I have been making stories from the time I have remembered thinking. Stories to escape a punishment, a beating at home or just to escape work. Not all stories were successful but some were. So after two years of bloging, I write my first fiction and then another and then another.This is a look at memory lane, trying to remind myself why in the first place I wrote all that.
Most of these stories are just voices in the head of a daydreamer.
The First Day : My first attempt to write fiction. A colleague of mine, twice my age retired from his job. I had worked with him for 2 years. His last years were extremely frustrating as he was sidelined and extremely unhappy in his job. On his last day, we had a big talk about what he was going to do after retirement. The whole account was from his point of view. He was indeed going to another colleague's marriage. Incidentally both of them were starting a new chapter in their life, one was after retirement and the other with his marriage.
Highway A1 : Last year I visited CeBIT in Hannover, Germany. We started around 2 in the morning so that we could be there at the start of the day. CeBIT is a biggest IT exhibition in the world and a day is certainly not enough to see the whole day. This story came from Vijay during our journey in the car. Even with 5 more people in the car, even with bright lights on the road, I felt the shivers. Its supposedly true but I guess it's a legend kind of thing. Everybody knows someone who know someone who knows someone who has experienced this. My first attempt in horror.
She Can See : A story formed by collection of incidents heard from friends while chatting on late nights.
Papa Jaldi Aa Jaana : My Father worked in shifts. When my dad used to work in the second shift, my brother and I use to ask my mother when he would come back? My mother would explain to us and then she would sing this song which has always been engraved in my mind. The song is the title of the story. The story is dedicated to my father. Anybody can tell that waiting for a loved one when the person is delayed is the most grueling moments of all.
The Attack : This story was based on somewhat of a personal account. My Father died due to a heart stroke. Since that, even a small pain in the heart makes me nervous. Apprehension over some incident caused me a lot of anxiety. I spent a sleepless night over something I don't remember now. The story is a description of the night.
Rain : This is a story of "What if?". Sometimes you yearn for a lot of things in life, some of them you have missed something or someone. What if this things/people come back?
I hate you : This story is based on a conversation I had with a friend. After I told her one of my worst 'PJ' she got frustrated and said "I hate you" and I said "I Know!". The concept was to tell the story as a dialog between two people with minimum explanation. I guess I succeeded to a large extent.
Yaadein : Once She asked me "What would you do if I left you?" and I said "I would have to sing that song". Although I haven't sang the song yet, the story is a tribute to Indian movies where song form an integral part of the story-telling.
Always the Bridesmaid…… : Men, especially boys have the uncanny ability to find love when there isn't any. An innocently friendly gesture by a female friend can be interpreted as love by most of the men. There have been many instances including mine, when woman have said the dreaded word, "I never felt that way for you". Most men experience it a lot, inspite having no problem with them. While still, most men would never speak out for the fear of the above words and ruining a good friendship. Should they take a risk? It is possible that these men may become good life-mates. Women are a mystery and men are clueless.
The Fight : I went to a party where the DJ played soft romantic music. I saw couples dancing. Observing them, most of them were dancing in each other arms. Looking at them, I wondered did they come to the party in a good mood? What were they talking before coming there? The story is again a "What if"story.