Towards
the last quarter of 2013, I had decided to quit my job to focus on my
writing. I already had a plot of a novel in my mind. All I wanted to
do is write it in peace, away from the grinds of daily routine.
I
had started buying the books I thought I needed for researching the
background of my story. And I found most of the books I was looking
for.
At
the office, I had put down my papers and had started serving out my
notice period.
That
Monday morning, I was just preparing the files that I need to share
with the team for knowledge transfer that day. When I got a call from
the Mailroom – which handles the deliveries of couriers inside the
company campus – I was a little surprised. I have not ordered
anything – which basically means books – in the last few days.
And I did not remember anyone telling me of anything that they had
couriered to me.
I
went down to the Mailroom to collect it. After signing for it, when I
saw the parcel, it was from my kid sister.
(I have not written about her before because she is so much
a part of my life, that writing about her seems impossible; maybe
because I still doubt that I am a good enough writer to describe what
a great sister she is.
She
is that most beautiful surprise that life offers you at the most
unexpected moment, making you believe in an all merciful power
looking over us, that most beautiful surprise that makes you forgive
all the nasty stuff that life has pulled on you before and instead makes you
feel kind and humane towards other beings.
She
makes me humane and human, makes me feel kindness and empathy. She
makes me believe, in myself. When a little angel accepts you as her
brother, you realize that you are not as damned as you thought
before, or as evil as you were accused by others. Her presence makes
me believe in the power of love, and my ability to love someone. She
broke the dark, cynical spectacles – through which I had been
watching everything; and I could see the beauty of life.)
My
kid has sent me a parcel. I was already smiling. I hurried to my desk
to open it.
Once
I opened it, what do I find? Lying inside, well wrapped is a book.
No, not just any book. It was a book that I believed I needed to
understand the geographical background of my novel. Unfortunately,
the book had gone out of print. No amount of searching of book
sellers – online, offline, secondhand – has brought me any luck.
I
must have mentioned it to her, about my futile attempts, and also how
important that book is for me. That was a month ago. In my hand was
now the same book. She remembered it. But I knew that she was busy
with her studies. And the book was not on the market.
She
must have spent a lot of effort and time on tracking and then buying
that book for me, not to mention the monetary cost. (Later, when I
insisted, she only mentioned that she got it from abroad.) It was one
of the best surprises I have ever received.
Even
more than her efforts, it was her belief in my dream. Writing has
been a lonely dream for me. But her trust in me, my writing – epitomised in her act - is an even more precious gift to me.
I
am still working on my novel. But I also write the occasional short
story and send it out to magazines. But no matter, what I am working
on, I keep that book right in front of my eyes, on my writing table. And every time I get
a rejection email – which is almost too often – I just pick up
that book, hold it for sometime, maybe read couple pages, and I could
feel that same surge of emotions I felt when I got it. I feel
motivated, inspired and I start writing again.
Each gift from my kid sister is very precious, very special to me. But this is the best gift that my Little Angel has gifted me. Her trust that
inspires me to pursue my dream.
Now,
I believe, I should mention the name of this person. Her name is
Priyanka Dey. She is already a renown blogger and poet and short
story writer. And she is my Little Angel.
