who cares??

who likes literature these days?? Anyways Mr. Nitin I hope u very well understand what I want you to write. So please pick up ur instincts and fax it to me by 10 on thursday POSITIVELY to appear on friday review.This was how his editor in chief took care that he couldnt muster any more remarks directed to him. His words full and final.
He was shattered. He dint knew of any responses, silence was the only companion, cudn't believe his ears and his self that he has worked their for 12 long years and now when once in after so long unquestioning service time, he has written a piece of his own choice, so passionately , so truly , so devotedly - with no pretensions, no concerns, no sales pitch but just his little soul and his little childish perfection. Here he is-rejected ,for the first time ever, since 14 yrs back he decided to take writing as his career.
"Who likes literature these days??" A mockery loomed over him .The statement seemed so very known. "'WHO writes literature these days?"remembrance falled on him. It was some years over a decade he had been in his College , still unaware of world out there, content with his little fame in his very own college, happy , satisfied by his top academic performance , no matter it meant nothing to him. Sitting on the staircase shaped auditorium , in full mood of the top college jest , he giggled and laughed , shared a joke or two in class as Ms Shetty , the bespectacled graceful persona, their most respected faculty in those days, stood there with the piece in her hand they had written as part of some creative assignment to evaluate , tune n suggest them ways and means to embark on the journey of creative writing.
That was years ago when he was just entering in the real world and the story is still the same, just the question framed differently. Yet now he wondered how could he expected it to change. All his anger was directed to him now. How can he ever do this to himself?? Allow his very self at disposal of some other insensible money blinded being ! Why?? But he knew this was his only chance , and he knew he had to try without an iota of doubt anywhere in his conscience.

All his life he had doubts, innumerable ones at that, for all the decisions he had to take, all the endeavors he indulged in.Whether he should take history or creative writing in major? whether he should wear blue or black on his date ? whether he should move to Mumbai or Delhi to settle?
whether he should marry now or not?whether he should--------
He tried to get rid of these sick memories,focussed on the crystal on his table, relaxing , holding his breathe and tried to soothe himself and do what what he always did to run away from these unpleasant facets of life and was now perfect at implementing it -"write whatever was asked of". With no personal emotions associated, just as a third person or uninterested critic's remarks.
Yet his pen refused to move even an inch , unlike all instances that had occured before.

" Who writes literature these days?" ."I DO" .Prompt came the bold reply , almost as a statement you are just supposed to take it without any question as an axiom. They had laughed like maniacs that day.Then they had all turned back , to have a look of the joker who managed to utter that while enjoying sharp comments heartedly. Just that the view of persona that was the source of this utterance , made him uneasy. He wanted to join rest all in being indifferent to his looks n confidence , just concentrate on making fun n savour this moment as the most exquisite one showered on them to laugh for weeks , yet his senses refused to comply to his commands , as if imprisoned by that person . "He the best scorer of the batch, should not feel uneasy". His consistent musings left him no better. He felt uneasy. Just that he dint knew what happened to him by his sight.
Mr Nayar was there , "shaku" as he was called. His face told he was not kidding but only he and Ms Shetty could acknowledge that.He regretted why half the world is dumb to not even grasp the most obvious persperctive .Then she told Mr Shaku to meet her after the class and the mood was set.
Days after that he still had dreams of extreme challenges. a tiger devouring a person, seeking supreme rights -asking -" who objects to it"...."I DO' .Mr Nayar in his usual confident, composed self stood there.
The world at the mercy of devils......".who will protect you " i do" on n ..............till he awoke in perspiration.Then he dint knew , why he had admired him so much and unknowingly Nayar was his icon.

The bell rang,nas if to awake him from his reverie, the secretary was in and keen on at the list of things to do for the day. "An appointment sir, followed by a company meeting , then the seminar and u have to address a gathering -------on and on….. sir! R U OKAY?? Sir???"
" Ya oh ye suchitra please cancel all the engagements for the day.".
" Sir?? ….. but today u have pretty important things lined up."
" Please shuchi inform them all , I am unwell". "R u sure sir??" ." Ya please and no calls please until I tell". "Okay sir. Shall I call a doctor for u sir??"." No I’ll take care of it dear. Thanks . u don’t worry, I’m fine."

"How important he was for the society",he wondered. Everybody thought he had a superb career to be jealous of . He wrote all his whims and wishes and was paid hefty for it and an array of awards always followed him. But who knew he never wrote a single piece of his wish.
First the manager dictated him what to show, what to present. Then when he jumped on to newspapers and magazines the editor chalked out the sensational picture to depict and then there he was complying, exaggerating, copying, assembling and modifying , just that he always had a better frame in mind , to fit the things to it . so no matter what he wrote , his piece was unchallenged creative piece.
Yet he dint have freedom for just once. This time he wrote just to come out of this tabbu he carried deep within and could muster no courage to share it with anyone , left on his own to feel its pangs.

