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1990
March 20,
She convinced me that I should write regularly. She says it helps in finding ones style.
April 1,
I am writing because you are checking in.
April 2,
This is simply exasperating ( I learnt this word recently, chuckles) and tiring. What do you expect me to write? Okay….
I woke up at 9 went to office and the hours dragged on as usual. Came home and ate and went to sleep.
April 3,
I feel like a complete fool.
April 4,
You asked me to log the feelings. Still better I write you letters. God, it rhymes.
May 30,
She promised me she would stay. From the moment of my advent in this planet, she was all I knew. She had such a nice voice and a tender heart that could empathize with anyone. Death had liberated her. Not death, the knowledge that she would not live. She had told me but I was not ready to accept it.
How could I ? She was all I had..
See, I have feelings that I can express and pen down and…
( Tear drops blotted the ink.)
October 3rd,
I escaped the hustle-bustle of the bazaar and travelled to the park around the corner. After her it is only you I speak my mind so I have decided to name you, Mr. A. Numbers may misdirect others to believe I imitated a cult movie so just a letter.
My resources are meager compared to my desires and imaginations so I travel through pages, eat through commercials and live in moments.
The park is a valuable free resource for me to avail and so I use it to navigate through my duo-tone dreams. I have dared to write for a magazine.
I was a competition. Don’t worry Mr. A, that does not mean I would desert you. First of all it is not going to happen and Second of all it is absolutely balderdash. How cruel the world is! The only free of cost competition was of a travel magazine. I do not understand it is mockery or stupidity on their behalf.
One can afford to travel but cannot pay entry fee. Hopefully they correct their mistake in the next edition
Nov 3rd,
Mr AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA ………. I GOTTTTTTTT ITTT . Ma, I got it.
Nov 7th,
They are paying me to visit 'Nagmuja' and write about it. In my article I had just stitched together bits and pieces of what Ma used to tell me about it. We could never visit her birthplace. How much we save, the savings got used up in fixing the roof or buying meds etc. There was hardly enough for sustenance, living seemed an unaffordable practice.
2020
Jan 1,
It has been years since I last sat down to write for me. I could not even finish reading volume 1 of Mr. A series.
Last October I was asked to work on my auto- biography and you would not believe it, I could not remember. At first I thought I was losing it all. All of it.
I was really scared and fixed an appointment with the psychologist. She asked me, why I started writing, a pretty straight forward and relevant question that threw me off the hook. I stared at her blankly. Then she asked me if I maintained a diary.
How did I forget you Mr.A, when did I stop writing?
I turned my well-furnished house upside down just as my well-choreographed life had suddenly been toppled but I found nothing.
Mrs. Mishra saved my life and pulled out my years of Mr A’s from the trunk in the store-room.
All of a sudden the flashes were played before my eyes, so livid that I refuse to believe they were memories and I remembered.
Beginning was the best place to start so I started sorting the diaries according to the dates. I started with the first one, two days back and I could not continue.
I despised my current self.
What had become of me!
The pages were laughing at me, mocking at my lack of originality.
Jan 2
Since sleep has eluded me for months and its return seems more impossible than journalists speaking the truth, I have decided to reattempt reading of my Mr. A series but not chronologically.
Jan 3rd 2020
Started.
This is the one after I returned from ‘Nagmuja’.
Jan 1st 1991
‘Nagmuja’ has changed Mr. A and so has my address. I brought along you and her few dresses that still fit me. I gave away her medicines. I saw my birthplace at last and wrote about it. I used the tone she used to use when she described me the mystical lands, she so very well remembered. My article is titled – Over your shoulder: affordable indigenous destinations. I made it a point to write from an economic point of view. The editor published it with other three articles on the same page but mine had the maximum number of words. The pay is less and the work is exhausting at times but in a good way. I have not left my day job and will not do so unless they offer me a full time job.
