I live in a place that once used to be a brothel. Someone,
supposedly, died in here as well- the kitchen, to be precise. But no one is
willing to tell me that story. I searched the net. Nothing there - just another
dead end. But I don’t see how I could fathom seeing anything about Jhunjhunu (a
town that I barely knew existed) on cyber space. But be warned, the false sense
of excitement (if there is any left) will soon wear off…
I’ve been here for over half a year now and yes; I admit it
at the very onset - I’m bored to death of it!! I feel like this town is my
prison. Well, the only two things that keep me here are- A) The resemblance
this town has to Mano Majara- Remember that village in A Train to Pakistan by Khuswant Singh?
B) I feel a great sense of responsibility towards the government school kids who
happen to be the reason for mecoming all the way from Bangalore.
On rare occasions I can see the dark humour behind the drab
happenings here and on occasions rarer still, I manage to tell myself- “It is
kind of funny how I came here with all these fantastic ideas… All that’s left
now is dusty roads, rickety buses, frazzled fellows and identically farting
Marwaris!!”
You still are hopeful. I can smell it. Very well, I will
rack my memory for a decent story….Um…Where shall I start?
Err…how about from the very beginning?
I graduated with an Honours degree in English Studies,
decided to pack my bags and head to Jhunjhunu, Rajasthan. My decision had led
me to a 2yr fellowship rather than to college or to a job. I wanted to be a writer
and I thought this fellowship would be an experience, no, an adventure in fact;
that would give me all these marvellous stories to pen.
I was 20 then and was a man-hater, cocky, nerdy,
temperamental, and pampered and spoilt. I had hardly ever travelled by myself.
My first road trip with my friends had been disastrous; I was literally crying
all the way back home. Boy, I was such a little girl then. Well, I am 21 now
and a lot wiser. Despite all these short comings, I knew that one thing I
wanted so bad was to be a writer and for that I was willing to work on
anything… anything that would make writing a possibility for me.
Today, it’s been 7 months since the day I decided to follow
my dreams and the path has obviously not been easy. If anything it has been
novel and at times amusing but it largely remains torturous. Sometimes all I do
is watch days zip past. Others days are worse, I sometimes here the clock
ticking so slowly, as if it is aware of and enjoys the way my sensory abilities
heighten. I can hear the housefly flap its wings, hear the crunch of food like
gravel in my roommate’s mouth, speech
too becomes slurry enough giving even a novice ample time to do its phonetic
transcription,you know, it’s like The
Matrix- every goddam things S…L…O…W…S…. down.