He thought of Mr Nayar , as he always did. “STRANGE ARE THE WAYS, I SAVOR CHANGE” he recollected. Every now and then he found himself copying and quoting the lines of nayar’s piece.
Even when he proposed to the gal of his dreams, he took out an entire page , learned it , felt it , remembered it and uttered and she caught unaware, charmed by the beauty and the perfectness , was so mesmerized , spellbound by the depth she accepted.

Even now she keep on telling him that it was his best creation ever. He found his spirits burned . He was useless , with no creative instincts. He should not waste his time and efforts in a domain which is not his. No , this time he would write his own creative piece. And very truly, modestly, sincerely he had it written . “TRUTH IS THE END” . NO , no.. How could he remember each of his lines, he read 12 years back, till date!!!

He was passing out of the corridor that day on his way to watercooler of the school that he had heard , “please leave me a copy at my desk, I do wanna go through it” . “Sure Mam” was the only response.Every person wanted to chat with the revered Ms Shetty , yet here he was with a gr8 opportunity and what he said was just two words. Ridiculous!!!

His curiosity took him to Ms Shetty’s room in evening. His heart beating so loudly so constantly on such a high pitch and scale , he was more afraid that someone will hear them and come. He spotted the writeup on the table . Put a rod with hook on its cover and stole it out of the window and then raced out of institute without even turning once.

Then all night he read , without even a blink. His mom was so curious “whats so special beta that u cant afford few moments to come down and have dinner.?” “Mom please, for GOD SAKE , will u please give me freedom for a day?? I don wanna be disturbed today.now please for god sake don bother me anymore.” He had replied irritated. She understood and never asked me of it.

Munching on packets of chips and peanuts that day was his best remembered one.
Next day he reached the college before time . First and last time ever . Took opportunity n put it thereon its coveted place and never ever glanced back at Mr. Nayar.

Yet every meeting, every seminar, every writeup those same words came out . no matter what they were now his own creation.Yet he felt deeply cheated and he cant share it with anymore . First he dreaded that call of Mr Nayar will come and he saying just two words “ WHY CHEATING??” and he being dumb , devoid of all words and he shivered.
But just that the day never came and “ TIME DO HEAL ALL NOTIONS” . So I too had been comfortable with this and never spared even a second for this stuff.

But why is he thinking all this today?? No matter , his relished piece was rejected but he still is the best writer of the city and with all the success one can ever hope for. He should be happy. Only thing is happiness never exists imposedly.
To and fro , to and fro , …….
Suddenly idea dawned on him , he should check his mail, in case a single magazine agreed to print it , considering his immense fame. Regret . nxt : we are sorry to say…..nxt sub: Re : a creative dawn …his senses boosted . yes . yes. Sir with all due wishes I express my inability….
Blank . He closed his eyes and sat still with blankness all around.

He wondered how Mr Nayar managed to do that. Though very few know of his nearly unknown biweekly magazine , home run by him . But he knew too well and made it a point to get a copy in the name of his maid to avert suspicions. How could he have existed for 12 long years with the entire world against him. He felt an urge to call him and utter all, to ask for his forgiveness , to extend a hand of friendship ,he had so long escaped and had rejected even as an option.
He reached for the phone , dialed few digits but couldn’t dial the no.
He went home , watched tv and " PRETENSIONS WAS ALL" he could see anywhere he turned, “A PILE OF LIES “ . "ITS ALL WHAT YOU CAN TALK". So he told himself , forget of this originality and carry on with this successful image.
Next day he sat in his room. Wrote the article for his boss and with a cup of coffee opened his mail to forward to his boss. That he noticed a mail blinking in his mailbox and address all too familiar.
He opened it and it said, “Will u write literature for me??, MR Nitin.” His spirits knew no bounds . He was on 7th heaven wordless. With his airy speed he picked up the phone and dialed, “hello Nayar , can I join ur magazine as a junior writer. I am a novice in creativity but can work harder to deliver better .I assure u I will contribute my best to it. A caring smile was all he heard, but still he felt so free first time so true , so pure ……..so light.he knew what bless was……
“Now Mr Nitin when can I expect the second piece and did I said ur cabin is beside mine”. 2nd ?? oh I had send him the piece too!!! They both laughed like kids and rejoiced . “How much he wanted to be able of this friendship he realized and its it happened right away before he plunged again in the loop and could never had returned , no matter however silly, he has escaped.

Now he knew what was so precious of that piece, it was his way back to himself, his redemption and to his friend who assisted him so long . “ FRIEND IS SOMEONE WHO CAN WHEN OTHER’S CANT “ he smiled. Sometimes memories lasts very long………