I wish everyone loved reading
novels in our country. We are a vast country but I feel this one aspect of
entertainment hasn’t touched many hearts as yet. We are the largest producer of
films in the world. We are a country where one sport is followed like a
religion. We are so passionate about entertainment; imagine if novels attract
the same kind of craze among audience, considering that it has all the ingredients
that an average Indian demands. In the last few year the industry has certainly
improved but still the potential is huge.
Now, let me reveal the secret behind
my wish. Like many bloggers, even I have a wish to get my book published one
day. But, unlike many, who started blogging first, I wrote a 80k words novel
first and then entered the world of blogging. My novel is at the stage of editing at present, after that the toughest job of approaching the publishers will start.
While I was writing the story, often
a question came to my mind, “Will people read it, more than that will they like
it?” Then I read a quote by Kurt Vonnegut, “Write to please just one person.”
This quote kept on motivating me. I started my blog to gauge if my style of
storytelling is liked by people. Many appreciations and a contest win certainly
heightened the enthusiasm.
Well! I am posting here the
prologue of my Novel. The novel is a love story, part of it is inspired by true incidents in my life. Was there any better way to reveal a part of my novel
where the idea came from a prompt of the great Preeti Shenoy?
***
At an unearthly hour of 3am, I opened the main door of my flat and came
out, nervous and scared. The darkness outside echoed the void inside me. I
looked at the opposite door, for a moment I vaguely thought that the door would
open and she would come rushing towards me. But no, the excruciating silence of
the darkness was only being broken intermittently by the howling of stray dogs
at a distance.
I rearranged the laptop backpack hanging from my right shoulder and
locked the door. To avoid the untimely rattling of the lift that could have
disturbed the silence, I took the stairs. At that moment, walking down four
floors demanded adroit coordination of my senses; but my tired eyes staring at
the abysmal darkness, the shaking hands holding the balustrade and the weak
legs in continuous search for the steps were disarrayed to offer any support.
However, I had picked up one habit, the habit of counting steps, like all other
hostel inmates during my graduation. Our apartment building had twenty-one
steps on each floor, ten steps in one direction to reach the landing, and then
eleven steps in opposite direction to reach the next floor. This old habit
offered me the respite. I fumbled at times but I could descend three floors
without much of difficulty. Yet with every turn on the stairs, the burden of
the guilt was rising.
I took the turn on the ground floor, the penultimate turn before
reaching the basement. I descended the first five stairs with ease when the
laptop backpack slipped from my shoulder, to control it from falling further
down I left the balustrade and raised my hand, but my legs lost the grip on the
stairs. Even before I could have realised I was dragged with my back bouncing
on each step until I reached the landing. Drenched in sweat I was lying on the stairs,
motionless. A few incalcitrant teardrops trickled down my cheeks, I was not
hurt, but my entire body was shivering.
I slouched against the wall and rethought about the entire scenario.
Whatever I had done was wrong, but whatever I was doing, was even worse. Was
this the only option left? I had debated it for a long time but could not
arrive at any conclusion. I cursed myself for what I had done, I cursed
myself for what I was doing, but I was helpless. I should have called Bangalore
and spoken to him. He had helped me whenever I needed but then it was too late
for that as well.
I readjusted the laptop bag on my shoulder, descended the last eleven
steps, and reached the basement. The distance to the main gate seemed longer
than ever. A security guard appeared from somewhere and came close enough to
startle me, I stopped and took a step back, but soon I realised that he was not
aware of anything that I was up to. In fact, nobody was aware, not even those
who were cautiously sleeping within the confines of the castle lovingly built
over a period with bricks of budding dreams. I wished that their chain of
breath would weave a firmament strong enough to cocoon their life when the
bricks of the castle cave in upon their chest.
‘Taxi, Dada? Where?’ The security guard asked.
‘Airport.’
‘At this time? Which flight? Where are you going, Dada?’ The
Security Guard continued with a smile.
‘Siliguri.’ I replied absent-mindedly but regretted it almost
immediately. A sense of fear that was lurking somewhere in the back of my head
came to forefront and stared at me from the eyes of the security guard. I
should not have revealed my destination. This one mistake could prove critical.
Who was he to ask? I didn’t owe him the truth.
The journey to the airport was never so smooth. Negligible traffic on
the road, the few vehicles that were plying were not honking, it was not needed
during those hours either, but it appeared so unusual in a city like Kolkata.
Everything appeared unusual. The taxi was running at an abnormal speed.
The hurling wind collapsing against the half-closed window appeared more
violent. I gave a perturbed look at the taxiwala but remained
silent. My numb and dry vocal chords refused to support my internal assessment
that the taxi needed deceleration.
Ineffectively camouflaged by the transparent veil of cigarette smoke at
a corner of the parking lot outside the Airport, I spent an hour continually
staring at the board, which said, “Exit towards the Main Road” It raised
questions for which I was desperately searching for answers. How difficult
would the return journey be for me? Will I ever be able to come back?
I boarded the on-time flight to Bagdogra. The darkness was about to give
up when the plane took its course on the runway and rose towards the sky as if
to defeat the darkness earlier than it would naturally be by the earth moving
on her axis. I was allotted a window seat. The view outside was mesmerising.
The airplane was floating above the clouds and the sun was rising in the
horizon. As if the sun had conflagrated the sky, or may be, to celebrate its
arrival, the clouds underneath had laid an orange carpet and slowly walking on
it, the supreme power rose in the sky and with its every movement it started
changing its colour.
On a normal day, I’d have ignored all the warnings for the flight
safety, switched on my phone, and clicked as many pictures as my phone’s memory
could have permitted, but that day was different. Lost in my own haunting
thoughts, my vision glazed over with every passing moment. Why did my life take
such a bizarre turn? I had warned myself several times but a mere desire
overtook my senses. I wished I could have changed the way I lived the previous
few weeks. I wished I could have changed the outcome of it. In fact, I could
have, but I was too scared. Too scared to do anything apart from what I was
doing. Whatever had happened in the past was bad, whatever was happening was
bad too, bad for everybody, and I was the only person responsible. I closed my
eyes, a lonely teardrop rolled down. I was not sure if the pieces of my life
could ever come back together but the board was already set and the pieces were
in motion.
***
Do comment. I am eagerly waiting to hearing from you.
