“Maybe I am cynical, but I really don’t think any of that stuff works for anyone who is truly broken. Serves us better to keep barreling forward and hope the demons can’t keep up. So might as well be who you are”. This was Niharika’s response to her lawyer when she was advised to try psychotherapy.  Niharika dragged her feet out of the courtroom as her lawyer looked on. Niharika had come out of her depression. But loneliness and her bitter past haunted her like ghosts, pushing her into a sense of despair and emptiness. Though to the outside world, she looked normal, deep inside she nursed her wounds. Wounds that refused to heal.  Niharika was fighting to get custody of her daughter. She was a victim of mental abuse for years. After the birth of her daughter, she went into postpartum depression. One day when she was with her child alone at home, her 6-month-old daughter almost drowned herself in the bathtub. Vivek, her husband, had filed for divorce and the custodial rights of their daughter. This was what Vivek always wanted and now he had proof to convince the world that Niharika was insane. The case was going on for months on end. Niharika’s lawyer was her best friend and was coming up with different strategies to try and get justice for Niharika. But it seemed like she was fighting a losing battle.  Niharika was a practicing doctor before she married Vivek. She had first met Vivek in her clinic. She had fallen head over heels in love with the smooth talker. It was as if she was in a trance and yielded to all his whims and fancies.  Vivek had a flourishing textile business. Niharika’s parents could not think of a reason to say no to Vivek when he asked them for her hand. He seemed perfect in all respects. The only son of a respectable family, well settled and well mannered. What more could one ask for?  A few months into their marriage Niharika realized what she was into. She had to shut down her clinic as Vivek wanted her to assist him in his business. “It’s only for a few months Niha, then you can go back to your work,” he had said but months had turned into years. She had broached the topic many times. Initially, Vivek tried to reason with her but slowly he started getting violent. He would flare up at the drop of a hat. Before she even realized, she was pregnant. Vivek insisted that she stay at home.  Things seemed to get worse with each passing day.  Niharika suspected Vivek of having affairs with women working with him. But each time she touched on the topic he shut her down with his scornful words. She felt stifled in the relationship. She tried confiding it with her parents but they would not hear a word against their loving son-in-law. Vivek was always very careful in the way he behaved with Niharika in front of them. To them, he was the perfect gentleman who took great care of them as well as their daughter.    Niharika hoped the birth of their child would fill the blank canvas of her life with myriad hues. Alas! That was not meant to be. Soon after delivery, she went into postpartum depression. The medication made her feel drowsy and lethargic. Vivek was spending more and more time at work. He altogether ignored Niharika and his newborn daughter.  Niharika had one day left her daughter, Inaya unattended in the bathroom for just a few minutes and when she had returned the child had almost drowned. Niharika did all that she could to revive her and rushed her to the hospital.  “You being a doctor helped save your child in the nick of time,” the doctor stated after treating Inaya. But his words fell on deaf ears. Vivek kept harping about Niharika’s carelessness and Niharika was immersed in guilt and concern for her baby.  This incident rang the final death knell to their already dead relationship. Vivek wanted her to stay away from Inaya. He thought she could cause harm to her. He had left the house taking little Inaya with him. Niharika felt lost. She was sinking deeper and deeper into the abyssal of her thoughts.  She certainly could not go on like this forever. She stopped talking to her lawyer friend who kept coming up with new ways to pull Niharika out of sinking into the marsh of sorrow.  Something struck her one day. There is always light at the end of a dark tunnel. She would, she would certainly walk towards that light.  That night she called her parents and had a long chat. Then she stared at little Inaya’s picture on her mobile. Saying her prayers she pulled out a bottle--- *** A knock on my table made me look up. “Can I please share the table with you? The place is full and I can’t do without a cup of strong coffee.” A pair of dark, small eyes stared back at me from behind the brown-framed spectacles. His blue t-shirt seemed to droop down from his shoulders as though it hung on a hanger.  I looked around and noticed the place was bustling with youngsters. I gave him a curt nod and went back to work on my story.  “Ptch! Ptch!”, unknowingly escaped my lips. This intruder had disrupted the flow of my story. Rubbing my fingers on my forehead I sat staring at my laptop. “Sorry, it looks like I have interrupted your work. Let me take a wild guess. Hmm, you must be a writer”, a soft smile played on his squarish face. The hair on his stubble seemed to gleam to the sunlight streaming from across the window. A few strays of pepper and salt hair played on his forehead. The prominent lines on his forehead seemed to propagate his age. He surely must be in his early forties. Hearing him clear his throat broke my chain of thoughts. “Your guess is right. I am a journalist by profession and a writer by hobby. But how did you guess?” I knit my eyebrows together as I looked at the stranger. At this, the corners of his lips widened into a curve. My glance fell on his perfect set of ‘Colgate’ teeth. The smile made his eyes look smaller, almost closed through his glasses. “I could tell from the way your eyes move, and your face captures every trace of sentiments as your fingers are busy tapping on the keyboard. You are lost to the world engrossed in the world you are creating. There is more but for now, I think I will stop at that.” His fingertips kept tapping on the table as he spoke. “By the way, I am Ajay Menon. I am here on a transfer. I have to report to work on Monday. This weekend is all I have to settle down. I am here to energize myself with some hot coffee. Would you mind having a cup of coffee with me?” he raised both his eyebrows at me. A scowl spread on my face as I thought. “Why should I have coffee with this stranger? All I want to do now is get done with the damn story.”  “I have already had coffee. In another 30 minutes, I will leave the place. You go ahead and order coffee for yourself.” Massaging both ends of my forehead I closed my eyes. “Fair enough. Taking a short break and going back to the story works best. A cup of coffee and a little chit-chat with a stranger can be an added advantage. But it’s your choice,” shrugging his shoulders he called the attention of the waiter. What I needed was a break so I shut my laptop and looked in his direction. “Thank you for so graciously accepting my invitation.” He made a mock bow. I had to smile at this antic of his. “My name is Akansha. I work for The India Times.” I put out my hand and he shook it firmly.  “Is it always this hot and humid here? I just can’t take the heat. Even with the AC on full blast, I am sweating.” He tugged at the back of his collar with the end of his fingers. I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost missed what he was saying. To make up I added, “The coffee here is the best in town. Though it is a bit noisy here it is convenient to work from this place. I am here on most Saturday mornings as I have submissions in the evening. I somehow try and wrap up my work by noon,” as I said this my eyebrows drooped, the corners of my lips followed suit, and my facial muscles clenched as if on auto mode. As always, they had let me down. “Why do I feel you are unhappy with what you are doing? I am sorry if you feel I am taking liberties and it’s perfectly okay if you don’t want to answer the question,” his soft, gentle voice seemed to soothe my frayed nerves. Twiddling my thumb, I sat staring blankly down at the table. I realized that I have become rather touchy these days. A trail of tears seems to be hiding behind the corners of my eyes. They just flow out catching me unawares. I pressed a tissue over my eyes even before they started watering. “Would you like to eat something? I don’t know what they sell best here. Can you suggest something? My stomach has begun growling,” One minute he smiled and looked at my face, and the next minute concern was writ large on his face. Ajay stared at my swollen eyes and puffy, tearstained face. “Is there something you would like to share with me? Look, I know I am a total stranger to you. But you have nothing to lose by opening up to me. If you think you are going to feel better by talking to me, go on. Otherwise let’s talk about something else, movies perhaps.” I don’t know if it’s my bottled-up feelings or his gentle words I felt like venting out my frustrations. Sometimes all it needs is a gentle nudge. For a few seconds, I gave it a thought. He smiled running his fingers over his stubble as though reading my thoughts. “I enjoy writing news reports on the events happening in the city. Be it political rallies, elections, natural occurrences, or cultural festivals. But the editor feels I am better off writing posts for the weekend special edition. He wants me to write lifestyle blogs and short stories. I-I feel he is trying to sideline me. Everyone se-ems to take me for granted.” I could feel tiny, teardrops line up like soldiers readying themselves for an ambush, as I spoke. Ajay just slouched on the chair listening and let me do the speaking. “I don’t know why I am opening up to you. This is certainly not me”, I mumbled closing my face with my palms. “There is nothing wrong in speaking your mind. You always feel better when you let out some steam. Now can you have your coffee before it stops letting out steam?” This certainly helped clear the air. Letting out a nervous giggle I picked up the cup. We drank the coffee in silence. And then I ordered a plate of misal-pav* for him. “Would you believe me if I said that I am also into writing? Can I read what you have just written? I am just a little curious.”  Seeing me swallow hard, “I can give you first-hand feedback as a reader. Wouldn’t you like that?”  “Sure! But it’s just a draft” I pushed my laptop towards him. Adjusting his glasses, he took some time to read the draft.  “Your story seems to reflect your state of mind. Do you always write stories that lean heavily on negative emotions?”, he questioned removing his glasses. “No, not always but most of the time.” He laughed at my answer. “That’s quite an antithetical answer. I must say.” This was the second time in less than an hour I had smiled.  “Do you know the stories you write or read leave an imprint in your subconscious mind? If you dwell in sadness, fear, and anxiety that’s the life you are going to live. Every writer goes through ups and downs in life. But they don’t need to hold on to it and keep harping about it. Have you considered writing, brushing aside your emotional state? If not, you must try it once. As a writer, you have the liberties to create a happy and secure world, at least in your stories.” “Maybe I am cynical, but I really don’t think any of that stuff works for anyone who is truly broken. Serves us better to keep barreling forward and hope the demons can’t keep up. So might as well be who you are”, I gasped. “Aren’t you using the lines from your story? Don’t tell me you are Niharika. Is it your own story you are trying to tell?” Ajay’s voice boomed.  “No! No, it’s not my story. But the lines are applicable to my life, as well. Somehow, I-I was not able to stop my feelings from seeping into the story. Unknowingly my emotions got intertwined with Niharika’s. I-I feel both of us are traveling in the same boat. Both of us are trying to find a way out of the whirlpool but we are left moving in circles. I am not able to demarcate the boundaries of my-my thoughts. They are in a way polluting my story. I am not able to-to think straight and the damn editor wants me to complete it by evening today. He has been promoted and a new editor is scheduled to take his place. I don’t know what kind of a monster the new editor is going to be.” I slapped my palms on my forehead. “I understand what you are trying to tell me. All I am trying to say is just give it a try. Let’s use the same story. Don’t change the story. Change the way Niharika handles her problems. Give it a fitting climax. You know, Akansha every person reading your story is going through one or the other problem in life. They want to read a story where the protagonist comes out of the muddle, she or he is stuck in. That gives them the courage to deal with their problems. Come on, Akansha, don’t you feel all charged up when you watch movies or read stories on those lines.” He spoke at length.  I noticed that his eyes conveyed much more than his words. Was it irony or sarcasm that I am failing to catch? I could feel my face going hot and red with anger. How dare he!  “It’s easy for you to say these things without knowing what all I have gone through. Sitting in a coffee house with the AC running in full blast, enjoying a cup of strong coffee, and speaking to a stranger; changing the way I think may seem like a catwalk. I don’t even know you. Why should I change my story and the way I think? Why don’t you just leave? You wanted me to have coffee and that I did. I don’t know if I can say that it was nice meeting you. Anyway, all the best to you. So long,” I got up to leave. In my hurry, I dropped the papers I was carrying with me. They flew in all directions. As I bent down to grasp the sheets, my laptop seemed to slip from my hold. I just dumped everything on the table and plonked down on the chair. Putting my head on the table I wept, silently at first and then loud sobs escaped my lips. It took a few minutes for me to compose myself. The first thing I did was to look around. Nobody seemed to have noticed. Leaning my back on the chair I pushed my head backward, closing both my eyes.  When I opened my eyes, I noticed Ajay sitting in the same position, cradling his face on the cup of his palm. A sudden sense of remorse hit me. I covered my face with both my palms, uttering “I am sorry. I am sorry. I don’t know what’s got over me. Please don’t mind.” “That’s fine Akansha. I should have been careful with my choice of words. I know how possessive writers are about their work. I am sorry. My intention was not to hurt you in any way.”  “Ajay, the first thing that hit me almost a year ago was my dad’s untimely death. I just couldn’t take it. He meant the world to me. How-How could he just disappear from our lives? It was just mom and me after that. We held on to each other for support. The next blow came when the person whom I loved and trusted the most broke up with me. He-He left me for a younger woman. This nearly killed me. It ripped my heart into shreds, leaving me broken and wounded. Recently my mom had a paralytic stroke. She is now bedridden. Despite all this, I-I continued with my work. To add ghee to the fire, the editor seems to be after my life. He-He is never happy with what I do. This job is now all I have”, I said it all in one breath. “It is as if my-my fate is sealed. Each time I try to recover a blow harsher and more severe is waiting to strike.  I hoped work would provide me with some respite but it seems to pin me down forever.”  I felt better after having spewed out all the lava from the active volcano deep within. I sniffled into a tissue. “I am eating this fiery misal* and your nose and eyes are watering,” Ajay tried his best to clear the air. I quickly wiped my face with a tissue and gulped down a tall glass of water.  