Letter #4

Dear M,

The single most annoying interruption any artist or writer can face is noise. It intrudes. And that, I perceive is a crime. 

I am severely angry right now. I know you are probably laughing because I said severely but the truth is I wanted to emphasise on the intensity of the emotion. And now you will tell me, "it can be better put". I agree. It can. But right now, please, let me only be angry. 

The tragedy isn't when your life is full of things that cannot be changed. Such as family, past, friends and so on. The tragedy is when you don't even get the chance to make a change. And your efforts are unrecognised. God, that's disheartening for a writer. 

I seek validation like a monkey seeks shelter during a downpour. Maybe it is wrong. Maybe I should just quit trying to understand what people actually want. I remember you telling me that you never need anyone to tell you how you write. Because you know what you write is fairly good. 

I was surprised when you said that. I remember staring at your face while you held me with one hand and caressed Miles' head with the other. And then I realised that you are equipped to say it. You come from a family which belongs to the class often referred to as the intellectual elite. Your father made sure that you memorised Hamlet and once you did, he rewarded you with a 500 rupee note. My father turned away the day I told him I didn't want to spend my nights solving maths. I wanted writer. Although today he completely goes ga-ga over my writing, I remember a time when he would tear down the pages of my diary claiming that it was an utterly shitty thing to do. 

He was so much in love with Maths that he forced me to take up the subject in eleventh and twelfth standards, too. I couldn't cope with it. I wasn't as brilliant. And as a result I passed out of school with dwindling marks and got into a B-graded college. And ever since, everything has been a loud noise. 

I sit to study and there is noise in the library because girls and boys in B-graded colleges don't know how to behave. I carry my books to the PG and there is noise because PG girls like to "make some noise". I was unable to make it to any literary circles because let's admit, a student from a B-graded college is at once turned down. 

In the end, I am left with nothing but noise around me. And I fear I will grow deaf someday. 

Yours lovingly,

Nora.