An Unpublished Blog

For the past eight hours Aaliya had sat beside Adhik in her denim hand-chopped capris and t-shirt, her hair tied back into a messy bun put together with a clip that resembled a shark’s jaw, her eyes staring out of the red square glasses into the blue computer screen. She was working on an article on “Blog Copyrights” for the online news portal she freelanced for. She sat in the midst of unwashed coffee mugs and print outs, scratching her head with a pen or nibbling at her nails once in a while. The only break she took other than the biological ones was to catch a breath of fresh air with Adhik in the small balcony of their apartment. As Adhik smoked, she stood their absorbing the noise and movement of vehicles and people in the narrow congested lane in front of their complex in Andheri, her mind pre-occupied with work. This was her technique to unwind; observing the world, storing them in her memory to reuse at a later time when she wrote. A tennis match was about to commence. Adhik stepped inside to switch on the television. Aaliya got back to her work.

"You know Adhi, freelancing is way harder than having a full time job”, she sighed still staring at the computer. “It’s so self-driven!" Adhik responded with a “Hmm”. The Williams sisters were competing against each other for a grand slam title and Adhik's engrossment in the game was difficult to distract.

It was time for dinner. Aaliya ordered pizza using the coupons from the previous week’s delivery. By now the order taker at the local Dominos near Sangam Theater, knew her name and choice by heart. In fact they had even developed an intuitive friendship. Adhik always wondered why Aaliya laughed and shared jokes with the Dominos guy more than she did with him. They sat on their couch eating out of the box, watching television. During the commercials Aaliya switched the channel to catch some scenes from “Sex and the City” reruns. This was all the quality time that she could spend with Adhik these days.  

Adhik, on the other hand, was much less busy. He did not enjoy what he was doing as a journalist. The newspaper he was working for had undergone drastic decline in circulation rate due to growth of online media. The company did not have money to invest in an online portal or even if they did, their competitors were already far ahead in the race. Instead they reduced their work force and concentrated on the mass that would not have access to internet and would depend solely on print media. And to those people, the only news that sold was celebrity or crime stories. There was no space for thoughtful articles on the deteriorating condition of Indian wild life or tribal India - topics that Adhik was passionate about. His boss had trusted his talent and had given him an opportunity to write a column on the front page of their weekend supplement. But he messed up big time. He wrote articles titled “A disease called Page 3 syndrome” and “Making news by breaking up”. Initially the chief editor agreed that these topics may instigate readers to think differently. But the reaction was entirely opposite. Readers didn't want to see any reasoning behind trash. They wanted the trash. Since then the newspaper was never published without the picture of a good looking face on the front page, no matter what the news was.

Adhik was moved to write a short column for some pages in the center of the newspaper, pages that a handful read and never commented on, pages that were used up to create conical paper cups for selling peanuts or lining shelves in the kitchen. He had attempted alternate forms of media like blogging. He named his blog “The India that goes unnoticed” and wrote about topics that were too narrowed and focused on issues that only retired senior citizens or the intellectual breed of aspiring journalists cared to read. It did not stimulate young minds which browsed the internet for gadget reviews, YouTube videos, celebrity gossip, or daily humor. The blog went unnoticed. His career was on a down slide. His pay had been cut twice. Aaliya's success that made him ecstatic earlier, made him irritable. He despised the page 3 journalists and hated the fact that his wife was one of them. They had stopped discussing these issues anymore. Their worlds were different and intersected only at dinner time discussions surrounding daily tidbits like household chores and phone messages and at outings with common friends to catch a night show at a multiplex or at a house party.

With her mouth full of pizza, her eyes fixed at the television screen admiring Carrie Bradshaw’s style of writing and sense of dressing in “Sex and the City”, wondering why her life as a journalist was not as glamorous,  Aaliya asked Adhik, "Did you make the electricity bill payment, Adhi?". 

“No, didn't feel like doing it", replied Adhik taking the remote from her hand to switch the channel back to the game.
“Didn't feel like doing it, what kind of answer is that?”, asked Aaliya turning around looking at Adhik with her eyebrows raised, holding a half bitten pizza slice in her hand. “It’s not about whether you feel like doing it or not. It’s a to-do, Adhi. I think I should just stop putting up those post-it notes all over the house", she said waving the pizza slice in the air trying to depict everything she did. The game resumed. Now Aaliya needed something really interesting to entice Adhik’s attention. 

"By the way did I mention who commented on my blog today?" said Aaliya with an excitement in her voice and a spark in her eyes that penetrated her glasses. "Prabir Roy, Adhi! Isn’t that exciting?", she exclaimed without giving him a chance to guess. 