The clank caused by the waiter clearing the coffee cups made me sit up straight. “I am sorry I got drowned in my sea of thoughts. Where did you say you were working?” I asked adjusting the stole over my shoulder. “Akansha, I feel sorry for you. I don’t know if you will believe me if I say I understand how you feel. Learn to let go of your grief. Some wounds never heal. Just let them be. When you start thinking and doing different things the wounds will dig a grave for themselves. They will stay alive yet buried. With time they will take a back seat. But if you keep ruminating over it then it is like scratching your own wounds. The pain will linger on forever.” He adjusted his glasses with his thumb and forefinger.  His face softened and I caught a slight tremor in his voice, as he continued, “Everybody has an untold story that they are trying to suppress in their lives. It is how they use that story that makes or breaks their lives. If you use that untold story as a learning and go on in life, you win and the story will die a slow death. But if you let the story rise then you have chosen to die a slow and painful death. So, it is for you to decide what you want to do with your untold story. Just give what I am saying a try. Let your story be a learning not only for you but also for your readers. Change the climax of your story and see how it will unravel a whole new world for you. And one more thing I have noticed that you stammer whenever you talk about your problems. That clearly shows you are not comfortable delving into it. So, just let go of the reflective writing and tweak some zing into it instead”.  None of us spoke for a long, long time. I let his talk sink in, word by word.  Why didn’t I ever think along those lines? Who is this stranger? And why am I being so influenced by his talks? I pondered. “That was quite a long chat we had. Now I need to get going. Take care, Akansha. All the best to you and Niharika,” his teeth shone as he gave me his ‘Colgate’ smile. This time I smiled, got up, and shook his hands. “Thank you” was all I could mumble.  I sat staring at the retreating figure. After he left, I realized that even after nearly an hour of chatting with him I had not learnt much about him.  I ordered the third cup of coffee and got down to work. I thought I had nothing to lose. All I had to do was change the climax of the story. I am certainly not ruffling even a feather from the wings of my life.  So, the first thing I did was delete the last paragraph of my story. Bending down to type I was lost to the world.  *** As Niharika picked up the bottle of sleeping pills something echoed in her ears, “You being a doctor saved your daughter’s life”. The doctor’s words kept reverberating in her mind as though trying to make it heard, to every cell of her body. “Why should I end my life when I have the ability to help and save other people’s lives?” she pondered. The first thing that she did was empty the bottle of sleeping pills in the dustbin.  She chatted with her parents, and went to sleep. Her mind did not let her rest. Like a stuck record, it played and replayed every scene of her past. She tossed and turned. By dawn, she had made up her mind.  She drew the curtains and let the first rays of the Sun seep into the room. Slowly but steadily the light filled the entire room. “Yes! I have the choice to move towards light”, she repeated it twice to herself. Picking up her mobile she called the attendants to check if they were available for work. Only one out of the three was still looking for a job. She asked him to report to the clinic at 9 sharp.  She could never forget Inaya, her little one but she would not let her emotions overpower her. Niharika knew that one day Vivek would hand over Inaya to her. That would be an easy way out for him. Till then she would wait. Till then she would immerse herself in her work. Only then will the bitter past fade into oblivion. She had to let her untold story dig its own grave and stay buried as she moves on in life. Niharika walked ahead toward the light leaving the darkness far behind. *** I almost felt a light knock on the table as I made the changes to my draft. How I wished to see the stranger again and make him read what I had just written!  Did changing the story make me feel good? Good? It made me feel great. I haven’t felt this good for a long, long time. I felt light like a porter who has just dropped the heavy luggage off his shoulders.  Just like the climax of the story I wish I could rewrite the story of my life. I cannot delete anything from the past. But I will not let it tarnish my present. With a firm determination, I stood up. This time I ensured to put all my papers together, placed my laptop in the bag, and then I was good to go. From now on I will not let anything slip past my grasp. I will edit and give the final touches to my story once I get back home. *** The first thing I did on Monday morning was to check my emails. To my surprise, I had received quite a few. Fearing it would be a hate mail, I clicked on one of them. