handed back to him when one collected the bags on leaving the store. The brightly lit aisles beckoned, their neatly organized shelves stacked high with beautifully displayed products whose glossy, artful labels vied for attention. One could linger to peruse them in luxurious, air conditioned comfort as the thick, tinted glass walls insulated one from the deafening cacophony of the mad drivers that pounded hotly down the dusty streets beyond, like people possessed. And somehow, the fatigue fell away as one’s aching feet now began to glide smoothly over the clean, polished floors. The habitual pain gradually became a dim and even tolerable memory as one inhaled the fresh, fragrant, smog-free air inside. In another colorful section with sloping trays and baskets, pre-cleaned and prepackaged fruits and vegetables glowed healthily from their breathable cellophane jackets. Already divided into meal size units that took the guesswork out of it, they saved the stressed consumer valuable time and effort. The higher prices were a small deterrent for such thoughtful service. I imagined Manda in the store, rubbing shoulders with overweight women in crisp designer salwar-kameezes, bedecked with white gold and lipstick, diamond rings flashing as they waved an airy hand at an acquaintance. Their accessorized diaphanous scarves trailing unevenly behind them as they floated past Manda in a cloud of perfume, sizing her up in a single, dismissive glance that seemed to skim over her and then glance off as if she weren’t quite there. Tossing their dark swathes of henna-conditioned hair as they call out to their nannies in measured but commanding nasal tones to mind the children better, husbands, children and the unfortunate nannies in tow. Hair that cascaded down their backs in a straight, silky curtain, then swirled in a body, its highlights catching the dying gold of sunshine slanting in through the tinted windows. And somehow, in spite of it all, I could see Manda holding her own. As she spoke, her face became animated, the expressions flitting across it in quick succession. She said she hadn’t known for a long time that she had even needed glasses and that sometimes, in school, she’d encountered flak from the other kids for trying to be “better” than them. Then she added, almost as an afterthought, that when she had first started at this job, she had had no idea whatsoever how to cook “fancy”. Her various expert, but now fed-up employers, were only too willing to share their tips, tricks, short cuts and techniques. So slowly but surely, she had squirreled away the odd assortment of facts and put them to use, sometimes transplanting the ideas from one kitchen to another. Little by little, she’d made it work. And now, she was a pro. To me, Manda epitomized a changing India. One in which everyone, from the Harvard educated CEO to the completely illiterate street savvy vegetable vendor, owned cell phones and spent equal amounts of time on them! One in which the increasingly polluted and pothole ridden roads were clogged with more and more four wheelers. An India in which it seemed as though building construction had become an integral part of every city street, even as real estate prices shot through the roof. And one in whose cities, to my everlasting regret, large shady trees and bullock carts were fast becoming a disappearing memory. “The emerging lower and middle classes will determine the future of the world’s largest democracy,” warbled some wellheeled economists, half glad, half sad. In the technology driven whirlwind that could well be India’s rise to superpowerdom, equal opportunities and economic independence were proving to be great class levelers and in this race, it seemed as though Manda had firmly straddled the winning horse.
Page 1 and 2: Traveler raveler
Page 3 and 4: Traveler Traveler 2008 Glendale Com
Page 5 and 6: Drawing 8 9 11 13 22 28 46 Lounge L
Page 7 and 8: Raised voices came to us from down
Page 9 and 10: s s s s From then on, I went to the
Page 11 and 12: her back, naked under a grimy sheet
Page 13 and 14: Starlight Boy by Renzy Bordeleau I
Page 15 and 16: things out, that is, until you saw
Page 17 and 18: Glendale Community College Freedom
Page 19 and 20: she’s rescued; a forlorn ladder-b
Page 21 and 22: steel of an angular painting knife,
Page 23 and 24: Death by Marianne Ferrari, Poetry 3
Page 25 and 26: your f inal by Ed Swanson Poetry 2n
Page 27 and 28: your crummy nickel,” Dad said mer
Page 29 and 30: The Housewife B LUES T by Rachel Ri
Page 31 and 32: Daydreaming by Veronica Aguilar Cha
Page 33 and 34: the opposite zabuton cushion from h
Page 35 and 36: “You and Mana-chan were my reason
Page 37 and 38: A Tale Of Love and Light Claudia Ma
Page 39 and 40: Untitled Ceramic by Robert McBride
Page 41: Untitiled by Bryan Schnebelt Cerami
Page 45 and 46: The Migratory Patterns I of Tropica
Page 47 and 48: or later. Someday that might be me:
Page 49 and 50: indiscriminately swooping the light
Page 51 and 52: of cat urine from a prior tenant wh
Page 53 and 54: “Well, gee. Fired. That’s it, h
Page 55 and 56: we applied wheels and a little bit
Page 57 and 58: course designer for their PBX syste
Page 59 and 60: Ocito en Flor by Claudia Martinez A

2008 - Glendale Community College

You also want an ePaper? Increase the reach of your titles

Delete template?

Save as template?