A story

This is the story of my friend Sumit. He was a shop-floor supervisor by profession. Despite his intelligence and skills, his lack of attitude to take initiative (the company management called it laziness) and introvert nature always elongated his promotions. Though he actually wanted to be a story-writer, he hardly tried to write one. And when tried to come up with a stroy... this is what happened.

Frequently, he had to visit the sister plant of his company. He preferred staying in hotel there than long trips from home everyday. On one such trip he finally resolved to write. Interestingly, there was another aspiring story-writer Amit in his first story. Owing to his laziness to think of anything different, Sumit tried to create the kind of atmophere around his hero exactly like what he was under. He wrapped the story in a shared jeep ride from bus stand to his Uncle's home in the village.

The ride went from places to places in the town. He met fellows, some he tried to remember, some he wished to forget. He tried various activities to keep from boredom - tried to spark a conversation with the girl sitting nearby, winked and grimaced at the child sitting in front of him, observed the old man dozing on the shoulder of his neighbor, sympathized with that neighbor, had an arguement with the driver for driving fast on the bumpy road.

Sometimes he felt the road was too long and it would take eternity to reach Nani's home. Sometimes he missed the scenes passing by, being occupied in his thoughts or in his activities. Finally he took out his diary and tried to scribble something. It wasn't long before he understood that even he could not make sense of those garbled writings. He cursed the road and the driver again.

When Sumit finished the story, his mind was ecstatic. He felt relieved after emptying his mind into words. After so long somebody had listened to his inner self and he had tried to communicate with somebody, by himself. He read the story again.... The story did not have any attractive event or a character in detail. But he knew that. It was so much peculiar - so much familiar - a kind of a deja vu.

But who will read such a platitudinous story - he thought. There was nothing special, nothing captivating, everything so languid. So how about a change... after all it was just a story.

Sumit fancied a ride - with everything perfect - everything. The road was smooth. The jeep was posh (!). The girl talked to Amit for at least few minutes. There was no driver-seat, actually he din't care to look for the driver. There was a cute child sitting in front of him, constantly looking towards him and smiling. Amit also tried to smile back. Sumit felt exalted after making Amit so happy.

Before the change, he had bred himself into his brainchild. Now he felt Amit's life was much happier than his own. He pondered over this discrepancy... his hero was not like himself anymore. He wanted to fill in the gap between the two. But how could he deprive Amit of the bliss? Wouldn't that be unfair to him?

The phone rang. Sumit was already in trance contemplating over the discrepancy. His wife had to call him again to break his thoughts. He could hardly concentrate on her regular questions. He reassured her that he was alright and it would not take long before he comes back home. Before hanging up, something flashed in his mind. He asked her about their son Rahul. After a long pause, she asked him to get some sleep and hung up abruptly. Her voice sounded plaintive.

Sumit frowned. Everything in their life had been so perfect - so smooth, there should not have been any reason for her to be sad.

Amit's trip occupied his mind again. He decided to elaborate a bit on the child in front of him. Such a cute little boy. Amit asked his name. the child blushed and ran towards his grandpa dozing off on neighbor's shoulder. Waking him up, the boy smiled at Amit. Amit asked his name again. The boy said, "Rahul" and hid his face in grandpa's coat.

Sumit felt very calm and serene.

I have decided not to write any story about my life. Sumit's story haunts me everytime I pick up my pen.