“Cool! What did he say", said Adhik in an unperturbed voice, his eyes still fixed on the television screen. He had idolized the noted television journalist since he had started writing.

“My post was about the downfall of Indian television. How the dramatic saas-bahu soaps and these ridiculous reality shows like Big Boss have taken the simplicity of television away from us.”, said Aaliya sliding her glasses to her head to hold her hair in place. “I had mentioned how I missed watching shows like 'The World this Week' and 'Quiz Time' and how having access to two channels on TV with fixed schedules for Ramayana and Chitrahaar had worked just fine at one time. He commented on that. He supported my thoughts but added how people had grown used to having multiple options and how news was … ”

"Cool, I’ll read it later", said Adhik intercepting her. 

“Come on ..”, he exclaimed in response to a missed shot. The sound of audience reaction filled the room.

“Adhi", asked Aaliya getting up from the couch, picking up the pizza box to store away the leftovers.

“Yeah", responded Adhik.

“Should I send your résumé to Trina? I had met her for coffee at Mocha today”, said Aaliya sealing a zip lock bag. “She said that the HR firm she works for has been receiving a lot of requests for online journalists. Online media is booming, Adhi. Why are you so fixated on print?" 

“It’s not print or digital, Aaliya. It’s the topics that interest me. It’s my subject, m..my domain knowledge. No one cares about those”, said Adhik in a high pitched infuriated voice looking back at Aaliya. “And this is not the first time I am explaining this to you. What do you want me to do, write Bollywood gossip? Anyways, can we change the topic? The match is getting interesting." 

“Ok baba, don’t scream. You don’t have to do anything. Sorry I asked", said Aaliya pouring some diet coke into her glass and taking out a beer can to hand over to Adhik. “God knows why you scream at everything nowadays”, she mumbled to herself sticking out the tip of her tongue to make a face at him jokingly.

“Adhi", Aaliya called again, this time a bit softly. She was persistent in getting his attention.

“Hmm?" replied Adhik, swallowing the “Now what?” in his thoughts.

“There is this online contest for short stories and articles. Why don't you enter the one you wrote about the extinction of the fountain pens? I really liked that article. Or you could enter the one which you wrote on the tribal economy of north-eastern India. That was had great imagery”.

"Ok, will think about it", said Adhik interrupting her to somehow terminate the conversation. He detested contests. The thought of losing unsettled him enough not to try. Aaliya's constant nudging bothered him significantly. It was like being told by his mom to study for exams. The unspoken expectations were evident. He could not interpret the reasoning behind her pushy behavior. She wasn’t like this before. Was she genuinely concerned and trying to motivate him? Was she deriding him? Was she upset with his failure and did not like herself getting ahead of him? This wasn’t a race. Or was it?

The match ended late. Serena defeated Venus. Adhik wondered whether it was easy or difficult to win against someone you love. Easy, because you know the other person will be happy for you, because the win stays within the family. Difficult, because you think that maybe you should have given the other person a chance, or maybe the other person really expected that chance.

Aaliya had fallen asleep on the couch, cradling her laptop. Adhik got up to tuck her into the sheet that partially covered her. As he was about to shut her laptop and put it away, he noticed a page titled “Journal” with lots of plain text in it. The text was in edit mode and the cursor was blinking. He was curious to read what she was writing. He bent down to ensure Aaliya was asleep. He sat down and started reading it, glancing at Aaliya from time to time to make sure she did not wake up. It was an unpublished blog. There were posts for the past few months which had all been saved as drafts, had never been published.  As he read, he felt he was drilling through the shell that Aaliya surrounded herself with. All the posts were fictional stories spun out of her imagination. But Adhik could instantly identify the characters. Some resembled their common friends or acquaintances, people she hated or loved deeply. There were streaks of Adhik everywhere. There were scenes from their life, a striking resemblance with their relationship. He recognized some of his own traits and mistakes that he thought Aaliya had ignored or pardoned.

Almost every incident was a rip off their real life and revealed a truth that Aaliya had tactfully concealed from him.  For example, there were mentions of the day when she had missed an opportunity to meet an important person at work because Adhik had delayed her in the morning. “He was ironing his shirt and clearing away the breakfast table of all things. He hasn’t done that in all the time I have known him. And you expect me to believe that was just a coincidence?” she wrote. He remembered her being upset with him but didn't realize that she thought he had done it on purpose. 

There were mentions of poems that he wrote which she thought were strictly below average and amateur. In reality she had actually stuck them on the refrigerator with a magnet and kissed him saying "Awesome!"

