The Love Hate relationship with stories

There was a time when I used to write stories. They made me realize myself. I must admit that I was a part of almost all stories I wrote, love stories that is. Some were based on a leaf out of my own life or some were inspired from people I knew. There were people who loved it. And there were people who criticized it. But there were always people who read it.

I got carried away. I started writing because people read it. I wrote for the audience. I tried to sensationalise, materialize stories. I also thought of commercializing the stories by publishing a book. But then came a point when the whole world collapsed with a thud. My romance with love stories ended and sank without a trace. When I read some of the stories I wrote, I hated myself for trying to do what I shouldn’t have thought. It is that day and today, I’m still devoid of inspiration.

I hope it reverses some day. I hope it does very soon. I want to write stories again.

75: Acedia

This is story number 5 of the 7even series.

“Dinkar… look at that boy Sachin. He is only a couple of years older to you. But he has already made a début in the Indian national cricket team. You too are a good batsman Dina… I think you should work towards it.”

“I am Baba… even I’m a good batsman. I need not prove it time again.”

“I know Dina… I just want you to work hard towards it. Yesterday I met your coach Achrekar. He said you are always late to practice in the morning? Some times you skip it too. What is this?”

“Ah … he calls us at 5am. I cant wake up that early. Besides, dont worry… I’m still the number one batsman at my club.”

71: The Nakshalbari

Preface: This is the first of the seven stories. Since they are based on deadly sins, it is likely that the stories will be sinful. If the readers don’t appreciate any of the stories, they can voice their opinion in the comments section. I will not be writing the topic (sin) on which the story is written. But leave it for the readers to guess. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The story is a work of fiction.

An elderly looking Protima rushed inside the small drawing room of the railway quarter on hearing a loud clang. It seemed some vessel had fallen off the dining table. But she was amazed to see that it was her son who had thrown a steel plate on the wall in front. He picked up another utensil and hurled it towards the plate. It banged on the wall with a loud clang before settling down on the floor below. He then picked up a spoon and was about to hurl it when Protima rushed to him.

“Shubo! Ki korbe…?” She said before snatching the spoon from his hand.

But Shubhojit did not look concerned. He was still staring at the plate and the utensil he threw. He just wanted to bang it hard… very hard. He remembered how hard they beat the ‘thalis’ when he had been to Midnapore. It was such a serene place, full of greenery, full of life and full of like minded people. And then he remembered about the chance meeting with the leader. Shubhojit touched his ears as he thought about him. They said taking his name was a crime. For Shubhojit, even thinking about him was a crime. It was Onir who had introduced him to the ‘kafila’ 3 months ago. After ‘the incident’ about an year ago, that was the only good thing happened to Shubhojit.

Not paying Any heed to his mother’s complaints, Shubhojit stepped out of the small yet cozy railway quarter and decided to take a walk down the busy road in Sealdah. It was only noon and he had to report to the office at around 4:30. He still had enough time for himself. But still he was all dressed up, all set to board the train. Chest pocket of his blue shirt bore his full name, Shubhojit Mondal. 

Z2: Sara

Please read the first part “Red & White” before reading further.

It had been raining since the night. Sarika had heard a lot about water logged roads and slippery tracks on the Valkyrie mountains. She insisted they take their own vehicle to the palin top where her classmates were planning to hike. But none agreed. They found it fun to go by the public transport and then climb up on the top, despite the rains. Sarika hated rains and all the filth it brought with it. Afterall, being born in a super rich family, she had all the luxuries at her door step. She was born with a golden spoon with diamonds studded all over. She could have studied in any school and university in the world. And yet her father had chosen to send her to the vedic high school just on the outskirts of the Jaisingpur. “You’ll learn life.” He had told her. And now she was about to learn travelling in a public transport, walk 3 miles and learn hiking in a heavy down pour. It was already making her sick.

Z1: Red & White

This is the first story in the ‘Z’ category. It will have seven parts. I request for patience and hope it is liked

The trumpet band was blowing in full force. On both sides of the street he could see people cheering up every ‘jhaki’ moving ahead. They had turned out in large numbers. Some of them were waving the Indian flag. It was a memorable day for Aravinda. He had never watched a republic day parade ever in his life. He remembered how much his father wanted him to and how he gave it a miss every year on 26th January. It was a national holiday and he always believed in using it to play cricket the whole day with his friends. He never thought one day he will be walking down this road himself, taking the guard of honour and a medal from the president. It was a day ‘vinda’ was never to forget.

New Brand of Stories

20 love stories and I feel I have done enough justice to the ‘romantic’ me. It is not time to explore the ‘story teller’ me. So I’m starting a new brand of stories under category, err… well it goes uncharacterised. Because there are so many varied ideas inside my brain. It is difficult to exactly name the genre. Plus the stories will be complex and not necessarily short.

Anyway, so as a result I’m going to prefix the stories with ‘Z’ and they will be classified under ‘story time’. First story coming up shortly. I hope you like it.    :-)

L39: Call

Please read the part 1: Twilight and part 2: Twilight Continues before you proceed.

