Anyone there ?
Where did the author go?
I have wondered the same for quite some time. What happened to writing and what happened to the whole write a story sequence? What happened to poetry and what happened to publishing a novel? What happened to amaze the shit out of people and leave them in thought, deep ones? What happened to starting controversies and be at the middle of it? Or. What happened to that guy who talked and talked, umm correction, wrote and wrote, about the things he wanted to do and couldn’t do? What happened to making people bore their senses out and yet look for the compliments? What happened? I never knew being in love would keep one so busy and occupied. I never knew that having a girlfriend would be so distracting, distracting from the whole writing drama. I had thought that it would bring out the poet in me, or a writer in me, or may be the creative side in me. May be it takes time. Perhaps, tomorrow you will read a different me. Or. May be I was just lying about the whole thing, the later part of the opening paragraph. Of course I was.
He said he had never seen any nice people in the city while I listened to him as he drove me to my place from the airport. I asked him how he came to settle here. His wife worked in the city, he said. He talked nice, buttered with words and sugar coated honey. He took the wrong turn while he inquired about the competition he might be having from a city too far away, perhaps it was an analogy to reassure himself that he is in a better state and that he is getting the same kind of money had it been a different city. Or perhaps it was just small talk. Though, I did ask him what made him how he felt about the city as he was a year old into the city. That was when he said that there weren’t enough nice people. By nice, he meant honest people. He left me with a question when he ripped open my purse emptying it. The question being “Was he a nice person?”
I had made a few plans of my own. But then someone else joined in the plans. Oh no, not just joined, barged in and walked all over it. Being the overly gentle person that I was, which I don’t believe but still, I welcomed them and let them mess up with their dirty shoes. Time chimed and whisked faster than the blink of an eye. The unexpected guest took the initiative as if he knew how things worked. Zipper zapper. Honks and paralyzed air. This bull and that cow. Just in time for the flight and a very rich cabbie. Yes, something went wrong. I wasn’t thinking clearly. The unexpected fool(the other F word appended with an er) was well, doing justice to his name while cabbie was playing the best trick he possibly could. I could care less. Actually, I do care and I should have, had it been any other day. I just had a lot on my plate and that plate was not looking so good.
The smell of coffee pulled me towards it. It did every single time I walked past it. The coffee machine. Your choice. All you need is a coffee cup. I retired that day sipping coffee from the coffee shop I found on my way back. And it got me thinking. Everyday spending for coffee doesn’t seem ideal when I could get the same for free. So, the next day ( a week later) I buy a coffee cup. Fancy. Magic cup, they said. Cold one color, hot one color. Day 4. Someone steals it. Prank, I reassured myself. But I didn’t know anyone. Then, I tried to search, but I being new here wasn’t the best way to embarrass myself. I conclude that some MF might have took it while I made some angry remarks at the stranger and then at God. (Why God? Oh, you have in for a treat. But that depends on how this turns out to be). Two days later and after searching for a few shops, I finally take the same cup. It is as if nothing really happened, like no one even stole my cup. I don’t know why I did that. I really don’t. But then again, when have I thought clearly.
This is just the beginning. But then again, it could be the end. The verdict is in your hands now.