She wrote about her dilemma of having to control his expenses indirectly. “Does he not realize the fact that credit cards are not some magic formula. The money to pay for those bills go out of our own bank account and we don’t have any god father!” The fact that she earned almost double of what he did was something they both knew but never discussed. She lied to her friends and parents about his career progress. “Why did I overlook these things when I was dating him? I knew it then, not like he has transformed. I guess I have”. 

There was the mention of how she had stopped being physically attracted to him because of his increasing waist line and his lethargic lifestyle that made him look and feel older than he was. “Every day when I return after an exhausting day at work, riding through Mumbai’s traffic and heat, it irks me to see him sitting on the couch in his shorts, sipping beer and watching ESPN. The house is in a mess, the bills unpaid, the AC on in full blast, the beer cans and bowls of snacks lying on the ground next to the couch..”. She had grown tired of trying to motivate him to accomplish things, be it to resume playing tennis and lose some weight, or to contribute to household chores, or to keep in touch with his family, or to look for a better job.  

She wrote about the disappearing chemistry and the looming negativity on their relationship. “I find it difficult even to talk to him or discuss anything. ‘This is how it is’, is his answer to everything.” The love had flown out of the window exactly like her mother had predicted it would. The responsibility was huge. Their interaction was strictly practical or physical. The moments dull. The bond weak.  Life with Adhik was not what she had imagined to be.

“Wow, Aaliya. This is you, really?!", Adhik thought looking down at her sleeping face. He shook his head in disbelief and let out a sigh. "Why the hell couldn’t you have confronted me instead creating dark character sketches of me in unpublished tales in a secret journal? ‘Cause you don't want your public image to be tarnished by revealing what a loser you are married to? ". He felt angry, betrayed, bitter, yet glad that the truth was out. He sat there for a while, with the laptop on his lap, his hands holding his head, clutching his hair in frustration, with Aaliya sleeping like a child beside him. He needed a break. He stepped out in the balcony to smoke a cigarette. Staring out into the open sky he tried hard to recollect the moments that constructed their three year old relationship. But nothing appeared before his eyes other than the words in her unpublished blog.  Aaliya seemed less ambiguous to him now. But this clarity had opened up closed doors that he did not want to enter. The reality had been clouding his mind for a while, nebulous enough to ignore. But now they were crystal clear. And it hurt him. 

He returned to finish reading the unpublished blog. Adhik was reading the last story. It was untitled. The tale was the darkest of the lot. It had shades of his personality that he disliked about himself but never acknowledged. As he read, he was tempted to modify its ending. He wrote a couple of sentences and deleted them. He was in half a mind to publish the blog or at least this story, which closely resembled “their story". He felt sharing the stories would give him a vent for his anger and trigger an honest conversation between them.  He was nervous. But his rage, at that point, overrode all other emotions.  After multiple doubtful mouse clicks, he clicked “Submit”. And the story was published publicly. 

A week had passed by. Aaliya was busy covering the news of an American-Indian student whose debut novel was accused of plagiarism. Her editor demanded more spiced up stories of the incident than the facts and Aaliya was working long hours trying to put together articles and interviews. She met Adhik only for twenty minute dinner breaks during which all she discussed was her work. Adhik cooked, cleaned and served her dinner. She looked up from her work, smiled and said a thank you. He sat quietly with his hands supporting his chin, watching her eat and talk at the same time. He could better interpret her comments now. She had never appeared more transparent to him before. 

After dinner when Aaliya returned to her laptop, the phone rang. “Aaliya!!”, screamed an excited Diya, “You guys never told me! Awesome stuff, man! Congrats on the first prize” 

Aaliya was surprised. “Diya, hold on, hold on. What fiction? What prize?”. “Come on, girl. Thought Adhik would have told you, already. Or oops, maybe he wanted it to be a surprise. Ok go check for yourself expressioncontest.com and pass the line to him”.

Aaliya was confused, yet excited. She entered the website while handing the phone to Adhik. There it was on the first page. First Prize Winner: “An Unpublished Blog by A.Rai”. She started reading the winning entry. Her excitement faded. She was shocked. It was her words, her thoughts, even her punctuation marks and paragraphs, her story! She was confused as she read every word. "Did Adhik discover my story and submit it to the contest? Wait, this means Adhik had discovered my unpublished journal and not told me about it. Why?" Too many questions crowded her mind. At the same time there was a tinge of happiness of another win. As she scrolled to the bottom of the page her eyes popped out. The story ended with a climax she didn’t expect. It ended with a different author. Adhik Rai. Followed by a note from the contest organizers saying "Congratulations Adhik, we will be contacting you shortly with details of your internship with a noted author". There were several comments from critics and judges appreciating the work. "You are the face of contemporary fiction!", "Interesting twist". Aaliya did not feel like reading anymore. She closed the browser and returned to her work titled "Plagiarism under Pressure?"