The Start of Unfailing
A vision that had been obliviated and hibernated for a very long time existed like a mirage in my journey, making its inception in a predicament. For all the reasons that had hindered my insight, I had a persuasive explanation to conceal my fear. Within the first few days, I lost hope and nearly gave up. An idea, once it takes hold of the mind, is almost impossible to eradicate; it began again. However, it was neither fully formed nor understood. If it actually worked, my life might change positively. It was a blind belief.
There was a pause.
For an infinite amount of time.
I almost renounced in despondency because I thought I couldn’t bring this task to an end. One reason was an inferiority complex, and the second was discouragement due to the dispiritedness of the people I had narrated to.
And another pause followed.
People’s interference cast down my conviction. Yet, my decision was not to frame a whispered remark on my aspiration to this form of art; I wanted to learn and evolve into a new me. It began again, this time on a serious note. The initial days were a fierce scuffle. Later, it became a blow with emotional impact, followed by insecurity and uneasiness that extended to insomnia, fueled by an eagerness to finish the task.
I believed in my plot, and the only part of my work I truly loved was the first ten sentences. In my introspection, I understood that I succeeded in surviving against heavy odds and managed to collapse the blockade between my struggle with bad narration and the expectation of creating a masterpiece. Initially, my inventive realism felt like a dream, but it is now true, and I am glad that I was able to carve a path through the blockade. I know I did not create a masterpiece, but it is reasonably good work.
There are 100 steps to the destination
My first step completed!
Just 99 more to go.
I am one step closer to my most awaited dream.
Nearing the real destination,
I need extensive preparation
And I require skills like an erudite.
I may fall behind.
But, I will not give up…
—Venky
I began to scribble my story. Initially, I was ignorant and did not anticipate the heavy odds I would face later. Soon, I realized that I had taken on a titanic task. An enthusiastic but immature writer was left with merely 26 letters, unsure how to arrange them to match his artistic vision in the narration. We all know that on the silver screen, there is exaggeration; to captivate the audience, there are luring visuals and harmonious music to intensify the narration. How then is it possible to create a similar impact on paper, an engrossing read? Among the countable number of books I have read, I found that reading often contains more grip than watching movies based on those books.
I named it “UNFAILING.” I still admit that I am not yet ready to designate myself as a writer. The path I have planned now demands new and interesting writings, one following another. This choice requires impeccable learning, relentless research, and untiring exploration. I look forward to continuing this chapter of my life to live up to the definition of my first title, “UNFAILING,” and to become a real writer.
Writing fiction has its advantages. As an author, I introduce minute details of my characters and the backdrop, guiding readers to visualize the story while leaving much to their imagination, which knows no bounds. To elevate heroism, the protagonist makes hard decisions and overcomes the impossible, stretching beyond where the common man would actually give up. In my book, I use the creative freedom of fiction to establish the protagonist’s role. He does not lose hope in the face of near-impossible survival conditions, while the balancing act of nature remains an immense challenge as it exists.
I will begin with my story.
Those were my college days—some of the most memorable times to look back on. I worked as an assistant in an internet center for a daily wage of ₹50. Just imagine an internet café with four computers running and the first Reliance mobile. It was an internet center in the mid-2000s, frequented mostly by college students and infatuated lovebirds. There was a rush only during examination results; the rest of the time, it was all free. Mornings were dull and drowsy, but every evening was lively, from Sunday to Saturday. A team of interesting, enthusiastic people gathered for confabulation initially, but soon this practice led to profound discussions. I reminisce about those times in the corner of a two-story business tower, opened after a shallow corridor. That place, where strangers met, talked eloquently about international politics, stock markets, and many other topics.
Each day had two shades. In the mornings, I would hear kissing noises from private cabins, and in the evenings, I would listen to all kinds of people. Sometimes, I participated. When I did, I told stories—a mixture of Indian mythology, World Wars, Hollywood movies, and some of my own creation.
Storytelling was my primary career ambition back then. These were the days of the emerging internet, and piracy was on the rise. One fellow from the city used to visit the internet center often on holidays and weekends. He would share new pirated movies, most of them B-grade, of course. Obviously, I couldn’t watch porn in the open as I sat outside the private cabins at the entrance. I was a good boy for all visitors and was conscious that if someone noticed, it would bring me a bad reputation. Among all the collections of porn and Hollywood films, the eye-catching name was The Lord of the Rings. The pirated version was truly discouraging, and I later watched it on a big screen. The very first dialogue rushed my adrenaline: Lady Galadriel’s narration from The Lord of the Rings:
The world is changed:
I feel it in the water,
I feel it in the earth,
I smell it in the air…
Much that once was is lost. For none now live who remember it.
Thank you, sir, Mr. J.R.R. Tolkien. This is precisely what I was hoping for at the start of my endeavour. To begin my narration, to write and tell stories, I have speculated about such creativity. My desire originated at that very moment. After graduation, my creative pondering was set aside as I sought life in the city. The gap between expectation and reality put me in significant trouble. I understood that the struggle for existence is a never-ending process, unless you are brave enough to pursue what you have envisioned. I hope my time has now come to sever those attached strings—to think big, learn more, and live a step ahead.
