SS : Clinking Wind Chimes - Chap 3 : Pg 6 - Page 2

She yawned as she walked towards the milk shop located in their compound. It was a lazy Sunday for her but for the kids of her colony, it was the most active day of the week. They started their games early in the morning irrespective of the weather and continued tilled dark while they took tiny breaks in between owing to their mothers' concerns. Her eyes fell on the ball that lied on the way while she heard screams from the kids inside the park requesting her to throw it back at them. She picked and carelessly threw it towards the park as a person carrying a huge carton came in between. Moments later the path was filled with a bunch of magazines lying around and a broken carton. She screamed in panic while the kids quickly picked the ball while they giggled and went back to play their game. She carefully looked at his face, "Are you sure, the ball didn't hit you?" She asked with concern. "I'm alright." He replied as he kept gathering all the magazines at one place.

"I'm extremely sorry. Didn't see you coming. I'll help you out. "

They kept collecting the scattered magazines as she saw the dates on them, they were 5 years old.

"Old Chanchal. Why?"

He looked up at her, "Writers block, madam."

"So you decided to get inspired from the old stories?" she asked as they both stood up with a bundle of Chanchals in their hands and continued to walk towards the lift.

"No . Reading them to learn how not to write a story."

"What?"

"The stories written during this period didn't work. So I'm reading them to see what needs to be avoided. Otherwise, the moment my episodes stop losing their popularity they won't think twice before replacing me with some other guy. I recently finished my first weekly serial. Need to start with a new one, very soon." He said while trying to make space in his hands to hold the books being carried by her.

"Don't worry, I'll hold them till your floor." "By the way, Can I borrow one? Old magazines make for an interesting read."

"Sure Madam, take two."

"Call me Geet." She smiled faintly.

She skimmed through the magazine in her hands. They weren't much different except for the interviews of a few people who were irrelevant at present. She read them where they spoke as if they had conquered the world, only if they had the slightest idea about what was in store for them in the next few years. She sighed and moved on to read the stories which didn't work. She expected them to be worse which is when she was the reader in her was in for a tiny little surprise. The tales which apparently didn't work looked like the works of a highly experienced writer, who could tap into the unexplored territories of human relations. They were poignant and highly captivating. She wondered as to why this treasure was labeled as uninspiring or in Maan's words, a guide on what not to write. She quickly ran to his flat to check for more stories of the writer.

She walked towards the door as they were open. She saw Maan sitting on the floor arranging the magazines in order. It wasn't probably right for her to ask for more magazines. After all he was busy picking faults in them. She cleared her throat and knocked at the door.

"Geet?"

"I'm here to return your magazines."

"Read them already?"

"Maan, have you read the stories in them?"

"Yes. Of course."

"But what was bad about those stories? They are well written."

He laughed as he looked at her, "Looks like they didn't make you cringe."

She widened her eyes as he mentioned the word. Cringe. He remembered. Of course. She whacked herself mentally for her response that day. She was probably being too cranky.

"I never said they were bad stories, Geet."

"You did. Indirectly."

"No. They are perfectly fine. The characters just needed some more spark?"

"Spark? In a story with such complex emotions and subtle moments of passion, what more spark did they need? Get laid probably? Have some?" She mockingly raised her eyes.

"Perfectly right. That's what I meant. Funny how both of us had the same thought."

She narrowed her brows as she looked at him smiling.

"Snarky, I know. And why is such an approach essentially a bad thing.
He raised his eyes as he smirked

She frowned, "Nothing bad, but what's the use when it doesn't even come across. "

"Who wants it to come across Geet? Not me. If it comes across, it just earns a few praises."

"And if it doesn't?"

He laughed as he walked up to her, "And if it doesn't?" She repeated. "Coffee?" was the response she got in return. She rolled her eyes. "No thanks. I have work to do."

She walked off.

She felt naive as she noticed his smirk. And needless to say, she wasn't too pleased. Who was he? A silly silly writer who wrote daily serials in a magazine that is best reserved for an afternoon read. He should be the last person to be lecturing her about a snarky response.