The Boy Who Never Spoke

Show time

"I just loved it. I read that in two days flat. 'The Last Rose' had a mind blowing plot."

For past ten minutes, her face had exhibited the entire spectrum of human emotions while her lips didn't stop even for a second. Riya, the editor of Channel Four was a literature afficando who had seen quite a bit of his struggle as a writer.

"Gokhle, put that flower vase on the table. Waste no more. Hurry!Hurry !", she said at the top of her voice while Laxman sat on the wooden stool sipping green tea. "How has your new book been doing ?"

"It is doing good. Sold thousand copies in two hours on the first day."

"Do you say that just good or amazing ? Oh, come on Lucky..." She hit his arm playfully as he watched her with a smile.

"You know what....that's what I like about you. Few words and yet full of flair.You can kill anyone with your words" She caught his collars as ran her hand over his black Tuxedo and traced his chest. Laxman held her wrist tight as she drew closer to him and looked into her hazel eyes.. It was a TV show set - she had forgotten for a while but not him. "After the show, let us meet at the Bakers' and then you can continue"

"Madam, the set is almost ready and it is ten minutes to the show. Sir, can move to his seat on the stage. The show host will join you soon.", the set director said.

"It's show time", he whispered. Riya's eyes were still fixed on him while he adjusted his suit.

"All the best. Set the stage on fire just like you do. I will be waiting for you in the parking lot after the show"

She turned to the group of spot boys and shouted aloud, " Call Preeti. It's only four minutes left for the show. Where is she ? Sanjay get your cameras in position. Oh, where is the makeup man ?..."

" Hello everyone and welcome to 'Sunday Talkies" where we bring you the top upcoming artists of the town because the world needs to fall in love with art ONCE AGAIN !"

The drums hit the crescendo as the host turned her attention to the guest seated comfortably opposite to her. The audience clapped as he raised his hand to acknowledge them even before she could introduce him. The hall roared with applause like a sea waves rising and crashing against the shores.

"Thank you. Thank you,all. My pleasure."

"Mr. Laxman Rastogi...from where do I begin. An award winning screen play writer, a director, an actor and yes of course a renowned author whose new novel 'Lok' has become one of the highest grossing fiction books across the stores in the city, this week. Congratulations. It's your third book in three years and just like your previous two, this is well on course to create history. Aren't you surprised on your consistent success ?"

"I will be surprised if I don't consistently succeed. At the end, my audience deserve the credit because their love defines my success as an actor, director, screen play writer or even an author. So, lots of love to them..."

The decibel rose even before he could finish the sentence as claps and whistling continued.

"So, what is your novel 'Lok' all about ?"

"What is the first thing that comes to your mind when you hear the world 'love' ? It could be anything even abstract. Go ahead. Even anyone in the crowd"

Few said it was a romantic candle light dinner, few said it was holding hands and cuddling each other, sitting on the beaches of Goa. Couple of intellectual minded ones spoke of it being a feeling. Intercepting through the murmur of the masses, the host picked up her turn to answer,

"Well, I think of the beautiful bond that I share with my husband. The sense of connection between us that drives us both in our daily journeys. The care, the laughs together, the simple house meals and all that stuff. That's what comes to my mind when I hear about love."

"Okay, so it is about connection with each other. A connection fostered by words, expressions and celebrations. Have you ever thought of love that did not take the help of these things. I mean love that never or rather chose not to express itself. Sounds strange, isn't it ?"

He raced his eyes across the hall and continued

"When I say a love story, it is usually that same old cliche - a boy meeting a girl. They falling in love. Hero fights for his love and gets it.Blah...blah But let's put a spin to it. What if he just doesn't fight for it while the society as a whole plays a sinister..."

Gulping some water, he began

"It is the story about a boy..."