"What kind of story has no speech in it?” grumbled the old hag at the oak desk. Fifteen years in that room, and Minaxi had come to resemble the 18th century furniture. I was inclined to believe the rumor- mills that said she preferred to make out with the teak hat-stand rather than her younger-by-ten-years husband. "Couldn't blame her for being a grouch!" I mumbled while rushing out of the faux victorian building. She had probably heard; I ended up banging my head against the desk that peeked out of a corner in her lobby. "The old witch..."
We had started off on better terms; that decade seemed like a million years ago already. She used to be the best editor in town. I was then a star journalist who was well recognized on television. The wonder years began with two books on the geopolitical situation on the Subcontinent. "Had to take an exceptional writer to do justice to a topic that is beaten to death by the media." I would hear people whispering as Ami and I entered restaurants and shopping malls. Being a celebrity was a high. Even better was the ego massage one received on bad days at work. There would be very little that could go wrong.
Things did turn out otherwise. It started with a little ego-centricity "Karma be damned, I will write my own destiny! These people better recognize my worth as a thinker. I wouldn't give up this adulation for anything. After all, how often have the masses come across someone who can interpret such complex relationships in simple understandable language. One has to be a gifted writer to be able to do that, eh?"
Soon, the television stint was over. Writing masterpieces was the ultimate objective of life. "After all, it is the duty of a geniush to whrrrite and leave bebind dhish ghhrate knowledge." A bottle of single malt a day had this way of boosting self-esteem.
Three years and twenty manuscripts later, I had finally written what would be the masterpiece, the crowning glory of a career marked with works of brilliance in fits and bursts. Spits and bursts, rather. Ami was by now tired of the lazy dog that lounged all day on the couch she had bought ten years ago when they moved into this house. She liked order, and he was hardly bothered about anything, let alone the semblance of a notion called order. I mouthed another inane aphorism "Straight lines curve when viewed at a far enough distance." Ami grimaced.
She did not respond any more to my philosophical aphorisms. Truth be told, even I did not really figure what they were all about. They worked, though. We maintained a silence around the house for at least three hours after each of these silent arguments. She was yet to realize I loved the peace ringing in my head whenever she lost her temper and decided not to speak with me. It was soothing, especially after a decade of constant haranguing. We had been happily married until she landed a job as a television news producer. All through my time in the limelight, she patiently stood by the sidelines, waiting for her quality time with me.
Alcohol also has this fine way of leaving behind extremely warped versions of conversations stored in one's memory. She would recall strange events and promises made, while I simply could not. "Are you drunk all the time?"
Of course, not! I never drink while in the shower. It dilutes my drink.
Life was interesting. Then it really happened.
She fell in love with another man. That was half the truth though. The man she had fallen in love with was not the same anymore. Perhaps it made more sense to fall in love all over again rather than spending any more time and effort on my faded glory.
Clarity is my forte now; having rid of the awful habit by just getting the kidney replaced. They said I should appreciate the gift of life, and so I decided to do just that. No more drinking; the soft white crystals Anees supplied gave me enough vitality and clarity than alcohol ever had.
She threatened me quite often; but her ego simply would not let her walk away from her biggest mistake. So we went on for another couple of years pretending to be the best of pals while being quite incapable of hiding our mutual hatred at home.
I could hear Joseph maashe's voice boom out "A sinusoidal wave does not start in your forehead. It refers to a physical phenomena of a different kind! Ho ho ho!" Bumbling old fool. He had to be mentioned too. I had to remember to make a star of this fool too.
The fog of the silver crystals always brought together Ami, Minaxi and Joseph as one person. How I hated them! Each time I snorted, the fire raged from the nostrils to the gut. "This manuscript will take a few more years to complete. You might want to start reading the old thesaurus once again--your language skills are quite appalling now, Ron."
I would plan to kill each of them. The plot was lost, but I could still salvage the situation by using my superior investigative skills. "I'll start with a thriller and build in the deaths of these idiots. Each of them will be a star. A dead star." The rest was a haze--Ami and Minaxi were easy enough to deal with, while old Joseph had apparently met his maker a long time ago! I hung my head, repenting the delay in action.
It had to be extremely sincere regret...
"Thunk" went my head. "Three months of effort and all I get for the manuscript is a bang on the head!"
Three more steps and I could hear a few more voices ring out. Minaxi's was one of them. "Hold on, didn't you plan to butcher me using that hat-stand?" How does a dazed brain react to this idiocy? It was difficult to see. The haze remained, rendering each of these silhouttes sinister and threatening.
When I could open my eyes, there seemed to be a large crowd waiting. Almost scary to have three huge security personnel waiting to carry you off.
"Hey, I didn't..." There seemed to loud laughter and tittering from somewhere in the background. The lights seemed too bright. "This could not be the office of Rajaram Anglo-Indian Publishers." "Huh! What’s with you?” rang Ami's voice.
"Ouch, hell is awfully bright!" More laughter... “Just what is wrong with these idiots in hell?”
"Damn! Not again!"
It had taken longer than usual for me to wake up. I still hate dozing off at these award ceremonies; my head seems to be playing a million tricks each time.
