Short Story – The Story Thing….
Photo credit: xenia from morguefile.com
Metro urban areas have this mainstream culture of cafés, swarmed with youngsters. Talking, playing and smoking around are generally the basic things that can be seen in such places. I was dependably a recluse, whether it was about living, voyaging or tasting espresso in a bistro. I love conversations with self, sitting in some coffee house tasting newly blended espresso and perusing my most loved books with very little of the unsettling influence.
When I moved from Mumbai to Delhi, I had intense time discovering one such place where I can be with myself. I am somewhat dependent on the odour of espresso that is so basic in such bistros; also it makes me go high and supports my vitality level. By one means or another following couple of months I discovered one such place, where I can at last find a sense of contentment with myself, read the books I like and taste the espresso I was aching for.
The main issue that I confronted, amid the beginning days everybody looked bit suspicious and astonish. May be it was a sort of amazement for individuals there, that young lady sitting in solitude and perusing. Originating from a city like Mumbai, where individuals couldn’t care less much about anything, it was somewhat troublesome when you see individuals gazing. May be there, in Mumbai, nothing mattered; everybody was caught up with running and getting local trains, so had no opportunity to see what other individual is doing.
I was absolutely infatuated with that place, I was familiar to all the general population working there; beginning from chief to cleaner. Each time they see me entering; they give wide grin and welcome me in an exceptionally charming manner. They were accustomed to the point, that they generally comprehended what I would ask as my request, where precisely I am going to sit. Gradually it turned into my second home; I sat for a considerable length of time there joined by my books and espresso.
It was swarmed with youngsters, caught up with smoking cigarettes and joints; discussing life and connections. It was not in the least a quiet place, yet the clamour there gives me quietness; I feel loose there, it resembled all that solaces my spirit. Indeed, even before I could smell espresso, I needed to smell smoke; still this really made me become hopelessly enamoured with that place. Looking on the ground, it would feel like we are remaining on the bed of cigarette buds. My nose was so adjusted to notice smoke that it never pestered me, I never felt gagged or disturbed. I was at finished peace with my space in that bistro.
Since I was standard one, I frequently see natural countenances; and afterward there was this man who got my consideration on the main day he entered the shop. Tall, incline, long hair and smoking Classic Ultra Mild cigarette, generally every one of the smokers sit outside yet this man went inside and sat at the corner table. In spite of the fact that I wasn’t the smoker, yet I generally favoured sitting outside on the single sofa with a table. He was bit diverse in his looks as well as in his activities. His face was dull and emotionless; he was separated from everyone else and drinks the same espresso as I drink.
I was somewhat excited by his appearance, he resembled an oddity or someone who is addicted. He was dressed ordinarily, with no huge brand logos. There was without a doubt something other than what’s expected in him from the group that by and large goes to that place. He charmed me; however he was not brilliant or incredible looking; yet the way he carries on in broad daylight made me notice him each time when he is around. A large portion of the times I could see his bike KTM Duke stopped, when I stop mine; which implied he was as customary as me. His protective cap was put outside on one of the tables, while he was sitting inside tasting his espresso and occupied with taking a gander at his cell phone.
I began to watch him, how he smokes, how he strolls; his garments, which are plain and verging on same consistently. I pondered, is it by his decision or was it some kind of uniform. Out of this, the thing that really had the effect was his smoking propensity. He never flicked the powder on ground, rather in some container; he never smoked out in the public, notwithstanding when everybody around us was doing same. He never tossed his cigarette buds on the floor; it looked as though he has a few morals in smoking as well. He kept his environment clean and also the comfort of general public.
One evening, while I was sitting and caught up with reading I heard some voice “Would I be able to have a light?” as I gazed upward from the book, I saw him standing and looking straightforwardly at me holding a cigarette in one hand.
“I am sad, I don’t smoke” I answered with bit dithering.
“I know, you don’t.” He said with a grin.
“On that point why are you asking me?”
“May be to fire up the discussion.” He grinned once more.
“Gracious! Alright”
“Do you mind if I join you, hope I won’t irritate you?”
“No, that is fine”
“So let me know, what’s your story?”
“Story?”
“Yes, everybody has a story. I am an author and I wish to compose your story.”
I was completely confounded by story thing, what he implied. Besides why if I be letting some stranger know my story, and why is he so inspired by composing my story.
“So let me know, what made you surmise that I have a story, and yes in particular why my story?”
“I know you have a story, I have seen you with books constantly. I am not attempting to awe you by saying this; however I know each reader has a story. I can look straight away and let you know, you have an astounding story. Trust me! I will compose it with all my passion. You won’t be frustrated in the wake of understanding it”
I was somewhat turned on in the wake of listening to this, yet didn’t precisely comprehend what to say or do. So I chose to locate a simple way out, without being impolite.
“Alright, this is the book that I am perusing, and this has my story. Make sense of it.” I said with a little grin.
“OK, I will do that. See you soon.” He said and left the spot.
Practically for a week, he didn’t turn up. I thought he may have comprehended that I am insane person, and he can’t awe me simply like that. Pretty much as these musings were passing my psyche, I heard a clamour of bike stopping around. As I looked, it was him.
“Hi, here is an unfinished version of what I have composed in the wake of perusing the book you gave me. I trust, if not precisely but rather a piece of this composition ought to have a place with you.”
“What? You have composed it as of now?”
“No, it’s the rough one. Genuine story is as yet pending. You have to give me a chance to know that.”
I turned the pages, they were seven in number. I began to read. I adored, I have read number of writers and was well known to number of composing styles. I had top picks as well. This one was distinctive, new and invigorating; it was less demanding for me to relate. The words he has picked were recently impeccable, and each circumstance was portrayed in the loveliest way. I was into the story, however it was not precisely mine but rather it identified with me by one means or another. That is the characteristic of a decent essayist; any individual who understands it, it turns into their story.
“You are an awesome author, I should say.” I answered as I gave him the papers back.
“All things considered, that is not critical. I need to know your story, now on the off chance that you are fulfilled would you be able to please describe it.”
“You appear bit insane, why is it so vital?”
“Since, I can sense it. Your story will be the genuine story that I have been gazing upward till now”
“Okay! Be that as it may, I have to know you. We are not in any case companions. In what manner would I be able to open up like that to somebody?”
“All things considered, how about we begin our trip towards being companions, and let me compose our story.” He raised his eye brow and smiled while he tasted his espresso.
–END–
