And he thought he will always be alone. That day he sat penning down his thoughts. His thoughts. His poems. He started writing. Words started flowing. Grabbed a rhythm. And then a miracle happened !

A girl was born !

Yes, a girl of his dreams was born in his poems ! He never thought he would be able to find someone for himself but, here she was. Staring at him, with those beautiful eyes created by him. She was so beautiful. He got so mesmerised in her beauty that he forgot everything. Now, he had no other work except to write about her. How would she move. How would she eat. How would she dance. Each and everything.

He named her Ghazal !

Ghazal became a poem of his life. He would imagine her walking with him. Sleeping with him. Waking him up. Ghazal got involved in his life so much that he felt complete. Now, he didn’t need anyone.

One day Ghazal came in his dreams. She wanted him to make love to her. He immediately got up and started writing. Creating a beautiful poetry of love. Celebrating her beauty and his love ! He loved his small world. World which has Ghazal in it.

Slowly and steadily, their lives were getting entwined into each other. He created a past for them. How they met? How he lured her to love him? How their parents were against their marriage. How on one wintry night they ran from home to his friend’s place and got married. Everything. Now, they had these memories for their nostalgia. World was so real !

19th November, 1942.
It was a wintry night. He cosied up to Ghazal and asked her to make tea for him. She also got up quietly and left. Suddenly, there was a hard knock at the door. Someone was banging the door madly. Confused, he got up and opened the door. His childhood friend Rudra was standing. He was sweating and was scared to death. Next to him, was Ghazal !

“But is it possible? How can she be real ? She cannot”. Perplexed, he kept on thinking about his muse and her. “We need your help”. Rudra’s voice brought him back from his thoughts.

Rudra came inside with the girl. He introduced her to him. Her name was Ghazal. Shocked ! It was so unbelievable. He felt as if he was dreaming. He prayed he was dreaming. But he was not. He struggled to be normal and asked Rudra and Ghazal to sit. Rudra then started telling him their story. How they met, how he lured her to love him and now, how their parents are against their marriage.

It was becoming more and more difficult for him to believe what was unleashing in front of him. How can my story be converted into real life of my friend? Ghazal was mine. No one can take her away from me. He went back and started reading his poems again and again. Where did he go wrong? Suddenly, he struck on the name of the male character of his poems ‘Rudra’. But didn’t he write his own name? Was he not the male protagonist in the poems? Was he not the lover of Ghazal? But, what is his name? He couldn’t recollect his name. He tried hard but failed. He searched for his identity card. He searched and searched for every paper which could tell him his name. Lost, baffled, he ran out and held Rudra forcefully. “Do you know my name? What is my name ?”. He questioned. Rudra, taken aback, said, “you are my childhood friend. I didn’t know anyone in this city and that is why I came to you. But, I am sorry. I don’t remember your name. I thought you won’t ask as you recognised me”.

Close to tearing his hair apart, he ran outside. He knocked the door of his neighbour and asked his name. He told him that he knows him only as ‘Mehta ji’. He knocked the second door. Same answer. Third. Same answer. Last. Same answer.

Mad, he ran back to his house. Rudra and Ghazal both were not there. He searched the house. No one. He went to his room to see his poems. He flipped the pages. No poems. Just white sheet of plain paper.

7 AM. He got up. “Thank God! It was a dream. Sorry, nightmare!”. “Horrible ! It was”. He went to kitchen and started making coffee. Still sipping coffee, he went to his table and started flipping the pages. Yes, Ghazal, was still there in the poems but his name ?
Just Blank.


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