Waterfall(Atul Sharma) WATERFALL


Occasional bursts of sunshine is all a man can desire on a cold and cloudy December afternoon, when the sun is playing hide and seek with you. I am sitting by a window, which overlooks marvellous mountains, and lush greenery scattered everywhere. The sun is blessing me with its occasional appearances.

As I am trying to insert paper into my old typewriter, my eyes fall on a couple walking down the road hand in hand beneath my cottage in Solan.

They seem to be just married with the show of love for each other up to the brim. They are showering each other with frequent kisses. A kiss on the cheek by the lady followed by a kiss on the cheek by the gentleman. And this process remains unceased till I could see them as the road delved into a small tiny passageway leading to a waterfall.

I had been to that waterfall numerous times accompanied by my desire to enliven up my senses so that my creative juices would start to flow again. And the placid environment of the waterfall everytime blesses me.

The small waterfall remains usually alone occasionally receiving a guest in the form of a newly wed couple who are always in search of a lonely place to gratify their desires arousing intensely after marriage as the cool environment of Solan arouses the desire to have each other more.

The sultry summer of the plains does not provide the requisite intoxification to kindle the fire of passion in the couples. So they usually head towards a cool hill station like Solan soon after marriage like a person pays obeisance to a shrine after his wishes are fulfilled by God.

I visit the waterfall after a dud inflicts my creative senses. I visit this place empty handed and when an idea strucks me I find it tough to give it a shape in the absence of pen and paper. And by the time I reach my cottage, a walk of fifteen minutes, that idea had lost its impact on my mind leaving me high and dry.

So, the next time I made it a point to carry along a pen and a sheet of paper neatly folded and placed in my breast pocket. Then for the first time my senses revolted against me as the dud lingered on and refused to budge even after two hours of soaking in the surrounding scenery by me. I was unable to produce any valuable idea or thought for a story. The second time this too happened, and then after a third time repeat of this phenomenon, I left the pen and paper at home. Only then I was able to break my inhibitory senses, as a story suddenly erupted.

And now arose the need of pen and paper. I wrote on the wet earth with my finger the important points of the story and rote them.

And when I went home hurriedly so that my rote memory did not betray me. I produced a marvellous story grabbed by not one but two publishers.

From then on I made it a point not to carry any writing material with me thus keeping alive the utility of the waterfall for me. And it has worked.


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