No matter how many pep talks I gave to the paper in front of me, twisted and twirled my pen and fed my mind with desperate hopes, the sheet remained insolently blank. The whiteness taunting enough to drive me out of my seat. I left with bitter resentment at not being able to produce at least one copy that was worth publishing but I knew I had to come back. I will come back, that is what I said to myself.
Thanks to the lady with the earmuffs on that, she pushed me just enough out of her morning tracks to arouse me out of my bizarre trance, where I subsequently pictured myself broke and begging for money from my friends like May does. Someone considered a termite to the wallet. But the sweet smell wafting from one of those food stalls, especially the exquisite smell of cinnamon left me fully awake. I was able to digest the sight around me then and was completely mesmerized.
It would not be enough if I said that the pavements were a shade of every yellow and orange you could imagine. Occasional greens peeped out from in between the darker shades, making the roads look like some five-year-old prodigy’s painting experiment. The wind was a rush of chrome yellow and the splendid redness of the environment was soothing and energizing at the same time.
Moreover the rising sun cast the most remarkable light to this already very vivid landscape. Every speck of the land beyond me was glittering with jewels unseen. I shifted my position and there in the nook of the park was a bare-naked tree. Its figure that of malnourishment, reminding you of the famine-struck lands. The bony, rough hands stretched outwards, fingers curled, begging. Upon looking closer this one leaf zooms into view, dying, the same shade of brown and orange with blobs of red, clutching onto the rough scaly branches of the tree.
Sure enough, the picture recalled my previous imagination, me clutching onto my quaint, meager supplies of sustenance if I couldn’t submit my article on time. More than that, it reminded me of something more positive. Something like hope. I wondered idly when it would give up and fall like the rest. The lone leaf was shivering and shuddering as the chilly breeze blew, its edges folding inwards. A sign of resignation, perhaps? Maybe. Or maybe not. At this moment it seems to be not failing and that is what I deemed important.
Of course the leaf will fall but it does not have to fall now. Presently it has more on its mind then to loosen itself and quit. It has so much at stake. And with this thought I turned back towards home where the blank paper awaits.
TASNIM GULZAR
X BLUE
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