Stories

As I approach my 5^th of the 6 creative writing classes, there is a sense of unease within me. A twist in the stomach when someone is going to miss something or someone; that is exactly how I am feeling at the moment.

“BUT WHY?” the looming question worsens the felling.

 Is it because of my submissions that are a bit behind the schedule or is it because that I now judge my writings critically more than I ever used to.

”Have I made the most of these classes?” I ask myself.

Even after much contemplation I am still unable to calm the unease in me. 

“Why Prakhar why”. My nerves have now started to get better of me.  I close my eyes and lay on my cot.

For past 1 month now I have not felt the mid-week blues. On the contrary Thursday became most sought after days of the week even more than a Saturday or a Sunday. For someone caught in a maddening corporate world this would be a crazy thing to confess.   So what happened in last one month that gave my “Thursdays” a whole new meaning?

When I first checked the course details for the creative writing classes at Xaviers Institute of Communication that I had so wanted to be a part of I was little demoralized. 6 sessions 2 hours each seemed manageable. What did not seem manageable was that classes were planned on Thursdays and that too in the evening. My energy sapping office life won’t let me enjoy the classes. I would turn for the classes exhausted and frustrated after a long office and even longer travel. By the time the class would start I would be in my dreamland. I had my inhibitions. For once I kept my inhibitions aside and got myself enrolled for the classes.  Little did I know then that what was in store for me.

As the classes began, I found my instant liking for them.

Reason?

Stories. Growing up I used to read books before going to bed. Sometimes my granny used to narrate a story or two before I used to get lost in my dream land. Needless to say reading or listening to stories became a deep part of my persona.

As far classes are concerned became  yet another platform for me to hear and read about 100s of otherwise unknown stories. Stories of my classmates. Stories which came up either randomly or through some specific discussions. I did pay attention to the details of how to polish my writing skills and nothing that my faculty said ever skipped me, but it was the stories of others that caught my attention the most. For someone who loves to read, this was all those stories coming to life. Journalists love stories. The aspiring journalist in me now had a platform to hear and read so many of them.

The story of a woman who was so shamelessly dismissed by hospital management just because she wore a hijab during her working hours. The story of a girl who through a lot of hard work and determination overcame her long standing nemesis in a game of chess. The story of a boy who misses her grandmother as she now resides in her heavenly abode. The story of a girl who was harassed by her tutor as a child, as she now tries to find the lost innocence. The story of a boy who suffered because the government decided to take few harsh steps. The story of a lady who finds it no wrong for her son to learn household chores because she is all against gender stereotyping. The story of a boy who fulfilled his dream of playing a guitar in a packed house. Stories,so many of them! 

Different People, Different Stories

Stories happy and sad. Stories of hope and inspiration .Every story that I came across left an impact on me.Some overwhelmed me, some made me think. Some answered a few of my longstanding questions while some made me come up with more questions. Somewhere in all those stories is my story in parts.

The classes will be over, people will disappear, the faces that I had become familiar to will slowly start becoming a thing of past. I might still be in touch with a few but what remains behind with me are the stories that I came across over past several weeks. They will surely stick with me where ever I go. For when the classes are over I won’t get new stories to read and hear.

I open my eyes. The unease persists but at least I have an answer to “BUT WHY?”