I Am Back

It was long, ever since Jaidev had left writing. He loved words, as simple as that. Sometimes, he loved them like a lover, sometimes like a friend, sometimes like a parent. He just loved them. Things happened and he was forced to put down his pen. This would have been his return in the ring of words. For a moment, they challenged him and he thought that he would have to have a dual with them maybe for a little while.

Back in the day, Jaidev would take down situations, instances, conversations or anything for that matter and form a coherent narrative. He would then narrate everything to Parke, his fountain ink pen. The slenderness of the body and the shine and sharpness of the nib titillated the deep-rooted writer in him. He would not need a reason to write, his only impetus were words and of course Parke’. He and Parke’ had developed camaraderie, an eternal bond. He would not let Parke write on any paper. Even the sheets that he made Parke write on were perfect. What he and Parke wrote on, was a blank white paper that was crisp, whose edges were neat and sharp and not a single crease could be found. Parke replicated his friend’s effort and every time it swirled, it’s nib swirled in alliance and etched a beautiful handwriting.

He had a developed an uncanny habit of brushing his hands gently through each word and line, however big they were. He would smile and cry whenever he went past a particular word or line, that portrayed a particular emotion and what he narrated next to his listeners formed a masterpiece, a beautiful story indeed. His stories were grasping and his tone in unison made his stories sound as if things were happening right in front of a person’s eyes. He had even become the star of every gathering or event, no matter the occasion, big or small.

Fast forward to the present day, the white paper that he aimed to pour his words at were just as white and just and just as blank as his mind. Situations were intensely tough, situations were stinging as if each situation poked zillions of venomous needles in his body and there were hardly any conversations. Hell, there was a lot that he wanted to pour down, just so that he could cleanse himself of filth that he had carried for almost a decade or half.

Parke’ was just lying next to him on a small side table. The pain of Arthritis was indeed taxing but he did not give up, he turned slowly and steadily feeling every bone crackle. However hard he tried, he felt a jolt of pain and he wished he had the same swiftness like his heydays when he would jump and pick Parke’ and roll park through every finger back and forth. He had just wished it and a 20 something lad appeared out of nowhere. He took his pen, gave it a nice look and rolled it effortlessly in his fingers back and forth. Not just that he even twirled it side by side.

Jaidev knew he had a successor. In a bleak voice, he said “Don’t let it fall Jayant”

“Don’t you worry Grandpa, it’s in my safe hands”

“There were few lines that I had written”

“Go ahead son., I’m all ears”

“Here you go…” Jayant took a neat blank page out from the folder.

Until the words rise and shine

Where they come from, you shall not know

Writhing with restlessness in silence

They just wish to had a go

I indeed penned ‘em down with all my might,

carefully putting what they felt

They travelled from a page to you

And hell did they make your heart melt.

Jaidev narrowed his eyes and gave a smile and gestured Jayant to hand him the paper. The poem was handwritten beautifully. Moreover, the page was crisp, white and did not have a single crease. He reiterated that long lost process of brushing his fingers through the page, through every line, feeling almost every word.

Jaidev was taken to the time when he was Jayant’s age and had written similar words, may be not the same, forsomeone he loved madly, dearly, his future wife, Jayant’s grandmother. Still looking at the page like a scroll, he asked “whose heart did you melt?”

“Granny’s I guess” Jayant candidly replied as if trying to dodge the question

For a momentJaidev was taken aback delightfully, as if someone had just pulled a string in his heart.

“Did you?”

“She said nice try! But your Grandpa did that long back”

“Oh yeah! Offcourse” said grandpa raising his head in pride.

“But she said, she loves me more” Jayant giggled.

“Naughty boy, I don’t mind”

Jayant hugged his grandpa and said “she’ll be here this evening”

Back in the day, Jaidev would take down situations, instances, conversations or anything for that matter and form a coherent narrative. He would then narrate everything to Parke, his fountain ink pen. The slenderness of the body and the shine and sharpness of the nib titillated the deep rooted writer in him. He would not need a reason to write, his only impetus were words and off course Parke’. He and Parke’ had developed camaraderie, an eternal bond. He would not let Sheaf write on any paper. Even the sheets that he made Sheaf write on were perfect. What he and Sheaf wrote on, was a blank white paper that was crisp, whose edges were neat and sharp and not a single crease could be found. Sheaf replicated his friend’s effort and every time it swirled, it’s nib swirled in alliance and etched a beautiful handwriting.

He had a developed an uncanny habit of brushing his hands gently through each word and line, however big they were. He would smile and cry whenever he went past a particular word or line, that potrayed a particular emotion and what he narrated next to his listeners formed a masterpiece, a beautiful story indeed. His stories were grasping and his tone in unison made his stories sound as if things were happening in front of a person’s eyes. He had even become the star of every gathering or event, no matter the occasion, big or small.

Fast forward to the present day, the white paper that he aimed to pour his words at were just as white and just and blank as his mind. Situations were intensely tough, situations were stinging as if each situation poked zillions of venomous needles in his body and there were hardly any conversations. Hell, there was a lot that he wanted to pour down, just so that he could cleanse himself of filth that he had carried for almost a decade or half.

Parke’ was just lying next to him on his table. The pain was indeed taxing but he did not give up, he turned slowly and steadily feeling every bone crackle. However hard he tried, he felt a jolt of pain. How he wished he had the same swiftness like his heydays when he would jump and pick Parke’ and roll park through every finger back and forth. He had just wished it and a 20 something lad appeared out of nowhere. He took his pen, gave it a nice look and rolled it effortlessly in his fingers back and forth. Not just than he even twirled it side by side.

Jaidev knew he had a successor. In a bleak voice he said “Don’t let it fall Jayant”