The Wounds of Losses

Ehtishaam's life, marked by early surgery, multiple losses, and relentless struggles, finds brief solace in love, only to face profound heartbreak again, yet he endures with hidden strength.

Ehtishaam was only seven when he first came face to face with death. A congenital heart defect required immediate surgery, a procedure so risky that the doctors warned his parents to prepare for the worst. The sterile smell of the hospital, the beeping machines, and the constant hum of activity filled his young mind with fear and confusion. Miraculously, he survived the ordeal, emerging from the operating room frail but alive. His family rejoiced, but the shadow of that experience lingered, a silent prelude to a life marked by pain and loss.

Barely two months after his surgery, Ehtishaam faced another blow. His maternal grandfather, the pillar of his young life, passed away. This was a man who had taught him to pray five times a day, who had imparted the fundamental principles of Islam to him, who had been his idol. The loss was profound. Ehtishaam felt a void that no amount of consolation could fill. Yet, he continued to live, driven by the memory of his grandfather's teachings and a silent determination to honor his legacy.

As the years passed, Ehtishaam found solace in his studies and his two best friends, Abhay and Sameer. He excelled in school, consistently topping his classes from sixth through ninth grade. His academic prowess earned him admiration from teachers and peers alike, but he remained humble, attributing his success to hard work and the prayers he never missed. His friends were his support system, the ones who cheered him on and provided a semblance of normalcy in his tumultuous life.

In 2015, during his tenth grade, the inevitable drift of friendships began. Ehtishaam's performance in the midterm exams dipped inexplicably, and he found himself struggling to understand why. His parents, who had always been his staunchest supporters, expressed their disappointment harshly. They scolded him relentlessly, their harsh words echoing in his mind. Overwhelmed by their anger and his own confusion, Ehtishaam fainted, collapsing to the ground. When he regained consciousness, the cold, accusatory stares of his parents greeted him. They believed he had faked the incident to escape their wrath since he was a brilliant footballer and head commanding cadet of NCC therefore he can't just faint away so easily, however the notion cut deep into his already wounded spirit.

Determined to prove himself, Ehtishaam threw himself into his studies with renewed vigor. His resolve paid off, and he passed his tenth-grade exams with an impressive 86%. Despite his success, the satisfaction was marred by the strain in his relationship with his parents. He chose commerce with math for his higher secondary education, and for a while, things seemed to stabilize. However, in September 2016, tragedy struck again when Abhay, his closest friend, died suddenly. The loss devastated Ehtishaam, pushing him further into isolation. He became withdrawn, speaking to no one but Sameer, whose presence grew increasingly scarce as the final exams approached.

Ehtishaam finished his exams with commendable marks, yet his parents remained unsatisfied. Their constant criticism and lack of support deepened his resentment and fueled his aggressive behavior. Arguments with teachers became frequent, and his academic performance in the twelfth grade suffered as a result. Despite scoring more than 80%, Ehtishaam felt no joy. Persistent headaches plagued him, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within. Ignoring his health, he continued to live a hollow existence, haunted by memories of the people he had lost.

The final blow came with the death of his grandmother, the last beacon of support in his life. Her passing shattered him completely. He sought solace in Sameer, only to find that his friend had drifted away, absorbed in his own life and new relationships. Feeling utterly abandoned, Ehtishaam pursued a course in Chartered Accountancy, a decision driven by his parents' wishes rather than his own aspirations. He had always dreamt of joining the army and playing professional football, dreams now buried under the weight of his parents' expectations.

Ehtishaam's only respite came from playing football in a nearby park. On one particularly hot summer day, he accidentally hit a girl with the ball. She was radiant, her smile disarming despite the impact. Her name was Tajassus. Over the next few days, she joined their games, her skill and enthusiasm rekindling a spark of joy in Ehtishaam's heart. Her presence was a balm to his weary soul, and soon, they became friends. Tajassus' laughter was infectious, her spirit unyielding. She celebrated their victories with an exuberance that was contagious. On her birthday, she invited Ehtishaam to a party, an invitation he initially declined. But her persistence wore him down, and he eventually agreed to join.

At the party, Tajassus shared stories of her life, her radiant smile a constant companion. Ehtishaam found himself drawn to her, her positivity a stark contrast to his own gloom. On March 7, 2019, Tajassus confessed her feelings for him, leaving Ehtishaam stunned. Two days later, he accepted her proposal, and they embarked on a relationship that would change his life. Tajassus was a whirlwind of energy, her optimism a beacon in Ehtishaam's dark world. She taught him to laugh again, to find joy in the little things. For the first time in years, Ehtishaam felt truly happy.

But fate had other plans. One day, Tajassus appeared at their usual meeting spot, her eyes red with unshed tears. She revealed that she had been diagnosed with cancer. The news hit Ehtishaam like a physical blow, his world collapsing around him. He struggled to comprehend the gravity of her words, her tears a stark testament to her suffering. They sat in silence, the weight of her revelation hanging heavily between them. Tajassus made him promise to live a happy life, to find joy even in the face of her illness.

