The story on a winding river

The winding river, deep and dark with crystals of light on its curves, journeys alongside of our small town. Life on the land flows to the rhythm of the river Hooghly, a silent witness of all that goes on our lives, high and low. I fondly remember those young days after I first stepped in my in-laws’ nest. Warm summer evenings on the river banks and the rising river in the rains were so close to my heart.

“Why don’t you learn some special skill ? It might help you in getting a job.”

My husband’s idea sounded fantastic, but was surely a process that needed planning and patience to get there. I learnt the art of medical documentation for a whole year. It took many a struggle and sweats, confidence and tenacity and many years to settle down somewhat. It was a different genre, a different client base and needed a different style. But surely it was tempting and satisfying to work with foreign healthcare industries.

My career as an editor was not quite easy. There were challenges. You will be surprised how much work goes with editing a single piece of content. You strive not only to make the content error-free, your language needs accuracy. I learnt everyday how to develop a keen eye for detail or a fair for flow of language. Above all, the consistency and the coherence you need in writing and editing. After all I have secured the opportunity to strengthen my portfolio.

I remember I ran into a million of things together and there was no time left for me. I always wanted to scribble with words , but gave up my wish to secure my job that did not come alone. It carried along with it stress and the urge to do better. My life became nothing more than maintaining accuracy and hitting targets. River sounds would not soothe me anymore, instead clients’ diction rang in my ears even in dreams. After almost a decade of struggle, my work became our pathway to reach the touch-me-nots — our dreams and wishes. Over the years it was possible to pay EMIs for a roof of our own, a TV big enough to feed our eyes upon and so on. The list that I weaved in my mind at the beginning of the year always got added with new things at the end. I promised us a car as every home had one in the neighborhood. I wished to surprise my mom with a smart phone on her birthday. So many things I had in my mind. Yes, everything was possible I thought just for the job I had, a full-time, secured one. The dream of a promotion made me work even more hard.

“Don’t ignore my list ma,” my daughter pleaded whose growing so fast I haven’t noticed. She is a lady now and has a list of her own.

I smiled and reached out to touch her cheek. “ I need a raise badly, touch wood,” I muttered. A spider goes on spinning its silk net tough to capture its next dinner.

I had no time for anything, but now I do.

COVID-19, the contagion settled in and we sheltered in place. Our neighbours were quarantined after their son came back from the city. We hear about loses and death everywhere, in TV, newspapers and phone calls. My husband is a skilled worker, has prided himself in the skill for years, but what guarantee his job has when economy has fallen into a recession everywhere. And me? I have skills in creating and editing documents and so do many like me. It is not something very special. Yes, the door closes for me. Healthcare is overwhelmed today and doors have closed for numerous other workers in ours and in foreign lands.

“Take some rest now. You started working so young !” Everybody in the family supported my husband, my ill, old parents and in-laws and even my daughter who always wishes her mom does something that she could boast off. What could they say ? What consolation is enough for you who loses a job in times when you need the most ?

All the sufferings I see and hear around touch me nowadays. I pen them down. As the monotone mounts high with nothing much to do, I feel the need to write. My writings matter to me. I write about life, life-ways and truth. I feel happy to write a poem on my toffee friend or an odd habit of my teen years. I write whenever I can — early mornings before life starts and midnight when sleep seems far off. I hope I can express some ideas that other people might want to read. And a day comes when I get an email from a client. Yes, my writing gets hired. I write for some clients and a tech company offers me a content writer post part-time.

“You are lucky enough to land on your dream job.” My husband sings the final chord.

“Don’t be so sure. It’s just another struggle….”

I try to steer the talk back to him but he remains silent.

A look of dismay settles on his face. Again struggle? We had our fair shares of struggles already.

My mom is ill and my daughter needs funds to keep her college going.

“Don’t worry. We will use our bank deposits for our daughter’s fees. We would support our parents anyhow,” my husband assert me when we lay awake a whole night in fear of what’s going to happen.

“And what about our EMIs ?” I dare not to ask. I do not want to break the calmness of the night.

One evening I get a call from my boss about our BPO opening in the coming month. “Cheer up,” he says and adds “We are coming back.”

I decide to talk this over with my husband on our morning tea. I hear in the breeze making river ripples the call to write, resonate with people, to live and fight. I plunge into my fantasies that tiptoed into my creation of my first short story. No, I won’t return to my old job again. I need to write.

Nature has shuttered us indoors and has taught us much — to let go some but to hold on something we love. This is clear for the first time in forever.