Dear curious readers,
I being a lover of creative English have always been inspired by the writing styles of Arthur Conan Doyle, Harold Robbins, Thomas Hardy, and Ruskin Bond. However, Daniel Dafoe and Jules Verne are not much away from the liked writers. ‘My thought My stories’ is my motto. Please inspire me with your comments and critics.
The two days have passed without penning the thoughts owing to an indolent mind. I was almost at the wit’s end.
The Third Day 2014
I have completed the third page, writing a new story...today as promised to myself.....I have taken for granted that ' I shall not put my emotions while the mind is taking crucial decisions...
The morning was as usual as yesterday except the doorbell did not resound when the milkman struggled hard to wake me up after a long open-eyed night. The last night was with an essence of New Year so the lost causes didn’t come ahead of the new plans. 2013 made me more thoughtful than I had any notion of it.
My, this time travel is in the Indian Railways.
The heavenly sight arrested me at the same moment when she indolently put her belonging aside on the next birth in the next compartment of Gujarat Mail...bogie no S6.. My heart stopped beating for a moment as the memories fled away 12 years back...yes..undoubtedly she was the one who had demanded my autograph on the stage at Bhaidas...The hall was thick and dense with the curious hearts. The Air conditioners were trying their best to cool down the heat of the excitement. I was being honored for my first Novel...And suddenly the girl rushed on the stage, grabbing my hand she almost pulled towards her..I was out of the knowledge that, I was almost in her stretched hands! The clicks of the camera made me pink and red. ........
It was the launch of my first hardcover, The Time Travel…inspired by Sir Albert Einstein, my most loved scientist. Traveling with the time has always made the human soul to explore the uncharted. The crowd was chaotic; the air was filled with excitement as the stage was almost vibrant by the presence of Sunita, an enthusiastic graduate in Journalism, however, vulnerable to creative writers as I was for her. Being a writer had never allowed me to mingle with the honored gender of females.
Writing with creativity is a passion when readers are more passionate.
The 8th Day...
It happened when Sunita came across my business tour to Turkey. I ignored her look which was straight into my covered eyes. The train was running as fast my heart was beating. She was not away from staring at me. It could have been possible she might need some help. But, the more I saw the pathetic routine of hers, the more I became stubborn. The unwanted sympathy could lead me to a remorseful result. That lady was not the right person to be helped; however, I deflected my raging eyes and fuming thought away from hers.
I am at the lands of Sultans now. The train journey to Mumbai had ended with sudden screeching breaks of the iron wheel at Palghar and the burden was going away with the other commuters. Sunita stayed at Palghar. The flight to Ankara was early in the morning so I couldn’t wait to enjoy a shot of Beer at my friend, Nirav’s home. Tired eyes and mind were not aware of the tiring flight of ten hours. The fare was not a problem as the publisher had already booked my ticket in advance. He owes me a lot. Mr. Mehta has been the most comfortable and confronting publisher for me until today.
Publishing with a generous man is luck.
The fifteenth day:
My conscience stopped wheeling me away from the deserted home on the small street in the north side of the small town, Cappadocia, a Turkish ancient town. I had landed there a week ago only. The town is very well known for the chimney restaurants, however, I was not interested in them.
The Cappadocia Region is located in the center of the Anatolian Region of Turkey, with its valley, canyon, hills and unusual rock formation created as a result of the eroding rains and winds of thousands of years of the level, lava-covered plain located between the volcanic mountains Erciyes, Melendiz, and Hasan........There are some memories still lingering in this creative mind. The lady, Ayca is still somewhere in the dark corner of memories.
The beauty in the beast had arrested me in her sweet talks. One month back at the Jawaharlal International al Airport, an announcement had enhanced my passion for visiting Turkey. The free visit for the Indian artist was the said commitment by the friend of mine in Turkey. History knows the turned pages of itself of the 19th century when Constantinople was the trade center. The gateway to India was overcrowded with the European traders then. The visit to the same country after 200 years could be different. The unfulfilled desire to visit a European country with the touch of India was only Turkey so without wasting a moment, a business class ticket was in my left pocket of the newly stitched blue blazer. The travel desk of the host country was much eager than me. A few beautiful curious eyes pulled me towered them. The exchange of ideas made clear that I was to stay for one month there with a team of artist traveling for a concert. The troupe of 20 was not happy to make me a companion. I was much astonished at their attitude when one of the artists ignored my presence at the checking counters. The luggage was to be sent in a lot. My favorite Aristocrat bag was pushed a little away. Ignorance is my best nature. A few deep breaths made me cool as ever I’m. A word of the gentleman was passed in a dignified manner and they accepted me as a passport of the travel.
Here, I ’m at Cappadocia, waiting for my Indian friends but the generosity of helping an unknown lady made me away from the sight of the meeting.
She was about 24, wearing a blue clock with a maroon scarf covering her beautiful face. A sighed statement for the help was enough for a humble man. I’m a bit humble when beautiful ladies are in front of me. The brimming beauty with the tears rolling down the pink cheeks made the scene more pathetic than romantic.
I’m a no hero. I remembered my dad’s words: “Never be a hero unless you are a hero” The uncertain timings of meeting my Indian friends was being disturbed. A single look and I was near the lady.
However, I never knew that Turkey was to become a passage to the Sahara...the uncharted land...
Rajesh Sheth Jan 2014 (Travels in the uncharted land)
Written on 1/8/2014 9:58:48 PM
To be continued....
