Competitor

For My lovely publisher...

T

hey are all seated in their chairs waiting for their favorite poet-n’-author to come on stage and receive this year Sahitya Academy Award in the literature. The host is telling so many things about him. “The poet writes in a flawless manner as to give proper balance and justice to the abstract and common nuisance of the human life and wins the innumerable hearts. Sometimes he is a stranger, sometimes a next-door person telling the unspoken feelings of the readers. ‘The world is changing every now and then. People do not have enough time to read the literary pieces; rather they spend 2-3 hours to see films which they think can well exhibit their emotions’ say our beloved author.” Pauses the host and takes a deep breath and sees there where the author is sitting. He is smiling to Arun, the host. Again he starts, “he is calling the films as the dictated one-way traffic, where by the audience have to feel what is shown, sense what is predictable by the director and love the lady who is presented on-screen. They have no privilege in thinking of their own. Though some of his stories have been chosen for films, he cannot ignore the significance of giving the liberty to his audience not by showing something but by creating an aura where his readers could grasp everything as per their choices. And there he is, a versatile writer convinces his audience, tames their sights, by not the way he likes, but by the way, they presume. And he does not discriminate in his readers. All of whom who once start reading his genuine works, becomes his own readers. They can be at 16’s or at 70’s in age. And he is none other than Mr. Abhay Chatterjee who has been selected from the City-sketch, another renowned name in the literary maestros. May I please call upon on stage Mr. Abhay Chatterjee, this year’s winner of this prestigious award?”

 

Clapping roars as he comes on stage. Abhay is at his thirty-fifth years, wearing black suit and a heart-winning smile on his face. His fans are sitting in the front-middle-n’-the-back-seats clapping until he starts speaking, “My favorite readers…” again a bursting sound of clapping. He smiles back to them. “This is the refining moment in my life. You have selected me this year’s winner. I know those who read my pieces and those who know me by my name and are yet to read my creations, are very much happy to hear this news. Happy I am rather suspicious, because I never thought of receiving an award like this, reason being, I long for getting my work published the day I started writing and today also I thing like that. As I think, not all my creations are worthy enough to get a mention in minds of the readers, though sometimes in spite of my strong aversion, my writings are published. Today I want to dedicate this award to a person, who was there all the time behind this success. You may or may not know that person. Before naming him directly, would you please allow me to tell you one anecdote…?”

 

“It all started when a boy of twenty five started writing poems. Meanwhile he got a chance from a little magazine. He gave his works there and to his utter amazement; his work had been published there. And issues after issues, his works were published there. But the editors never saw him personally and finally one day on the editor’s request, he went to meet him. And that might be the deadest moment in his life as after that that same editor denied taking any of his writings. Anyhow, he was completely sad and could not find out any plausible reason behind that to this day also. He thought he might be an ugly person.” The audience is hearing in a pin-drop-silence. He begins, “he never gave up, rather continued his work by taking the living accounts of the human life and injected zeal in himself. At last city’s most famous magazine City-Sketch which is treated an all-time den of the creative genre, gave him one chance. On the other hand, he changed his name to Nilotpal and gave his writings to the previous magazine and he was happy that this time also his writings got selected there and he kept on writing in his name real name in the City-Sketch and simultaneously in the previous one as Nilotpal. So many years had been passed by writing in the namesake. By that time, Nilotpal became famous by his works. He gave one condition to that editor that he could not go in person there; otherwise, it was impossible for him to carry on writing. The Editor agreed. So it was a camouflage in which the same person talked to the mass differently. I think as of now you can easily understand who the other person can be?”

 

“Thank you Robin, who insisted me on giving my works to the City-Sketch and had been an avid reader and analyzer to all my works. I don’t want to name that magazine. Now it’s up to you to decide who is the actual winner…Nilotpal, that time or me? Thank you Mr Editor without your dismissal, I could barely see today’s achievement.”

 

Clapping thunders the hall and one famous film director comes to meet him after the programme is over, requesting him whether this real story can be taken as his next film.

 

Abhay smiles and says, “No”.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

I love this, Raja... what a well written, explicit and almost romantic story about a writer and his eventual just reward. The way you've built up to the end is incredibly good, your writing flows smoothly, enough details, and, never boring.

You really should invite more people to read your posts, they're so worthy of more reviews because not only are they so good, they're different, unique.

Thank you for the privilege of reading this post, it's an inspiring story written by a very fine story-teller.

[An owl on the moon]

What an inspiring wonderful story of determination and dedication. I read it several times through to gather all the details of this account. Stirring and lifting in every way!