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Rated: E · Fiction · Other · #1327279
A very short story about a writer and his one of his characters.
So who is Nitya?

I’ve been asked this question many a time. My answer has always been the same…
“Nitya is my heroine.”

There’s a reason why most of my stories revolve around Nitya. Years of grooming her as The Girl gave her a distinct and definite personality and almost made her a real person. So if I cast her in a story, she takes care of her lines automatically. In fact she is on her own. As I writer I have long since lost control on her behavior. This poses a couple of issues. While this quality of Nitya helps me in reducing the effort needed to write a story, it poses a significant challenge - Most of the time, Nitya hijacks the story from me.

The other issue is that I am so madly in love with Nitya that I can’t give her any negative personality trait at all. She is picture perfect and so very unreal.

I lean back and peer into the darkness outside my cubicle window. It has been raining continuously the last two hours. At four in the afternoon it is almost totally dark. It is a depressing atmosphere but I love the rain. A cup of fuming black coffee and a laptop with a word processing software is all I need to write a story now.

Featuring Nitya again.

I smile at the thought. I have tried in the past to write stories without Nitya in them. Sometimes it was Anjali. Then I tried Monalisa Kumari and Gayatri but no one came close to Nitya.

I hear a cough. I turn back to see Manjula.

“Venu, what are you doing here?” she asks.

“Just taking a break.” I respond.

“From work? On a Saturday afternoon?”

I nod. “Crunch time.”

She sits next to me. “How is Nitya?”

I laugh, “She’s doing great.”

“When do we get to meet her again?”

I show her the laptop – “Probably on Tuesday. I have everything in place except the climax.”

She looks at me seriously, “This has always been a problem with your stories. Your climaxes suck big time.”

I nod again, “That’s because when I start writing a story, I rarely have the entire story in mind.”

“So how do you write it then?”

“Most of the time it writes itself.” I sip my coffee, “I know that sounds weird but that’s how it has always been with me.”

“Too deep Venu” Manjula shakes her head, “I wonder where you are going. Hope you don’t end up in a psychiatrist’s office.”

I have been thinking about it for a while. I read somewhere that 90% of the world population has some psychiatric ailment which can be treated very easily resulting in greatly improved lifestyles for them. The point is nobody accepts it.

“Hi”

I look up. I see an attractive young lady in front of me smiling.

“Hi” I say.

“Can I join you?” she asks politely.

Unsure of what to say I say – “Sure”

Manjula stares at me. “Who are you talking to?”

I stare back. “That girl?”

“I am Nitya” she introduces herself, “Nitya Venugopalan”

For a moment silence rules the world. Then I come back into this world. “Nitya!”

“Oh great! You’ve started seeing people that don’t exist!” Manjula throws up her hands. “Venu, wake up. There’s no one here.”

I look at Nitya dismayed. “Nitya? Do I know you?”

Nitya smiles, “Not exactly but I read your blogs regularly. Never posted a comment though. I like your stories.”

Manjula looks around, “I don’t see any Nitya here.” and then adds, “That’s because she is only in your head.”

“I am sorry. Am I disturbing anything?” Nitya was bewildered at the reception.

“No No.. It is just that my friend here thinks you are a figment of my imagination.” I laugh.

“What?” Nitya is confused.

I look at Manjula, “You think Nitya has simply leapt out of the computer and come walking to this pantry?”

Manjula nods, “That’s exactly what I think. You need to visit a psychiatrist ASAP.”

Nitya stands up, “This is nonsense.”

“Wait Nitya. I am sorry.” I walk to her, “This is bizarre I know but she thinks you are not real.”

“Who thinks I am not real?” Nitya is obviously hurt.

“Manjula” I say.

“Manjula who?” Nitya is puzzled.

“That’s her.” I point to Manjula.

Nitya looks at her – “Her?”

“Yes”

“But I don’t see anybody there!”

I slump back into the chair.

The End.
© Copyright 2007 Platypus (platypusd at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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