Creative Writing - The Bliss Of Acceptance.

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Personal Imaginative Unit - English Coursework - Creative Writing

The Bliss Of Acceptance

The plane’s contact with the ground woke me from my semi-conscious state and I looked around anxiously, to see where I was. We had finally landed, and I felt life flow back into my limbs as I stretched in my seat. A gentle murmur rose as the plane slowed down, and the reassuring sound of the pilot echoed through the plane.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have now arrived in Delhi, the temperature is a pleasant forty three degrees with cloudless skies, and local time is four fifteen PM”.

Stewardesses strutted up and down isles collecting litter, and passengers began to abscond from the plane. As I lifted myself to my feet, still in a half alert state from jetlag-induced fatigue, I stumbled into the sunshine outside. The blue sky dazzled my agitated eyes, and I grumbled to myself in irritation. The scorching hot sun was already upon me, burning my unconditioned skin in a similar way to a magnifying glass burning an ant. Hours followed as we collected bags; showed passports and performed countless other tasks that made me want to curl up on the floor and lapse into hibernation. Whether I was in Delhi or London, I was still exhausted and cantankerous. Finally we managed to obtain our car, and, as I had suspected, a long trip hundreds of miles upwards to Northern India followed.

On our journey, my irritation began to crumble. The first village we stopped at, where I could appreciate the scenery, was near the Punjab, in a rural area. The village itself looked primitive and simplistic, with buildings partially finished, abandoned with no roofs or waterproofing, like an unwanted animal abandoned on the street. Poverty reigned rampant, and incoherent languages flood towards me. We drew nearer to the village market, passing by unsavoury looking beggars and lone children. An old man peered at me through a half developed cataract, before falling into a coughing fit. The world around me seemed dismal.

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In a split moment, my impression changed. Just as the flood washes dirt from its path, so my notions about India changed. We turned the corner into the market square, and were met with a blissful scene; a crowded square full of laughing, shouting and commotion; stall owners bellowing at the top of their voices to advertise their goods, and amidst the joyful chaos young children scuttled around like playful insects. A rich variety of vivid colours met my eye in the form of scarlet apples, striking yellow bananas and earthy brown yams. Countless fruits held my gaze, which ...

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