"I am amazed. You are quite poetic even when you write about cars." I thought Prakash was making my fun but he looked strangely serious. "Yeah?", I asked him to elaborate his point. "Do you write poems ? " , I hesitated a little bit and couldn't come up with any definite answer so he asked again , " Fiction?" , "Umm no... I don't write..." ," WHY?" , He looked genuinely surprised which in turn surprised me. And I blurted out in no time , "Because I dont have any story to write." He smiled and said carefully choosing the words , " Everyone on this earth has a story to tell. I believe you too would be having one. May be not like Cinderella or Alice but something of the sort on which you believe intensely." Before I could take in his words completely he resumed , " Izra I know sometimes the story would not come out easily but when it is hurling up inside you , you feel restless , you turn on the night lamp and then the story itself being to take up its shape." He left me at this point and went out of my cabin. Did I contemplate over his words after he left? No I have learned to shut any storm out once and for all.
It was not more than seven thirty in the evening and I had come out on the road. I looked up at the sky and begin to walk back home. There were nights some years ago when the sky would be more clear and stars plenty, some would shine more than others because they were near us , and the moon would talk silently to the breeze. I would spend lot of time talking to the brightest star and the moon sometimes. But now a days... I don't know what has changed ... perhaps I dont have any story to talk about. Do we need to be very imaginative to make up stories? Or to recite the one which inhibits our heart? Imagination ! perhaps... I didn't know... I have lost too much in last few years.
It was a cozy night. The darkness is not cold. I love such moments... when you are self-satisfied... no stories ... no memories linger inside your head. Next day I woke up around six in the morning. How the day passed will be such a dull account to tell and I am really not so imaginative as to be evoked by a road-stone , or a rose bud blooming in someone's garden. I do run away from voices these days. Yes... probably ... as I said I have lost too much in last few years. The night comes easily when you are working. Before going to bed , I do check my mails once even when I have no friend. My astrologer makes sure that I don't fall into depression. She keeps throwing mails in my inbox. Ah! people are so thoughtful around me. Its already midnight hour and I am ready to slip into my blanket. The early November is best time for loners. But I am no lonely. I look here and there... everything under the red light of night lamp seems so seducing. I shall sleep. I pray , utter few words , and hurriedly lie down , covering myself with blanket. The sleep doesn't come. I wonder if ,when would sleep come is also written in your destiny , no really anything can happen if you have bouts of insomnia. You can go crazy , fall in love , commit suicide or even murder. Oh I toss and turn... I feel restless... I turned on the night lamp and only after few seconds I remembered what Prakash had said yesterday - that - that if a story is tiding up inside you , you would feel restless - I felt - you would turn on the night lamp - I did - And then the story would itself begin to take its shape - but ... what's the story that's hurling up inside me? As if the key to the answer was hidden in my gaze which was fixed on my diary and pen. I picked them up and opened my diary. I took up a deep sigh and decided to jot down whatever crossed my mind and I began this way : " The story had began some hundred years ago when I met him who knew my past present and future - all. This was not so much a love story than a dark story of passion and possession." Suddenly my gaze turned to the night lamp , the beautiful lamp bathing in red light was enough to burn the story inside me , I scribbled hurriedly in the diary , "Some dark stories can not be written under the red eyes of night lamp." Made a mark of cross , closed the diary and ... fell into a sound sleep bathing in the red light of night lamp.
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