13 March 2009

The Writer's Den

I wrote the following piece for my internship at The Viewspaper. I don't know why I am publishing it, but I just like it. Hope you do too. And the names have chnaged from what they were kept originally for the "Greater Good." Here goes:

The Writer’s Den


He saw her. He was new in school but knew her from a long time. She had a captivating beauty, endless charm and an unusual power of attraction. He was on a mission. He had to protect her.


“And yes, I should work for Farhan Khan, because this sounds like the script of Main Hoon Na. Crap I will never be able to write this story,” said Dev to himself.


He had been working on it for days. It had been a week since he had received this assignment as a part of the internship program he was a part of. He tried every night before sleeping, but would end up with something he had already heard or seen before. Every question of originality reminded him of the article he had once read. With every failure, he used to wonder why he joined this internship. It was meant for writers, but it always asked him to write articles that filled the empty space on their website. Weird, but as they say, beggars can’t be choosers. He didn’t know if he wanted to be a writer and maybe this could help.


He re-read what he had written. He wasn’t satisfied. There had to be something much better, more dazzling and more exquisite. He put his head down and stayed like that. He didn’t think, just laid there. Being a writer is difficult. Being a politician is difficult. Being anything you want is difficult.


He woke up. He had received an IM. It was from his best friend.

“Hey, you done with the story? I really want to read it,” said the IM by Aditi. A girl and a boy can be best friends. The only condition is, they should know when they are about to fall in love. Aditi was not only his best friend, but also his editor for the internship. She did both jobs well. She was a good critic and a great help. But he wanted more. He wanted an idea. A story.


He ignored the IM, so that he could ignore the pity that would come from the other end. He began typing again.


The world is flat. The world is crowded. And the world is now hot. Three adjectives that Friedman’s new book gives the world. But what was the world all about? What are we all about? What is the “point”“ of the world?”


“And yes, I should work with Paulo Coelho, because this sounds like a sermon. Crap I will never be able to write this story,” said Dev to himself, yet again.


He looked outside the window, trying to find some inspiration. He failed. Inspiration didn’t come with the darkness of the night or the twinkling of the stars, or for that matter, by just looking for it. It flows into the mind, like a river flows from the mountains to the plains, just naturally. It plays with the mind, like the river does along its course. And it spills its wonder when transcended from the mind onto paper, like a river, when it descends to form a waterfall. He longed for that moment.


Dev got up and stretched himself. He was determined to write this today. It was either now or never. Everyone in his house were asleep. Everything was quiet. All that played in the background was the new album of Coldplay, Viva La Vida. It was indeed “A long and dark December”. How did they get the inspiration to write such great songs? It’s difficult to be in a band, he thought. But being in his shoes was not easy either.


Aditi was always there for him. When he was gloomy and wanted a hug, when he was happy and wanted to give a hug, and when he was mood-less and just wanted to talk. She was fantastic. He could write a Sonnet for her; a Haiku praising her, or a limerick about their fun times, but the story just didn’t come.


I could be a poet, not necessarily a writer, he thought to himself. He saw Shakespeare’s Portrait in a photo frame that Aditi had gifted him. He felt small in front of him. Bard was a great man; Dev wanted to be greater. He wished that what he wrote would fly all across the world and bring the desired effect on everyone. He wanted his works to be the chariot of change, which would transform the world into Sion.


He wished he could say all this to someone. But who?

“Readers don’t like such stuff, but I don’t like what readers like,” he said to himself. If it was all so easy.


He remembered the time when his first story was published, when he received the first comment on his blog, when he kissed for the first time, and many other first times that brought an ear to ear smile on his face. But he had that memory very carefully placed in his memory; the time when he was happiest. The time when glory came after defeat, when he was victorious, when his savior had come. It was long back.


2nd grade: Post Office Assignment.

Every student was supposed to bring an inland letter, a post card and other post office crap to stick in a file. Dev did not bring anything. He had told his mother a night before, and it was fairly impossible to arrange for it. He kept sitting there, jobless, hoping someone would lend him an extra, if they had one.


Then came a knock on the door. It was his mother. She had everything he needed to stick in the shady file. Even an extra post card and 4 big, good quality drawing sheets, to speak in a 2nd grader’s language. He was happy. He was on cloud nine. He was elated. It was a rare moment. It was this memory that always gave him hope. Hope that his savior was around, that he would come out of all this and that he would deal with it, come what may.


And like the knock on the door, came another IM from Aditi. She knew him too well. His not replying, his mood; everything.


“Write about how you feel right now. Write about what you are thinking. Write your perspective of things. I am sure it’ll be different.”


And that clicked. He could write it. It was easy. And he began.


And that’s how all this began.


Before this story ends, one more time.


“And yes, I should work as a writer, because this sounds like a writer’s work. Crap! I will never be able to write a good story.”

5 comments:

ss said...

Good one. Btw, is this a true story?

Rohan Chawla said...

=> ss
Fact meets Fiction. Most of it is. There hasn't been an Aditi though and a first you know what.

Anonymous said...

aww rohan dat wuz so nice :)

Rohan Chawla said...

=> Vasudha

Thanks :D

ss said...

Aww, not to worry..there will be a first soon. ok?