By: Mahesh Aryal
The Resurgence
She
was constantly sipping coffee, a strong one. The coffee did its finest work and
Anusha was not asleep while she caught the bell ringing clearly for once from a
distance that night. Some messy words in the laptop’s screen, similar kind of
preparatory in the writing and usual monologue. She always wanted to get out of
imagination and, realize all those moments that she had transpired into her
work as a writer. That is where the problem lies, being the personality for
real. May be writers, moreover, fiction writers don’t have a gut to be a real
hero. She went in the state of defenselessness. Then she chose to wisp a
cigarette and closed her laptop with an empty blank screen. Each moment man
runs for something either in imaginings or for reality. She was confused about
what she was running for, actually she was tousled about she was confused or not.
She had to write something because she couldn’t stay not writing. She always
wrote what she had felt, what she felt being part of her work with some crazy
imagination. What writers do when they are wedged in this kind of situation?
She did the same for few more hours, the revival of the story, she thought she
need a rational revival.
It
was not a decision in haste. She worked on some plans but she knew that
disposition never works in that kind of setting. It wasn’t a fiction she was
going to write. She hadn’t seen him for more than four years. Even after this
interval of time, her brain cells were still inculcating her body to excite, to
excite in search of that allure. Few years back, he was standing between his
friends. He was in navy blue
pants, long sleeved fitting white t-shirt with rectangular black buttons. He
was fair and smiling with curly hairs and the red-bordered spectacles. He spoke
very less but Anusha was busy trying to translate the thousands of words
radiated by him sitting at the corner of the college reception. She just
realized what she felt was so beautiful, very translucent. In words, they look
more beautiful, genuine. She knocked herself saying “it’s not a writer’s time”
and stopped oozing it out. But she got an approval from herself that it wasn’t
just a kind of forced act or compulsion. It was still a mystery, the revival of
her character.
It
was the evening of early September she sent him a friend request in Facebook.
Within a day the request got accepted. She found it quite easier than texting
him in his cell-number that she had stanchly copied from the student- info note
book from her college. She even had to bribe the receptionist with a good
snacks treat in exchange to his cell number. It looked like a frantic plot she
was working for. She was desperately prepared to unveil her words and he was
the one who would be beginning the new episode of his life. Actually, she was,
materializing the imagination.
“Hello
there!” She started with a very usual greetings. She kept staring the waving
blue dots in return for few more seconds.
“Hello”
he replied which was also very usual response on that much time.
“Ummm…”
she really couldn’t collect any words.
“?
:)” she received in a reply.
She
smiled for herself, grasped the breath and typed very firmly. He never knew
what was happening to her anyway. She was expecting few more interaction to
ease herself.
“Okay,
how are you doing? Tell me about your study, Kshitiz! ” She assumed that the
words were pretty confident then, which became none of use after he left
saying; all good... got to go, again with the smiley.
For
subsequent two days she got ample of time to contemplate. He didn’t appeared in
a chat and she didn’t show any courage to talk on the phone. She decided to
inscribe something. She just wanted to take an advantage of ‘Put what you feel
in the paper’. She didn’t like that inkling but the writer transpired out and
became busy to explain the reason of resurgence, attached her blog URL and told
him to read the story she had once written for him.
Next morning there was
something in her inbox.
“I read the story, was the
message a part of promotion of your blog? I am still not believing it,
how can I be part of your story?”
She was really excited by the
initiation of talks. He was handsome enough to make her fall for him. She
didn’t have much talks with him. If the words are to be written here it would
roughly contain 100 words. Most of the words were very formal because of her
introverted nature. It was really hard time for her to manage all that whim.
They were to be expressed but she didn’t find any better way. Then she worked
for 3 a.m. in one of the morning four years back and wrote a fiction (story)
characterizing him which concluded with some happy ending.
She didn’t know why she was
acting like as if she was just up to the writing. Her words were clearly
implying those things. She was not so sure whether her words affects him or
not. After all these years the words mightn’t be sufficient to make something
out of people but they can’t ignore words. The words are always expression of
something and people always have respect for the work even if the writers are
less interesting in person. She assumed that he was capable enough to
understand the yawning indications. He kept answering her and she was very
happy about that.
“So Kshitiz, Do you really
think the character is you?”
“Actually I was surprised to
know that I had an impression on you! I read the story. I felt your character
is me at many points like, selection of characters named Kush Bhatt, the
character wearing nerdy glasses and obviously, that college uniform!”
“Yeah, I was pretty much
impressed by you and your nose. It was really wonderful, those specs looked
really cool in that nose…I’m sorry! :)!”
“Ha-ha, I got the person who
talks good about my glasses, thank you, this is the first nice compliment I
have ever heard about my nerdy look, believe it or not!”
It is true, praising someone
really works. She was enjoying warming conversation. After all, she was
interacting with the boy, the sweetest boy she could ever dream of. She
couldn’t believe the way things became perfumed like that.
“Hello there! How was the
day?” She was really excited for the talk.
But she got null responses. A
kind of bad feeling hemmed in her and the intensity became quite high and she
typed: “Was it really a silly question to ask?”
After all she received tons
of response. She didn’t expect that twist in her story. Initially, she didn’t
get any words then she went twice through it. She couldn’t believe it was his
words. How could he have such words with her after all these things? The
words were busy criticizing her work, with preposterous negativity. She felt it
was simply unacceptable. She already thought of giving up the whole thing.
But she felt it was the worst way to end.
“Was this all the strategy ‘get rid
of’?” She had both annoyance and nervousness. She kept on waiting for the
reaction. But nothing appeared for next two days. But whatever she saw was out
of her thoughts. First few messages clearly spoke “Get the hell away….” But the
last message appeared very different and was again unanticipated one -
“Umm….Sorry actually, that
was her. That criticism was not mine. I am avid reader and fiction draws me
too. I am the fan of fiction writing, so I liked the story when you said you
wrote it imagining me. I am really sorry to each and every words. There is no
meaning in criticizing you. If I have to say something I will choose suggestion
instead of criticism. I know that you know how it feels when someone writes
with such fascinating words to his boyfriend. It’s not any kind of stratagem.
Its reality, she loves me and I do the same. We are in a relation since some
years and we can’t stop looking each other’s stuffs. That is it. And, never
think that you are creating any disturbance to me. I read articles on your
blog, they are really nice reading, that was all I wanted to say and remove the
misunderstandings.”
She didn’t have enough reason
to create unworthy twist in the story then. She sat on the floor with the
littered papers. She shuffled all those papers and mixed them thoroughly. With
her hands in her unwashed dry hair, twisting the strands, she stood up. She was
known about his relationship. She smiled at herself because it was a new
dimension to her work, ludicrous one. She accepted it was a failure for her but
she convinced herself-it was indeed a happy ending. It’s their strong relationship
that defeated her affection for Kshitiz. She knew that she would be fine just
having those words transformed into her work. There is no such thing like,
winning and losing ends in so called love, it is always winning.
Thanks for reading!
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