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Authors: Ravi Subramanian
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looked at her.
‘A love letter,’ she said and burst out laughing at her own joke.
‘You could have professed it verbally and saved yourself the trouble of typing this out,’ he retorted, even as he took the paper from her hand and looked at it.
He started reading it with full concentration. As he turned the page, Shreya muttered, ‘I wrote it down last night.’
He laboured to raise his eyelashes and look at her. ‘Last night? I thought you were reading my book last night.’
‘I was. After I finished your book, I penned this.’
He looked at her a bit aghast. ‘You wrote all of this last night?’
‘Hmm . . . You only told me about it yesterday evening. It couldn’t have been before that, right?’
His phone rang. ‘Damn,’ he muttered as he pulled it out of his pocket. It was Maya.
‘Yes, Maya,’ he said even as he indicated to Shreya that she could stay, while he was on the call. ‘Hmm . . . okay. I will have to call you back. Hmm . . . No, not today evening. I’ll be home late. I told you that . . . hmm . . . Tell them we will come some other day. Love you. Bye.’ He disconnected the call.
‘Come on in,’ he said to Shreya and led her back to his room.
Once inside, he started reading what she had given him. Shreya quietly sat down on the chair in front of him. Her eyes betrayed the anticipation of a child.
Aditya didn’t speak a word. He read the entire document from end to end. His eyes didn’t move from the paper for even a fleeting second. His intercom rang in between. He didn’t pick it up, just flicked it to silent mode without even looking at the telephone instrument.
‘What prompted you to write this?’ he asked when he was done.
‘I told you. Our discussion about the shutting down of a business and sacking of people got me thinking. I felt that it would be a good idea to write about the life of someone who gets sacked for no fault of his. And after I finished your book yesterday, I again thought about it. An idea for a plotline crossed my mind and I just wrote it down. I didn’t think too much. Just, whatever thoughts came to my head, I penned them down.’
‘How long did it take you?’
‘Four hours.’
Aditya was stunned. ‘You texted me at 1.30. Four hours after that would mean 5.30 am. You were already here at 8.30 when I came in. Did you sleep at all?’
‘Sleep is a waste of time, Aditya. I came in here at 7 and was refining this to get it in presentable shape. I didn’t want my first submission to you to be horrible,’ she said. There wasn’t an iota of evidence on her face to show that she hadn’t slept the whole night. ‘If you like it, you can use it for your next book.’
‘Plotting of a story overnight . . . Wow! Now I know what makes you special,’ Aditya said. He was genuinely impressed at her ability to conceive a story and pen it down in such a short time. Shreya secretly blushed at his compliment.
Aditya paused to think for just about a second and continued, ‘Great start. If this is the first plotline that you have written, it shows enormous potential. There are a few gaps, but then even after months of effort, authors leave gaps in their plots. In four hours, you can’t be expected to plug everything.’
‘Can this be converted into a book?’ she asked excitedly.
Aditya thought for some time. ‘Yes, for sure, but it needs one change in the plotline if it has to work for the Indian market.’
‘This won’t work?’ The let-down was evident in her voice.
‘Don’t be disappointed,’ he said even as he placed his hand on top of hers on the table. It was a subconscious move. She didn’t move her hand away. He realised what he had done and hurriedly pulled it back.
‘I am sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
She decided to ease the awkwardness by bringing the conversation back to her plot. ‘Tell me why it wouldn’t make a good story in India.’
‘Because you have romanticised the loss of a job. There is nothing romantic about a
‘A love letter,’ she said and burst out laughing at her own joke.
‘You could have professed it verbally and saved yourself the trouble of typing this out,’ he retorted, even as he took the paper from her hand and looked at it.
He started reading it with full concentration. As he turned the page, Shreya muttered, ‘I wrote it down last night.’
He laboured to raise his eyelashes and look at her. ‘Last night? I thought you were reading my book last night.’
‘I was. After I finished your book, I penned this.’
He looked at her a bit aghast. ‘You wrote all of this last night?’
‘Hmm . . . You only told me about it yesterday evening. It couldn’t have been before that, right?’
His phone rang. ‘Damn,’ he muttered as he pulled it out of his pocket. It was Maya.
‘Yes, Maya,’ he said even as he indicated to Shreya that she could stay, while he was on the call. ‘Hmm . . . okay. I will have to call you back. Hmm . . . No, not today evening. I’ll be home late. I told you that . . . hmm . . . Tell them we will come some other day. Love you. Bye.’ He disconnected the call.
‘Come on in,’ he said to Shreya and led her back to his room.
Once inside, he started reading what she had given him. Shreya quietly sat down on the chair in front of him. Her eyes betrayed the anticipation of a child.
Aditya didn’t speak a word. He read the entire document from end to end. His eyes didn’t move from the paper for even a fleeting second. His intercom rang in between. He didn’t pick it up, just flicked it to silent mode without even looking at the telephone instrument.
‘What prompted you to write this?’ he asked when he was done.
‘I told you. Our discussion about the shutting down of a business and sacking of people got me thinking. I felt that it would be a good idea to write about the life of someone who gets sacked for no fault of his. And after I finished your book yesterday, I again thought about it. An idea for a plotline crossed my mind and I just wrote it down. I didn’t think too much. Just, whatever thoughts came to my head, I penned them down.’
‘How long did it take you?’
‘Four hours.’
Aditya was stunned. ‘You texted me at 1.30. Four hours after that would mean 5.30 am. You were already here at 8.30 when I came in. Did you sleep at all?’
‘Sleep is a waste of time, Aditya. I came in here at 7 and was refining this to get it in presentable shape. I didn’t want my first submission to you to be horrible,’ she said. There wasn’t an iota of evidence on her face to show that she hadn’t slept the whole night. ‘If you like it, you can use it for your next book.’
‘Plotting of a story overnight . . . Wow! Now I know what makes you special,’ Aditya said. He was genuinely impressed at her ability to conceive a story and pen it down in such a short time. Shreya secretly blushed at his compliment.
Aditya paused to think for just about a second and continued, ‘Great start. If this is the first plotline that you have written, it shows enormous potential. There are a few gaps, but then even after months of effort, authors leave gaps in their plots. In four hours, you can’t be expected to plug everything.’
‘Can this be converted into a book?’ she asked excitedly.
Aditya thought for some time. ‘Yes, for sure, but it needs one change in the plotline if it has to work for the Indian market.’
‘This won’t work?’ The let-down was evident in her voice.
‘Don’t be disappointed,’ he said even as he placed his hand on top of hers on the table. It was a subconscious move. She didn’t move her hand away. He realised what he had done and hurriedly pulled it back.
‘I am sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
She decided to ease the awkwardness by bringing the conversation back to her plot. ‘Tell me why it wouldn’t make a good story in India.’
‘Because you have romanticised the loss of a job. There is nothing romantic about a
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