Prisoner of Time

Tomorrow is my son turning 3. We are planning a grand birthday party. When He was born something changed in me. Only last week I realized what it was. Now I feel answerable to him. When he plays and runs, my heart rate goes up. My wife keeps telling me "Don’t spoil him, let him fall and stand up on his own. No need to run and console him every time." She is sorted in her head. Her name is Kyra. She advised me to pursue Masters degree in psychology. Her one advised changed our life. Today I am creative manager designing advertisements at O & M, living in 2 BHK in Versova, Mumbai.

Driving back from office. It's 6 PM. I have not yet decided how I am going to tell my family this bad news?

There is always a news if you browse Indian News channels. Yesterday they were running a story on milk coming out a acacia tree and if you drink some drops of milk all your bad karmas will vanish. Three priest who taking caring of the tree were selling each drop for Rs. 500. I should go check their address and buy few drops. I need them badly.

Kyra has still has not returned from shopping, I can see her car is not here. This evening time, birds singing the last song of the day, children playing in park, old members of our society taking slow walk and road lights lighten up.

I lit the candles on dinner table. Kyra loves to have dinner this way. I serve her rice and green veg and tell her I resigned today. I want to became a writer and I have already sent my collection of short stories to publishers. But she keeps eating in silence and gives a short smile. We finish our dinner and go to sleep.

I wake up at 8 AM and find a strange silence in home. Kyra is gone with my son. I try calling her. She does not answer. I send her a text. No reply. I call my mother to ask did Kyra called her and where she is? My mother hung up and says "never call me again." On facebook I try to find Kyra's location if she checked in a hotel or taking a flight from airport, and I find my father have unfriended me.

Six months have have passed Nobody has contacted me and nobody answering my calls and messages. Time is a strange experience. If you have clear goal in life, you always feel of sort of time. And if you don't know for what purpose you took birth you find time is a prison.

My purpose is to be a writer. Telling stories of people who can't tell through writing. I am writing incessantly and reading Chekhov, Murakami & Kafka. I forgot to tell my name, it is Yash. I wake up at 5 AM, walk for thirty minutes, meditate for 1 hour, take shower, have breakfast and then write for 3 hours. In afternoon I watch movies and News. Evening I read and write for 2 hours and sleep by 10 PM. This routine I am following from last six months. I wrote and rewrote three short stories in this period. They are almost ready, I say almost because you will never be fully satisfied with your final work, The more you revisit them the more you find them imperfect.

I am imperfect you are imperfect but I miss Kyra and my son. God please tell me where did I go wrong. Will Kyra never come back? What will happen to my son? I will leave everything and do what she says. Please tell her to call me once. Do something. I cant stopping crying.

When did I fell asleep yesterday on floor while crying for hours. My phone has beeped thrice from morning. Let me check. It's a mail from Hachte publishing house, They are ready to publish my stories, Asking me for Book title. I replied with "Prisoner of Time".

Time have changed. Its summer season and I am sitting in balcony looking at sea, a singing bird came and sat on railing and continue singing her song. It goes like:

"Sun never asked earth to return his sunrays

Human daily meets God in million ways

Mother was giving birth

Painter was splashing colors on canvas

Writer was playing with words on paper

Gods felt jealous

They wanted to come down to earth

And roll in dust

I travel earth to earth

Seeing the glory of God

With joy my heart burst."

Her joy was so infectious I started dancing and offered her rice grain to eat. She smiled and said thanks for offering but I take my energy directly from Sun. I requested her to visit me daily and tell stories from different earth. She promised she will visit once a week. I am excited for our next meeting.

Meeting at publishing house did go well. I signed the papers. Book is out. Creative head said If response is good they will love to publish my next collection of stories and the novel I am working on.

Novel is consuming lot of time. I did not get to see what is going on in news. " Diamond Vagina Exhibition", this is the news running on first news channel. Newsreader is excitedly telling " A 21 year architecture student from Jaipur had sex with her third boyfriend and her vagina of flesh turned into vagina of diamond. She posted her pics on facebook to inform the world of this magical transformation. It has gone viral. She has become an international sensation in few hours. An art gallery contacted her and they have arranged this exhibition taking place in capital city of New Delhi."

My father lives in Delhi and texted me. My mother is in hospital. She has stopped eating and demanding I quit writing and go back to my job or she will starve to death. I get another text. This is from my wife. She has filed for divorce today. I hear another beep on my phone.

It is an email. I open and read:

"Hi Yash! I am Kyra final year BA English litrature student from Gurgaon. You have saved my life. My family is pressuring me to marry. And one week ago my boyfriend broke up with me and posted our private sex clip on internet. It has gone viral in my city. I was thinking of how to commit sucide. Yesterday my friend gifted me this book. I turned some pages, And here I am waiting for your next book. Thank you. Kyra."

A single golf clap? Or a long standing ovation?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.