"Tell me Miss Anjali, why do you want to join my class? What is it that makes you write?"
Professor Das picked up the girl's story as he stared at her over his glasses. Clad in jeans and an attractive top, she had some fancy necklace and earrings to grace her beauty. Observing people was one of professor's hobbies. After observing, he liked to draw his own perceptions about them. And then as he got to know them over time, he checked if his theories were true.
Watching the girl, he believed she was there just to pass her time. Another one of those students who joined his writing class just because they found it to be comparatively easier. The perfect kind of people he didn't want in his class.
"I write to cry sir."
Over the years, he had many different answers to this question. But he had to admit, this was the most unique one. And the fact that it came from someone whom his theory rejected upon first look baffled him more.
"Please elaborate miss."
Silence engulfed the class for a minute. Neither did Anjali speak a word, nor professor Das asked anything. They just stared at each other, trying to find some unknown answers. And the others, they just sat there puzzled.
Finally, Anjali broke the eternal silence.
"You see sir, my world is full of thorns. And amidst all that, I'm allowed to be a soft petal. Yet, when one of those thorns hurt me, I'm not allowed to shed a tear. I'm supposed to gulp it all and behave as it never happened. And so, I write because I cannot cry.
"What you see on those pages, they aren't just some words sir. They're the tears which have dripped from my pen. By joining your class, I want to learn some different ways of shedding my tears."
It was one of those rare moments when professor Das's perceptions were broken. Along with him, the entire class stared at Anjali with awe. All twenty of them, except one. Couple of seats behind Anjali, another girl had a mild smile on her face. Noticing it instantly, professor Das gave her a curious look. Checking his list, he looked up at the girl again.
Clad in a simple salwar kamiz and devoid of any makeup, she looked like an honest individual. Someone who'd always work by the rules and make truth her companion. For that sole reason, that smile on her face made the professor curious. Either She didn't believe in what Miss Anjali said, or he was again in for a surprise.
"What makes you smile miss Nadini?"
It took her a moment to realize that the question was addressed at her.
"Oh, I'm just smiling at life sir."
Professor Das lowered his glasses even more as he strained his eyes on her. Those questioning eyes were enough to ask her to continue.
"You see, even I'm a soft petal in the world of thorns. But the difference is, I want those thorns to prick me. Because then, whenever I cry, my tears would he misunderstood as something caused by the thorns. But in reality, they arise from the shackles.
"My parents don't know that I'll be joining your class. And I'd like to keep it that way. The reason is simple. At my house, having a hobby is considered as a devil. What you see in those pages, they aren't just some words. Each of them are equal to a drop of my blood.
"The only reason I want to join your class is to write sir. I'm crying to write and this is my only gateway to it. The only place where I can let myself free. The only hour when I can forget all the thorns. The only way I can write sir."
Once again in a matter of minutes, professor Das's theory took a blow.
Out of the twenty students present in that room, only two were selected for professor Das's class.
One, who wrote to cry. And the other, who cried to write.
***
"Writing should never be confined. Neither in shackles, nor in emotions."
So, what's your reason to write?