Jan 10,2020
There are beautiful pieces collected from all the places I visited and since then I have revisited so many times that I forgot the initial experience. I am searching for the day I got the job at Travel and Tours and last night I found it. I wish my writing still had the innocence it once proudly boasted of.
23rd April 1992,
It has been a month and working never seemed so much fun. I wish she was alive to see me so happy, so truly happy. She always complained that I had a sad smile and a cruel laughter. She knew I would love to write and thankfully she could force me to continue with it. I just wish she could see me smile.
27th September 1992,
They gave me a whole page to write about the city I lived in. They hope my perspective is fresh. I told them readers never want read about the reality they are in, I would not, I was one of their most ardent reader but the creative team differs. The editor called me today and I was surprised to meet a young woman. I had always imagined Roy to be a man’s name. She had the weirdest smile and frightening gleam in her eyes, “I like to keep it that way, Roy is my surname,” she told me. I knew I was to understand the reason later. She urged me to pursue the article from whatever angle I deemed fit and continue not thinking of word limits. She never used to edit my pieces much, I had the idea that she did not care about them that is why; she told me that ,my writing was raw and refreshing and she did not want to soil it. She also mentioned, I’ll use her words for this, “ It does not last long. Use it well, before the world gets you. “ I sat in front of her flabbergasted wearing a silly smile and not getting a single word she had said. Moral of the story I picked up an office scooter some transport allowance, a digital camera guy, while others flashed their wicked smile on getting to go to holiday destinations.
16th February 2020,
Now I know what she meant. Mrs Roy died last year and I was again feeling lost. She had been the fiery parent I always missed. She loved me so dearly and guided me so efficiently that I never felt any of it until she left me. Her husband adored her dearly and continues to pay me surprise visits. Actually he was the one who had suggested the autobiography in front of 30 odd people who all agreed with him. In all the years I had known her; I was always afraid of her and always revered her for her strive towards perfection. During the city article I came to know what an amazing editor she was.
Remembering myself touring around the corners in that second-hand scooter made me shudder. But it was far more exciting than the Benz.
30th September 1992,
I wrote an initial draft and saw it land in the bin. She told me rather roared at me that she wanted my perspective and so she repeated to the indifferent cameraman. Then she asked us, “Do you two work alone?” I was about to clarify when he promptly nodded in affirmation. She was furious. She had never been furious with me I felt so humiliated. At last she said,” I think I was premature in inferring about you capabilities young lady.” Her voice sounded disappointed I was choking on my tears when that insolent brute spoke again “ Give us five days, ma’am.” He sounded sincere and that worked in our favor.
I have always treated men suspiciously but this fellow was arrogant and snobbish not only in my opinion but in everyone else’s too. He looked at me “ What’s your style?”
My reply surprised me, “ Economic and minute details rather mundane details that can be spun excitingly.”
“Good. Do you scribble notes?” I told him about you and he asked me to read to me the parts about the city. So from the previous days’ logs I read to him. I always carry you with me Mr.A , it makes me feel less lonely. It was all horrible. I despise the city, its scraper bars, its dense neglected air, its ignorance and indifference of ‘us’ who are trapped in its hellhole. But he still found the details in an economic way. We are still working on it and he has asked me to join his photo-walk tomorrow. Who starts at 5?
2nd October 1992,
I cannot believe we are to name the article “ A city that you can’t escape”. It will meet the same fate of the previous one but it was a city in despair, crying for recognition, mourning its lost glory, enmeshed with poverty and sickness. Gloom shrouds the once joyful city that now seeks fun in fake aesthetics. Everything has become so artificial. Someday, I imagine they sky to be built anew.
19th February 2020,
I can’t open my eyes before ten and not be greeted with coffee these days. The good old days did come at a certain price. What an irony, I too am a captive in this city.
3rd October 1992,
She loved the article I don’t know how.
5th October 1992,
When I was first given the topic I did not know how to pen down a hundred words and now I have three pages and this is one of finest work by me. Mr.A, I found my style.