Together, they faced her treatment with bravery and a semblance of normalcy. Ehtishaam's own health issues resurfaced, his headaches intensifying to the point of agony. A visit to a neurologist revealed that he was suffering from migraines and bipolar disorder. The diagnosis added another layer of complexity to his already fraught existence. While he underwent treatment, Tajassus fought her own battles, her frequent hospital visits a stark reminder of her fragile condition.

On November 17, 2021, as Ehtishaam and Tajassus chatted over WhatsApp, she reminded him of his upcoming birthday. She was traveling to her village with her father, their conversation a welcome distraction from the monotony of the journey. But tragedy struck in the early hours of November 18. A call from Tajassus' cousin shattered Ehtishaam's world: their car had collided with a truck, killing both Tajassus and her father.

Grief consumed Ehtishaam. He punched the wall in anguish, the physical pain a fleeting distraction from his emotional torment. His parents, hearing his cries, tried to comfort him but could do little to ease his suffering. The funeral was a blur of sorrow and disbelief. Ehtishaam lingered at the crematory long after others had left, his heart heavy with the loss of yet another loved one.

The crematory became his sanctuary, a place where he could feel close to Tajassus. He visited regularly, a smile masking the pain that never truly left him. His health continued to deteriorate, migraines a constant companion. Yet, he hid his suffering from the world, determined to honor Tajassus' wish for him to live happily. By day, he smiled and interacted with those around him. By night, he was besieged by restlessness and insomnia, the weight of his losses pressing down on him.

Ehtishaam's life in Delhi was a tapestry of sorrow and resilience. He had faced more tragedy than most could bear, yet he continued to push forward, finding strength in the memories of those he had loved and lost. His journey was one of profound suffering, but also of unwavering determination. Through it all, Ehtishaam held on to the lessons of his past, the teachings of his grandfather, and the love of Tajassus. His story was one of endurance, a testament to the human spirit's capacity to withstand even the greatest of hardships.

Reviews

[JayG]

You're working hard, but this is a history, not a story. You have 1339 words, and in those four standard manuscript pages worth of prose no one notices something and reacts to it. no one voices an opinion, asks a question, has a thought, or in any way appears on stage.

Instead, the narrator, who we can neither see nor hear, talks TO the reader in overview and summation. Why does that matter? Because it's a dispassionate recitation of what happened. But the events in fiction happen as-we-read.

People don't come to fiction for a synopsis. They want to be made to feel and care as-they-read. They want to be immersed so deeply into the action that it feels like they're living the events in real-time, as the protagonist, and, from within that moment we call now, which takes a VERY different approach.

Nonfiction tells the reader that the protagonist feels a chill of fear as they enter the spooky basement. But fiction makes that shiver run down the spine of the READER. It makes the reader shake their head and say, "Wait.... Are you crazy? Don't go in there alone!" It develops an empathetic connection between the reader and the protagonist. After all, without that connection, why would the reader care enough to want to read more?

But, to involve the reader that way we cannot use the report-writing skills of school. They only inform. The skills of the Commercial Fiction Writing profession, though, are designed to entertain the reader by making that connection. And so, are a necessity for writing fiction.

When you say, "Ehtishaam was only seven when he first came face to face with death," why should the reader care? It's history, not story. And after you tell the reader that his life would be "a life marked by pain and loss," why would ANYONE want to read a list of the personal losses of someone we don't know well enough to care about?

Here's the deal:

1. The approach to writing that we learned in school is designed to inform. But, fiction cannot be written that way, Trying to do so will result in an immediate rejection.
2. We cannot transcribe ourselves telling a story as if to an audience because none of the performance makes it to the page.
3. The skills of fiction writing have been under refinement for centuries, and your readers have been choosing only fiction that was written with them from when they learned to read. They can't see the tools used, or recognize the decision points, as they read, so, reading fiction cannot teach us to write it.

But, readers will reject any fiction that was not written with those tools on page one, which is the best argument I know of for digging into those skills.

Not good news, and certainly, not what you hoped to hear. But, since the problem isn't one of talent, or how well you write. And, given that it's fixable, I thought you might want to know.

Two suggestions. First, grab a copy of Debra Dixon's, GMC: Goal Motivation & Conflict from the archive site I link to, below. It's an excellent first book on how to add wings to your words. I think you'll find it eye-opening.
https://archive.org/details/goal.motivation.conflictdebradixon/page/n5/mode/2up

And if an overview of the field, and the traps that catch us would help, I like to think that my articles and YouTube videos can help.

So, I know this is bad news. But don't let it throw you. As Ernest Hemingway put it: “We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.” Writing is a journey, not a destination, so hang in there, and keep on writing.

Jay Greenstein
Articles: https://jaygreenstein.wordpress.com/category/the-craft-of-writing/the-grumpy-old-writing-coach/
Videos: https://www.youtube.com/@jaygreenstein3334