The Glorious Gift

You must have read about at least a few heart breaking stories of individuals who had to start afresh after having lost sight of their goals on the point of making the all-important grab! But the response to your effort is often immeasurable and unpredictable. It is beyond the realm of human anticipation. It is a territory of divine calculations and defies any human extrapolation. The cue is to get your act together and try to make another attempt with greater drive, leaving the past to sulk in the shadow of its own doom. The protagonist of this particular story held similar ideas when another attempt at making a career out of writing went awry.

Jibran, had written a few articles for the newspapers always considering him to be better than the rest. Some called it arrogance, other labelled it as overconfidence but he alone thought of it as a realistic estimation. Charged by a few micro success stories, he ventured into the treacherous art of book writing. Initially, he thought of dabbling into writing a serious story but found it too heavy to endure for extended times spent at the desk top or straining the tips of his fingers to a permanently painful pattern. After losing himself for hours in his brown study he finally conceived a plan to give wings to his hitherto eventful life.

He had had his fair share of twists and turns and wanted the world to know about it. Plus, he would earn some fame and make a few bucks as well. So, he delved into the depths of his heart and began the task of translating his turbulent experiences into a fanciful shape without any significant distortion of the original picture. It was a task similar to an artist making the portrait of present life without introducing any material elements!

He was pretty pedestrian to start off as he tried to harmonize the incidents of the past. Initially, it was all a wayward collection of words without any symmetry. It looked like a geometrical diagram in which all angles diverged sharply from the centre in slanting directions. That put him off a bit and the dark, dismaying fear tip toed its way into his heart. It fed straight into his demotivated state of mind and tried to douse the spark that was pointing toward the limitless expanse of the sky. It would even stalk him at night in the private territory of his dreams and started a dialogue. “I told you: you are not made for it. You are just wasting your time. Just abandon the idea and do something practical.” However, Jibran would retort. “You cannot stop the stream from flowing in its predetermined path. I know I have it in me. It’s just a matter of the right time and right occasion.” Afterwards, he would scream his way back to wakefulness and the shocking experience soon gave way to the hopeful resolution of his rejoinder.

One fine day when the sun shone brighter and fiercer than other days, he had an epiphany-like experience and the plot of the story began to take some congruous shape. He immediately set down to work. Now, the problem was to spare time from his overloaded work routine. It seemed that nature was also helping him with this effort as three days into his work, the Corona Virus made a sweeping statement across the globe. The whole world was forced into hibernation and work-from-home became the flavour of the times. The work routine was turned on its head and reconfirmed the statement expressed by various individuals that when a person wants something badly, then the whole world conspires to make it happen for him! He started believing in himself once again. He would sit for hours glued to his seat, so much so, that his back started to creak. One day, he felt a sharp pain that oozed from the tip of his back and immobilized him for some time. He was forced to take some rest and briefly abandon his writing plan. Afar taking some precautions he would start again and this time acted more smartly. He would take a break for 30 minutes after every one hour-stint to give some rest to his back.

He decided to devote each chapter of his book to the most significant episodes of his life. Therefore, one chapter focused on education, the other on his childhood, another on his trip to a foreign land and so forth. After toiling for months he eventually reached the end of the last chapter. As he penned the last paragraph, a strange excitement enveloped his frame. He could feel his pen sweating with its inky texture, moistening the words deposited so daintily in the palms of the paper that he was writing on! Even the paper received the honours with respect. It refused to bulge or fold at awkward angles. While drafting it, he was conscious of the fact that he had to produce a stunning conclusion that would meld realism with some fancy work for the audience. He really grafted and ended the novel on a note of greatness according to his standards.

Now, the next problem was to publish the book. He tried the traditional publishers but they were too hot to handle and unceremoniously wrote him off as a writer. His hopes of making it to the big stage was about to crumble but his warrior-like instinct stopped him from giving up. He tried self-publishing. The platforms like ‘Kindle’ in Amazon seemed to be heaven-sent for budding writers like him but then he did not want to make a bad bargain. He had invested too much on his book and did not want to let it go unappreciated. After some study, he found the self-publishing option unfavourable. Although they would publish his book but after-sales prospects were pretty dim and carried less prestige as well.  So, he dropped the plan. He was stuck between two poles of uncertainty. He did not know what to do! The traditional publishers were not willing to accept him whereas he was not willing to accept the self-publication option. Then fortune took another unexpected turn when he saw an advert from a face book publisher that almost screamed itself to attention! He sent one chapter for consideration but they asked him to send the whole book. This was a grave risk but he tried to minimize it by sending them his manuscript by snail mail. They would respond in 30 days and that seemed like eternity! Eventually the response came in the form of an email. As he was scrolling down the mails, the cursor stopped on one name. He started to read it word by word; his heart almost froze for a while. He stopped on the word ‘congratulations’ and literally jumped a few inches above his seat leaving the patience to read the complete message. As he began to read the post- congratulatory lines he found the hidden proviso. It was just like taking the world cup away from the clutches of a sportsman after letting him hold it for a while. Things were not so rosy as them seemed. There was a condition which asked for an astronomical sum of money because they considered writers as partners. It broke his heart but he pulled himself together and asked for a discount. They gave him very little so he had to scrap the plan. His book was not an article of sale. It was an expression of his gift and he could not treat it like a material object that hankers after commercial deals. It was a product of his honest labour that scripted the life of his dreams; the life of his lived experiences; the life of his character that he truly was! How could he betray all these noble claims to his sense of authorship? No, no he would not budge to this temptation and would have another crack! He requested them to return his manuscript. The publishers were at least kind enough to return it. All his effort seemed meaningless to him at that point in time. It seemed that he had jumped the gun in being so ecstatic and had reacted with childish immaturity. He should have been more patient but he was swept away by emotions and there was nothing unnatural about it.

Disoriented from inside, miserable from outside, squished in the corner of his room, he bemoaned his loss with a pen in his hand. It was back to square one but only in the traditional sense of the word. He was determined to make this square one to leap into square 2 and 3 and 4 but this time around with a greater effort, greater poise confining hopelessness to a long period of leave! He was going to do it like a drowning swimmer who makes use of the faintest support to resurrect himself and make an incredible escape back to life. The desire to configure an impression had never been so urgent!

By Shahzad Ahmad