Perhaps she should put her thoughts
on paper, write out a letter but to whom? Or may be she should attempt a short story?
As a prodigious reader of romantic fiction she often wished she had the gift of
writing and could have written a story for the magazine for which her best
friend Asma’s brother Ahsaan often wrote. Today, she wished she could have
written something that would have earned her his eternal admiration, even a nod
of acknowledgement from him. Oh! He was so bright and talented and well….
Handsome to boot. Everyone wondered how in spite of being a busy medical student
in his last year he still found time to be creative.
She once told Asama, in the hope that
it would reach his ears that she thought Ahsaan’s fiction was a bit like him:
intelligent but grounded too much in reality. His characters were idealistic
and impassioned enough to seem terribly romantic but were too much in control
of their emotions to give in to the wonderfully irrational realm of the heart. She
sighed now .It was a pity that Ahsaan’s stories, though intellectually and
technically polished, were…. Dare she admit it dry and boring? But, naturally,
Shammi read them anyway and quite avidly too; She world read even a medical
treatise signed by him.
Apart from the fact that over the
years he had often lent her books and magazines , engaged her in casual
conversation while helping (or rather, scolding )her in maths , and had once
used her name in one of his stories , Ahsaan
seemed hardly aware of her existence. But where could she file away the
odd memory or two when she could swear he was alive to her, fully conscious of
her like the time they had found themselves squashed together on a crowded car
trip to Khulna, with long miles of cringing, sparking, pent up closeness on
their way to the Sundarban cruise, or that year on Eid ….
Shammi caught herself sighing a
second time and scolded herself for thinking about Ahsaan on the day of her
engagement to Jamal. Goodness! She was going to become a Mrs. Haque. Was that
the spelling? Or was it Huque? It definitely was not Huq, of that she was sure.
She reached for the jar of Uptan and marched to the bathroom.
The other family members seemed to be
out in preparation for the events of the evening .Shammi dressed carefully and
went down to the flat immediately below to look in on Asma. The maid opened the
door. ‘Afa has kelash this morning.’ Of cause ,how could she forget that Asma
had Psychology class on Thursday , Shammi made a gesture of slapping her
forehead , but she still lingered at the door taming her freshly shampooed hair
, waiting for Bua’s next word; ‘But Bhaiyya is here…..
‘Oh! Good. Then I’ll just say hello
to him, ‘Shammi breezed in and walked up to the study door more boldly than she
felt. Though he knock was timid her laugh was hearty and carefree when she
entered and greeted Ahsaan as he half turned his tousled head towards her from
his desk.
‘well, well, well, if it’s not the
bride –to be ! There were shadows under his eyes but he gave her a crinkly smile
as he scrutinized her. Shammi’s mouth went dry but her attitude was arch. ‘I
thought I’d look in on the Daaktar Shaheb and see what new frontiers of
literature or medicine you were pushing.
‘In fact, will you believe it , I was
just thinking about you .’ Shammi’s heart pounded as she found the voice to speak:
Really? And why pray is that?
‘You see, I am in the death throes of
finishing a story for next week about a girl who is getting married , and I
need some in –put from you…..
‘Aha ! Finally a romantic story?
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I mean,
who the hell knows what’ romantic’ is .Anyway , maybe you can help me. I am
having problems with the ending. I don’t want to make it happy and unreal or
sad and real.’
‘Why
not happy and real?’
‘I
can’t .Doesn’t fit in.’
‘Fit
in with what?’
‘With
reality, conventions, the way things happen in real life, you know….
‘But its fiction, for God’s sake! Why
should it have to be real . It can be anything you want to make it.’
‘No, dear girl, that’s life you’re
talking about, not fiction. Only in life theoretically –you have the freedom of
choice and action. Fiction works within boundaries. You see,. Life can be
conducted in creative ways by individuals who have the courage and conviction
to make or break conventions and seek their own truths, find their own paths. But
the ‘reality’ of fiction, the limits within which the fiction world operates so
that facts and events appear plausible, can’t be tampered with too much. I am
not talking about innovative narrative techniques but the reliability of fictional
truths.’
Shammi shook her head and released a
roomful of fragrance. ‘This is too complicated, and you are too analytical .I
am a simple girl who relies on her senses and instincts, I don’t understand
you.’
‘Or maybe you don’t want to understand.’
Ahsaan looked at her thoughtfully then turned his chair fully to face her as
she sat at the edge of his bed. ‘Listen, let me present you the simple
predicament of the story, and you tell me how you’d solve it.’
‘What’s the story about?’
‘A girl ….’
