**Making of a Story** “So? What happened to the story you wrote?” She asked while preparing our dinner and I was trying to cut the vegetables, carrots and onions that were lying in the fridge beyond the ‘expiry-date’. ”Which story are you talking about?” I asked with amusement. I knew she was not much into reading or writing and was especially not into my literary experiments. “Our story! The one you showed me a week back about Nikki and me.” She said and lit another burner to keep the cooker. “Oh, ‘UNICORN’, yes I remember.” Yes, I had written a story about our little family. It was about Kavya’s concern about Nikki’s exam. Though I had portrayed her like a bullying mother, she was okay with it. “Yes, the same.” She paused for a while and continued. “Did you send it to the Facebook page as you said?” “Yes, I did. A page called ‘The Anonymous Writer’. They even posted it”. I said with a bit of pride. Getting my story posted in TAW had given me a feeling that I could become a writer, a good writer, one day. “That’s fantastic, Aswath! So what was the response like? Did you get any feedback?” Her tone was elevated in excitement. “Hmm. It was good. A lot of people commented in appreciation.” I said while peeling the onion. “Great! So the writer in you has emerged! Wow! And that’s calls for a celebration!” She winked at me and fed me the last piece of carrot that could not be put into the Upma. I kept silent and munched the carrot. Actually my happiness lasted just for two days after publishing that story. The TAW guy had asked me to send another one. I couldnt think of anything that suited my imagination. I couldnt write about love, violence or poverty. I didnt want to write patriotic stories nor want to vent out my anger on the issues of rape and politics. How can one write, when his head doesnt tell anything to him? I was wondering whether I ended up being a one trick pony. “So are you going to send more stories?” She asked me again. I stopped cutting onions for a moment in disbelief. She almost heard my thoughts. “May be.” I replied hiding my predicament. “I have not got a subject yet.” I said. She didnt respond. I finished peeling onions and gave it to her. I went to the sink to wash the knives. “Why don’t you write about our drama” She broke the silence after a couple of minutes. “You mean ‘Ramayan’?” I asked her. I wondered whether she still remembered that drama we did together during our high school days. “Of course! You know, many people would have played “Ramayana” but no Ram would have hammered the life out of poor ‘Ravan’ like you did back then. “ She said and laughed. It was true. In Ramayana, prince Ram was already married and was in pursuit of Ravan who abducted his beloved Sita. What happened to me was Ravan was a very good-looking guy and tried hitting on my Sita. “But how can that be a story? I mean, it was fun and all but it’s just a silly incident right? It lacks a punch. And I intend to convey something like a message to the reader by writing stories.” I let out my vision of being a writer. There was no possible chance of including a heart-wrenching dialogue or a vivid description in my ‘Ramayan’ and had little scope for moral advises and motivation. It was just a silly thing that had happened in our life, years ago. People wouldnt accept something as simple as that and might face heavy criticism, if at all it gets published. “Nooo..” She shot back. “No story lacks punch Aswath and you have to realize that first.” She started explaining slowly. “Everything that happens to us has a lesson in it. A lesson, almost always, we fail to see. When you can perceive things in a way others can’t and put it into words, you become a writer.” I kept on listening. ”Secondly, why do you think about writing conventional stories all the time? See, I am not against fantasy or adventure, but definitely you need to look beyond hero-heroine-villain types. There are many around you and everyone has a story of their own. Nothing is less important than the other. You just try and observe them, try to understand how they feel. And you start looking through their eyes. Look at world as they see.” She sprinkled salt while telling me. It was true. Over the years, I had learned everyone struggled through their life, in their own way. I had learned that every human being lived on this earth had a separate world of their own. “So, write about whatever that you are told or your experiences with people and places. Everything can be made into a story, if you know the right way to look at it”. “What about the responses from readers? I mean what possible message you can give by writing a story of our drama? We were high school kids and I was madly in love with you. What more than that?” I wasnt quite convinced of her theory. “The lesson you give is that everything happens for a reason. See, you were tensed that time, but now you can sit back and laugh over it, right? That means by passage of time, everything is going to be alright. You try writing.” She replied instantly. “I wonder what people would say once they read it” I said doubting my ability to pull out another story. “Why do you worry about criticism? You will get to assess your skills as a writer by another person. Isnt that nice?” She said. “Don’t worry Aswath, write from your heart and not from your brain. Scribble whatever comes to your mind and you’ll maintain the flow.” She smiled at me. “Thanks wife, I could use that piece of advice” I said calmly. I made up my mind to write about our drama. “Thank me later Mr. Anonymous Writer. Now ask Nikki to wash her hands and come for dinner!” She said while tasting the Upma. ~Aswath
Posted on: Fri, 01 Aug 2014 15:06:04 +0000
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