Ashish was walking briskly towards the terminus building as the memories flooded in front of his eyes. It was only 2 months since he knew Ashita and they had come so close to each other. Every day he observed her board the bus in the evening looking dejected, tired and lost. Being a bus conductor, it was a part of his job to talk to strangers and observe them briefly. And yet it wasn’t a part of his job to befriend his co-passengers and stare at one of them. It was not a part of his job to love a passenger and do favors to her… and it was also not a part of his profile to walk to the morgue.

Ashish’s and Ashita’s relationship had been one strange affair. “I swear I never looked at you… ever. But then I dont know what happened that day. I just couldn’t divert my mind off it.” she had told him on the day they went to the Worli sea face.

“And why did you not observe me? I see lot of passengers every day. But I remembered you. You only see one conductor and you still ignore him. Not done Ashi.”

“Oh did I ignore you? Well… may be I did. (chuckled) after all, who would want to look at a conductor?”

“Is it? And who am I now? Not a conductor?”

“Let me check… ummm… no you are not a conductor. You are one dumb guy sitting here with me on the sea face and not allowing me to go home on a working day.” and she would laugh loudly… so loud that every one around could hear her voice even with the sea roaring in the background.

L36: White Noise II

Please read part I: L35: White Noise here.

“… and he called me late on the same night. All he said was congratulations. I tried telling him how difficult it was to decide for me. In fact I was not even aware. Dad had met Rohit’s family and instantly knew he was the guy. I hardly got a chance to do any thing. We met once and thats it. It was done!” Bani was now looking sullen and a bit more worried.

“Okay… hmmm, go on!”

“Yogi has been behaving very weird lately, you know. There was a time when we used to talk twice a day and there is a time now when we hardly talk. And that too when I call. He seldom calls. And on all the calls we hardly have a decent conversation. I think he has become very restless since the time I got engaged. Its almost 2 months Amit!”

“You got engaged 2 months ago? And you are telling me now? How are you going to explain that Bani? This is sad… SAD!”

“It was just a rokka Amit, and any way thats not the point. The point is Yogi… and me”

“Hmmm… alright I get it. So may be Yogi loved you silently. And he is not able to accept the fact that you are now going to marry some one else. And now you dont know how to handle this situation, right?”

“Some thing like that. But…”

“No if, no but! Only Amit! … Well sorry that doesn’t exactly rhyme, but who cares? Dont you worry. Meet Yogi once and tell him exactly how you feel when he behaves so weird. Tell him now you are going to be married and he has to accept that. He must know that nothing can be there between you guys. Nothing ever was, so no point of him being hung on you. I think he will understand. If he doesn’t, tell me. I’ll talk to him.”

L35: White Noise

“Hey Amit, how are you doing.” Said a young petite girl walking inside a small closet sized office in the Ismail building on the busy streets of Crawford market. Amit’s office echoed exactly the same sentiments that of Bani’s mind… cramped for space.

“Oh hello… look who’s here. Bani! Oh my, long time dearie… whats up?” said Amit. Of all the good professions, this talented engineer from one of the top engineering colleges in the state opted to become a electronic scrap dealer. ‘At least some one needs to clear the crap you guys design.’ he used to say. And he became a successful one at that. In fact he was earning much more than his highly paid brand hungry blokes who ran behind IT companies for on site jobs. He was a practical guy with a no nonsense attitude, one reason why many of his friends came to him for advice.

“Nice office” Said Bani looking at the mess spread around. “I must say you have an eye for perfection. Every thing is so… organised”

“Awww… C’mon! What is more important? Convenience or look?”

L34: Souvenir

“Hari… HARI! What do you want me to do with these soiled clothes of yours? Do I ask the maid to throw it out?” Lalit was shouting at the top of his voice standing in the balcony of his apartment. He was holding old clothes of Hari soiled with colours. Hari had worn them when he went to play the Holi festival, but had left them in the balcony… and Lalit was getting irritated because of the smell of the half moist and soiled clothes.

“No! Just leave them there. I want to keep them.” Said Hari from the kitchen.

“What are you going to do with them? Are you going to wear them again?”

“Why are you bothered Lalit. Just let them be there. I want them.”

“Want them for what? They are soiled, they are smelly and they are dirtying the <beep> gallery. I’m throwing them out right now.”

“Dare you do that you maggot.” And Hari was out of the kitchen with a knife in hand. He was cutting cucumber for salad. But the situation made the maid feel like Hari was charging towards Lalit to murder him with a peeling knife. “I said leave them there. I want them. I have memories to be cherished. I need to …”

“Oh what <beep> memories you <beep> <beep>? This must be like your 27^th Holi since you poked out of your mother’s womb. And of all the things in the world, you want to cherish those smelly clothes. What the <beep>!”

“You wouldn’t understand you, the heir of ‘Stone Cold Steve Austin’. Yesterday was my first Holi with Anita. I have fond memories of it. I want to cherish it.”

“Oh of course… the memories. Aha! The memories of Mr. Hariharan Iyer and his fat ass girl friend Anita. How cool you <beep>.”

“Lalit you… just disappear before I peel your intestine out. And if you think I’m an idiot, go fall in love first.”