22nd October 1992,
We were the best team and produced the best piece; Hongkong could not beat us. Next edition, I get to write the editor’s piece and he gets the cover photo. Today we celebrate the first our many victories together. Can you believe it Ma, I’m going to a Marriot restaurant on my own money.
22nd February 2020,
That was a correct presumption. He, Buro, has been my best friend and only family, Mr.A. Actually, we don’t talk anymore. Now I understand it was indeed my fault.
Later that year he met his soul mate and I met my therapist, Bini. She was from another world and calmed us immensely. We used to joke that if I was a guy it would surely have been a love triangle. She used to tolerate our love bickering and refereed when the war of words became demeaning.
6th November 1998,
Today I knew what bliss is. Buro’s twins are so little. The elder boy grabbed my finger as the younger one yawned when I rocked them. Oh, Mr. A there is nothing compared to them.
20th May 2000,
Not only was today a devastatingly hot day but also the first one when Binni screamed at us, “Take your business elsewhere. Fighting like married couples and cursing like sailors, do you two realize there are children in the house.” We were ashamed. We are going to shift the office to the basement and I suggested sound proofing it. I have faith in our vitriolic nature and abundance of abusive words that the incident may repeat.
24th February 2020,
In all these years, Buro’s family gatherings have been the only semblance of family life I have ever had. Both their sons grew up to be so much like their mother that all of us were relieved. None of them has any sense of imagination though. Buro was the first one to comment without any hesitation that I had changed; my writing was artificial and hence cheap. In my indignation and anguish I ended our friendship but kept the relation with the rest of Saha family.
I think that was the time from when I started to write only for money.
20th December 2002,
It is freezing in the small hut from where the mountains seem to call. For all the luxuries and comfort in the world I would not have exchanged this moment. So natural that it was priceless. For his eccentric habits I had to endure adversities unimaginable but was always rewarded generously by nature.
29th February 2020,
2009 had been my 3rd year steering the helm of Tours and Travels after Mrs Roy had retired. The magazine now had a special issue each year and we were thinking of starting a blog that was very new concept at that time. But both Buro and I could see it was the future. We understood that we could earn extra by reviews and promotions. The problem was what started as a harmless practice replaced the essence of the magazine. I am now living the life that I once found repugnant. Last few years I have been teaching the art of writing; it is so ludicrous. I have written more reviews and promotions than original pieces. As I go through the Tours and Travels now, no family below 20 lpa gross income can afford any of these amenities we so humbly present. What have I done?
15th July 2010,
Was he right Mr A? Am I becoming like them, selling sumptuous cuisines and designer holidays? Have I lost it? Have I yielded to the to the bucket list cult and murdered the neighboring beauty?
4th March 2020,
At the fag end of the Mr.A series there comes a piece that officially announces the death of my previous self. I am devoured by the greed of popularity and acceptance that evaded me in my younger days.
25 June 2011,
I got the award that I had my eye on from the start. The speech was brief but effective; everyone except Buro was there for me. I wish we had been less headstrong but he insisted on giving away all this to be voyagers. His wanderlust after having a family seems so absurd. Finally I have arrived in the world and I am not ready to leave it for his romantic quests. I can at last afford the five star hotels and restaurants that I once stared at. The magazine is selling great and the critics are least bothered to poke us. Why leave the city now?
11 March 2020,
I had tried to bury the past and my roots and with that I had buried you my last link to the person I was. I had been so ashamed of my bearings that I hid them too carefully and succeeded in forgetting them myself. I was blinded by the gaudy fame that I forgot why I had started. I am obliged to my readers whom I have ignored and have turned what was my life’s work into a commercials’ jungle. Mr.A, it’s time I pass this responsibility to someone who deserves it and rediscover myself. You have been my sole companion and I would like to take you along with me. It does not suit my temperament to put down my feet. With travel we started and so shall we continue. The obscure places we all tend to neglect will be my genre to start, a journal, a video camera and all basics. Hopefully, I still have it in me, after years of pampering myself with unnecessary opulent comfort.
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