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The mail was from a reader thanking me for giving the story such a positive end. I checked all my other emails. They were from readers sharing their struggle with depression. I pinched myself. Oh God! Is this true? There was an email from Manoj, the editor saying the story was well received by the readers. Today, after ages I felt like going to work. But I had to face the new monster at work. I checked on my mother before leaving. Her lopsided smile said she liked the way I had dressed.  For a minute my heart went thud-thud. I remembered the smiling face of the stranger and to my surprise, my heart started beating in rhythm. What’s got over me?  Shaking my head from right to left, I slapped my forehead with my palm. I reached the office well ahead of my usual time. The gossip monger of the office Malini, pulled me by the sleeve and pointed towards the pantry. Now there was certainly no escaping. “You are looking different today”, she chirped. I sat down with her sipping a hot cup of tea. “You know the new editor was at the office on Saturday morning. He wanted to meet the staff and Mr. Manoj before taking charge.”  “Oh! Really!” I gasped, “I missed meeting him. Now I had it. Why do I always have this cat-and-mouse relationship with my boss? Has Manoj finally left?” Malini was not even listening to what I was saying. She wanted to empty the load of information she had collected about the new editor. “Do you know what I have heard about him?” Without waiting for my response, she continued, “This guy is from Bengaluru. Do you remember reading about a fire in one of the high-rise buildings there? His pregnant wife, his 4-year-old son, and his aging parents died in that fire. It was almost 3 months ago. It must have been so difficult. Wait till you see him! Nobody can even guess that he has gone through hell.” I usually don’t give two hoots to Malini’s gossip but today I listened with rapt attention.  “Malini, I will catch you later. I need to meet him and give him an update.”  I could feel a slight tremor pass through me as I walked up to the editor’s cabin. I knocked twice before entering. He was standing with his back facing me, staring out of the window. “Good morning, I am Akansha. Sorry, I didn’t know you would be at the office on Saturday.” He turned and my heart stopped for a second. I was too stunned for words. Pointing to the chair Ajay gestured me to sit. “Good morning, Akansha. That’s perfectly all right. I had not informed anyone that I would be at the office before Monday. I read the story published in the weekend edition. It was amazing. Do you always write stories that lean heavily on positivity? “A smile played on his lips, just for a fraction of a second. Except for that smile, nothing matched the stranger I met at the café. The stubble was missing. His lean and fit body was that day hidden by the oversized blue, t-shirt. In a slim-fit, formal, white shirt, and beige trousers, he seemed almost 10 years younger. The man who sat slouching on the chair was today sitting upright which added a few more inches to his tall frame. His unflinching eyes and his stance showed he meant business. I felt tongue-tied. I wanted to ask him so many things but words just froze on my lips. “Akansha, as you know there is a national literary fest scheduled in Mumbai from the 15th of this month to the 22nd. I want you to cover the event.” His stern eyes caught mine as he spoke. My mouth opened and formed a small circle but no words escaped.  Regaining my composure, “Yes! Of Course, I will and this is what I always wanted to do. Thank you for your trust,” I mumbled. “Thank you, once again for everything. The change in the climax of Niharika’s story did wonders to boost my self-esteem” Giving me a curt nod, he went back to work on his laptop. As I was just about to leave, “This new editor is certainly not a monster. So, you don’t have to worry”, the soft voice of the stranger made me stop in my tracks. I laughed out loud. “Every Saturday morning, I work from the café that is opposite our office. I could do with some more prep talk.” I muttered. “I would do anything to get my hands on a plate of fiery misal* but I prefer it if only my eyes and nose, water, “came his reply as I walked out giggling. That Monday morning changed my life forever. My face caught the cool breeze blowing and my hair seemed to fly with it. Brushing my hair back with my fingers I went back to my desk. A happy, contented smile sat snugly on my face with a promise to stay there forever. I could see Malini walking up to me, her face looked as though it could no longer hold on to the information. “And hey, I forgot to tell you something important. It seems Manoj spoke against you to Ajay. He wanted you to be terminated from work as he felt your work was not up to the mark. Someone in the office overheard their conversation. It seems Ajay Menon wanted to see your work and enquired about you. Manoj told him, you preferred working out of the café opposite the office on Saturdays. Catch you later,” she uttered. I grinned as the mystery of the stranger at the café was solved. Glossary: Misal Pav: It is a popular, lentil-based dish of Maharashtra, usually served with bread.   Penmancy gets a small share of every purchase you make through these links, and every little helps us continue bringing you the reads you love!