Backdrop of a Story

I have started writing short stories quite recently after a gap of almost thirty years. The moment I begin to start writing, my wife would appear from nowhere with the pleading, ’don’t give me a sad story’. I don’t know wherefrom she discovered my potential to kill the characters. True I am not a vegetarian, but does that turn me into a potential murderer? Do I look like a killer or for that matter a mercenary? I must ask my friends but they would be equally biased because of their affection. Unable to find a solution, I started writing humorous pieces on post-retirement scenario making her the recipient of all satirical blows which she enjoyed without grumbling. I believe she enjoyed the stories, in spite of descriptive tantrums because she was portrayed as the heroine. Now, enough is enough, I declared. I have already written four pieces within three months of retirement. Don’t cajole me into offering you lolly pops all the time I said in disgust. Let us do something serious. She showed me the utmost indifference a lady can offer. I put my hands on my head cursing all gods that came to my mind for this predicament. But that is no consolation either.

Come whatever may, I must fight headlong and with that promise I began writing stories. I had uninterrupted existence for a couple of days but on the third day the uninvited intruder started throwing medium-sized pebbles in shape of questions, ‘so rustic characters with amorous scenes-that you call stories hey’. ‘Honey where do you get such vulgar ideas’ I retorted. ‘It is a love story and I hope it would be a nice one’. ‘So you are on a mission to recount all your numerous escapades with those glamour girls who flirt but never love?’ ‘Stop, stop what are you suggesting honey? I am a dignified person with decent disposition. You cannot accuse me of adultery’. ‘But your friends say you were a live Casanova in your college days’. Oh my God, those innocent looking affectionate friends have turned villains indeed. I must take these traitors to task but I cannot believe it. I became impatient and said ‘give me peace of mind to concentrate and complete’. ‘You have all the time in the world to complete it, but remember if I discovered traces of your exploits in any of the romantic dialogues with the heroine or whatever you call that idiot- the story will go to the flames I usually light every day to burn the weeds’. With those stern words she marched out of the room in military style. I took a couple of glasses of cold water to regain my composure. So the volcano is active again.

I confined myself in a room and tightly locked it inside, except in the dining time, to prevent different instrumental notes emanating from the chatter-box that I call wife. Story telling is not easy once your skills became rustic because of negligence. But I tried to revive it with emotions in late nights and could somehow manage to complete only yesterday. ‘Don’t forget the censor’ my wife reminded. ‘No I don’t, how can one forget it? Even the film people come crawling. I am a mundane human being, how can I forget You Highness’ scissors?’ I humbly submitted. ‘Don’t be over simplistic and don’t put up any drama. Tell me the story in nutshell before I actually went through’.

After the Post-graduate final examination the protagonist wanted to stay an extra day in the hostel to roam around the campus and bask down the memory lane. Accidentally he came across a classmate who happened to be a lady and requested her to stay back for a day so that they could make a stroll around the campus together to make it memorable. Initially the lady did not agree but to his utter surprise he discovered the lady in the college square waiting for him. It touched a tender chord and unknowingly they started loving each other. That is how the story developed. ‘The story sounds interesting and decent without Bollywood spices. But tell me what is the end?’ she inquired. ‘Read it yourself’ I said calmly.

Unfortunately the story ends with the protagonist expiring in a road accident and his lady-love, for the last seven years has been pining each moment of their immortal love that lasted only for twenty-four hours.

I do not know what would be the reaction of my wife at the end. But am I a potential sadist?