THE STORY I BRING TO YOU

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.