It's June and it's time to get back to Write...Edit...Publish... where the prompt is based on the iconic sci-fi movie by Steven Spielberg - Close Encounters of the Third Kind. There is much going on at WEP apart from the Challenges, we have a series of 'how-to' articles relating to writing, publishing and flash fiction, we are actively working on the modalities of the antho, so do go check out the site and keep your eyes peeled and ears cocked.
Re the Challenges, let me repeat here what I've said on the WEP site also - the prompt being drawn from a movie poster doesn't mean the writing has to reflect the movie in any detail - not the plot, not the genre, nil, zilch, nada. Use any element that you want from it, whatever inspires you, whatever small or big part helps your interpretation come together. You don't have to watch the movie and/or know a single thing about it.
That said, I'm myself using the prompt only tangentially to continue the story that I started last December. With a minor change of voice, as I find the mixed first and second POV I had started with has got too restrictive, I had no inkling the story would grow to this length. This is the 4th part, done in a simple first person POV. Read the other parts here (Chiaroscuro I), here (Chiaroscuro II : The Evidence in Black & White) and here (Chiaroscuro III : Colour it Beautiful)).
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For those who don’t have the time to read previous entries, here’s a brief synopsis -
The MC finds a B/W profile picture on a social media platform intriguing. He writes on an impulse to the woman and finds that the picture is of her grandmother and was shot in a studio that once belonged to a relative, now dead.
The MC goes back to his hometown and explores the derelict studio. He finally comes upon a series of nudes of a woman in different stages of life, the last of which he recognises as the grandmother.
He finds a letter that breaks the bombshell news that his Great Uncle Sam, the studio owner and the grandmother had an ongoing relationship. He meets with the granddaughter in their common hometown... Read on to find what happens next.
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Incidentally, this here is my 1000th post here on M-i-V (I know! Who'd have thought, right?) For some, not-so-strange reason, it pleases me exceedingly that it's a WEP entry!
Thank you for being this massively enjoyable, grounding, supportive, cherished and meaningful part of my online world!
Chiaroscuro IV : River Flame
“Are you done?” Mukta smiled. “I’m supposed to be the one with the questions, aren’t I? What did you find?”
There was no good way to tell a granddaughter that her obviously
idolised grandma had been in a lifelong, illicit relationship and had at least
one child, if not all her children, from it. In fact, there was my family too – Sam Gain’s
nieces and the nephews-in-law. It had occurred to me that if Kaustubh was truly
Sam’s son – and so far the signals were he was highly likely to be, then the
studio belonged to him rather than my mother and aunts.
I looked around the café. It was one of those spanking new
ones, all muted geometric wallpapers, spiky chandeliers and futuristic décor combined
with retro sci-fi film posters. On my right was one from Close Encounters of
the Third Kind, across the room on the far wall were posters from Fantastic
Voyage, Things to Come, Forbidden Planet – all ominously apt. It was bristling
with afternoon crowds – too much noise, too many people, it did not feel the
least like the ideal ambience for the breaking of bombshell news.
“Do you really want to know?” I stalled. “It might make sense
to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“That’s crazy, no way! Of course I want to know!”
“It’s complicated. Not a feel-good story, Mukta.” I called
for the bill. “We’ll have to find a quieter place. I’m not saying anything here,
c’mon.”
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We found
ourselves one of those ancient eateries in a bye lane off Esplanade. The ones
which had those curtained off cubicles for so called ‘family’ seating, used more
as hideaways by couples reluctant to go public. It was emptier – unmarried couples
had far less reasons to hide from public view now. On second thought, maybe not,
what with the love-jihad
gangs – perma-outraged right-wingers pouncing on any couple unfortunate enough to
be mixed faith. Intercaste had got substituted by interfaith nowadays, that was
all.
“What was
her name?” I asked as I handed over the
letter.
“Janhobi.
Janhobi Jyoti.”
She read the
letter and sat silent for some time. “There’s no signature. How can one be sure?”
I was
prepared. “There was a bunch of photos.” I whipped out my phone – opened the cropped
versions and handed it to Mukta. “In the same envelope.”
“Still. It’s
not ironclad.”
“Pretty
much. Your Uncle and Aunt being named Kaustubh and Amrita, exactly as she said…”
“Where are
the originals?”
“They are
works of art. I thought I’d ask before I brought them over. They’re nudes. I
wasn’t sure if you’d want to see them.”
She looked at the cellphone for the
longest minute, silent. “Talk about digging up a snake thinking it’s an
earthworm! She was a strong woman though.” The smile had vanished from her
voice. “I can’t quite wrap my head around the lie that’s involved, that’s so
out of character. So unlike her. Scandalous, in those times.”
“It’s
scandalous now too. I don’t think our society’s broad minded enough to accept pre-marital
relationships, or children resulting from them. Folks would still go up in
smoke. Your relatives won’t be best pleased for sure. The man you know as your
father or grandfather all your life is suddenly not, how can that not be earth
shattering? I’m so sorry, Mukta.”
“This is just beyond belief. Does that mean my father is also not my grandfather’s...?”
“Listen, we could just forget this ever happened.”
“I don’t think I could. I can’t unread that letter, unsee the photos. I wouldn’t forget in a hundred years. Would you?”
“Possibly
not. What is bothering me is also that your family likely has a greater claim on
my Great-Uncle Sam’s property – his studio and the buildings and whatever else
was there. Not exactly a fortune but still…a whole heap of legalities would
be involved if there’s a claim.”
“Good
heavens! That also means we, me and you, share ancestors. We are some sort of
cousins or half cousins or something.”
“Yes.” I shrugged.
“That’s really the least of our problems, I’d think.”
“Will you
come for a stroll with me? I don’t think I can go back right now.”
“Sure. Do us
both good.”
The
afternoon had lengthened into evening. We walked out in silence through the narrow
lanes, crossed Esplanade and finally onto Red Road. The streetlamps came on and dappled the pavement with leaf shadows the size of my palms. I looked up at the great trees lining the
boulevard, filled now with returning birds, always a poignant metaphor whether
homing, migratory, nesting or flying off.
The silence
felt like a metaphor too. This wasn’t going anywhere. Should I have said
nothing, pretended the search had just fizzled out? Such a huge lie, though. Is
a pleasant lie ever acceptable over an uncomfortable truth? …Priyam cha nanrutam bruyat
esha dharmah sanatanah…Do not speak a falsehood even if it is
pleasant, that’s the path of eternal righteousness.
The traffic thickened
all around us as the rush hour gripped the city in its stranglehold. She broke
the silence at Victoria.
“I think I can manage now. Thank you, Shovan. For being honest with me. For everything.”
“I’m sorry. This was drastic.”
“It’s not your fault. And you did give me the choice not to know. Definitely drastic!”
“Think about what you want to do. And know for sure this won’t go any further. I’m only a phone call away. In this country and over there as well.”
She nodded, waved crisply, then turned and walked off, the set of her shoulders incredibly
vulnerable and lonely among the knots of waiting commuters. I would not blame her
if she got home and ghosted me forever.
WC – 954
FCA
Tagline : How not to meet an online friend face to face.
Read the other entries below.
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