‘Pretty?’ He rolled his eyes and
laughed, ‘shop interrupting. Yes , pretty. Like you.’
Something ached inside her and out of
the blue she wondered what it would have been like to be kissed by him. But she
looked blandly at him as he toyed with the mouse on the pad and continued. ‘It’s
actually a rather trite story. Here is a girl who has a crush on a boy but she
never expresses her feelings .Her wedding is arranged to a man whom she meets
and likes, but her feelings for the first boy are still unresolved.
‘And the boy?’ Shammi whispered, her
hands clenching.
‘What about him? His feelings towards
her are irrelevant here. The story is about the girl….’
‘No, wait .That’s not right, that’s
completely askew.’ She almost got up in her agitation.
‘Will you just let me finish? So, the
day of her wedding dawns and she finds herself alone with him , and she has
this desire to let him know how she feels about him and to …’ ‘Shammi stood up
, ‘I don’t want to hear his story.
‘Why?’ Ahsaan rose and came to stand
close to her.
‘You’re right .It is trite and
silly.’
‘You haven’t even heard the extent of
its triteness.’ Ahsaan laughed.
‘Oh I know , next you’re going to say
that the girl wishes to have some sort of …physical encounter, a souvenir of
…of this ‘infatuation’ to help her decide right?’ Shammi stammered angrily.
‘Perhaps ….Hey , why are you mad?’
Ahsaan leaned forward and touched her hand .
‘Because you are derisive and mocking
and presumptuous and arrogant and …. And a terrible writer. You should just concentrate
on your dissections and leave romantic stories to those who understand about
feelings. And you Know something, if you thought even for a moment that I had a
crush on you, you are mistaken. You think too much of yourself. If anything I
hate you!’
In the time it took her to swallow
her tears and turn to run out Ahsaan had grabbed her and gathered her to himself.’What
a silly girl you are.’ He said over and over as he kissed her.
‘So how would the story end?’Shammi
asked as they came up for air. ‘You tell me.’ Ahsaan stroked her hair. Shammi sighed,
‘It depends on the boy, how he feels .’Ahsaan looked into her eyes and said clearly:
‘No ,it doesn’t .Even if he does love her back , it’s only the girl who Knows
what to do , what step to take .’
‘Would calling off the wedding
guarantee that the girl and boy would guarantee that the girl and boy would
eventually be happy together, or happy and together?’ Shammi spoke half to herself.
Ahsaan held her silently offering no reply.
‘Ahsaan, tell me honestly, would you
commit yourself to me if I broke up with Jamal today?’
‘In good fiction, it would be highly
unrealistic if I said ,’Yes , I VOW eternal love .Give up everything for me.’
It would be expected that a medical student with a long way to go would out of
his love and consideration tell his lady love ‘I can promise nothing’ and leave
the story again in the hands of the girl.
‘But in reality? Today, now , what
are you saying to me?’ Shammi clutched at his shirtfront and shook him .Kissing
the top of her head, Ahsaan sighed , ‘The answer would be the same.’
Shammi abruptly released her hold and
walked out of the room .Ahsaan slowly went back to keyboard and typed out the
conclusive paragraph of his story: She went back to her room and hid her face
in the pillow, crying bitterly. She had made the right decision. She would have
to forget him and just cherish the memory of the kiss. At least she had that. Perhaps
over the years the significance of this day would be revealed to her. THE END.’
He sat back, his cold heart clenched like a face about to cry.
Shammi went back to her room and
taking the pillow from her bed, punched and pummeled it was she making the
right decision? Could she forget him and live on the memory of the kiss? Over
the years the significance of this day would be revealed to her, and it would
be too late .She was not some heroine in a short story bound by the stale
conventions of perceived reality. She was not a writer of realistic fiction but
a reader of romantic fiction .Yet, she was no ordinary woman. No sir .And by god!
Her life was going to be every bit as romantic as the unrealistic , light
hearted fiction she loved.
She took up the phone and called up
her mother on her cell phone: ‘Ammu , please don’t be angry. But something has
come up and we have to rethink the engagement.’
‘What? What the hell is this girl saying?
Whatever happened?’ Her mother’s voice was hysterical . Shammi gulped. ‘I’ll
explain please just come home .Please.
Then she went over to Ahsaan’s study.
She didn’t bother to knock. He was learning back in his chair at his desk, his
eyes shut . She cleared her throat and smiled from the doorway. Ahsaan stared
at her for a while then held out his arms. As she came to him she laughed:
‘Your short story maybe finished Daaktar Shaheb, but mine is about to start.
