That evening, while his mother had gone for some shopping, Lekhchand was reassuring himself that the quality of his stories did not need immediate validation, and if the time is right, and nature is kind, it will find it’s audience. And even if it does not find any, the writer himself is the best possible audience to the process of formation, and the result that it delivers.
He considered the possibility of being bad or boring. But, rubbished it claiming that he was writing to the best of his abilities, and he knew that he was bringing some knowledge and skill to the table. Perhaps, these skills and knowledge were not complying with the ambition that he had from his stories, but what good was such a thought. He had gone through similar thoughts, too many times in the past. It was triggered somehow, and then it went. Not like he was learning anything out of it. “Write another story. And focus your energies on it.”, he told himself, and blanked his mind from thoughts by getting pumped about the new story he was about to write.
“This is funny. Only yesterday, I had been thinking about the lack of a genuine audience, and today I am getting this incredibly uplifting mail. The only thing that can top such appreciation is a few words from the girl I keep thinking about.”, Lekhchand thought to himself as he finished reading the kind words of appreciation that he had received.
He decided that he’d reward this happiness by having a cup of coffee. He had not yet had his quota, and felt that there would not be a better time than this to have it. He would go over the mail once again as soon as his head was lightened with a little caffeine.
He poured the coffee, this time a little extra than usual. And the moment he finished putting some sugar into the cup, he felt his hand knock down a container, and before he could utter an expletive, sugar crystals were scattered on the slab and the floor.
“What happened?”, his mother shouted from the other room who was woken up from her afternoon nap.
“Nothing. You sleep.”, he said,
“This is compensation for the happiness I received. Thankfully, the damage is related to physical things only. If at all, I would have something stupid in that mood, it would pain me a lot more.”, he thought to himself with a sigh as he set about the irritating task of clearing the mess. It wasn’t easy, since all the crystals would refuse to stick to the wet cloth in one swipe. There were some, which Lekhchand had to individually pick and dispatch.
Once, the mess was cleared, and coffee was had in quick gulps(he had not heated it enough due to all this unrest, and was too lazy to correct his error, because afterall caffeine quantity remains the same) Lekhchand went back to his laptop to read the words that had given him a rush, caffeine just couldn’t match.
“I went through a few posts on your blog, and totally enjoyed myself reading them. You give such a nice view of how your mind works, and like all the important monuments in the world, your mind is a place worth seeing. I could totally imagine myself being in place of Rishi, and feeling what he feels.
I am sure you have a great future ahead, and keep writing. (I’ll keep reading, I promise)
Pleased with himself, and smiling once again, Lekhchand thought about the strain he would put on his heart and brain, to compose these posts. “Even if one person reacts to it as strongly as this girl surely did, all that is worth it.”, he declared, not without melodrama in the theatre of his mind.
The next task ahead of Lekhchand was to write her a reply. A simple “Thanks!” would appear a bit rude for the amount of kindness she had shown. Still, he mustn’t express the restlessness of his mind too much, or he will lose whatever respect he had gained out of his posts.
“Thanks a bunch for reading. (And sending a mail.) I am glad you enjoyed my posts, and could find a connect with Rishi. That is all I expect from a reader.
The monument analogy is a bit over the top, and I don’t think I deserve that honor yet. Still, it is one of the sweetest things I have ever been told as a writer.
I’ll keep writing. There is nothing that gives me more joy.
Despite Lekhchand’s doubts over the word count of the acknowledgement, he sent it. Not long after, when the impulses of vanity had subsided, Lekhchand felt another event pass by in his life as a writer. Naturally, it was clear, that next time such a strong feeling would only be caused by self-disgust.