Fiction!

Woolf rightly said that to write a fiction a woman needs to have money. But she forgot to mention that a woman does neither need money nor sanction to live a fiction. A self-created fiction, I mean! Most of my friends wonder, what this nile is all about? Fiction dear! It is just a fiction. A fiction never comes true, I came to know much later.

Now, if you ask me to define nile … I'll do it in my way and stir your imagination. Have you smelled your skin in a winter's morning after you acknowledge you are awake, I say that’s nile to me. Call me a pervert, name me numbskull … I don’t mind! Have you ever spoken to yourself while you are walking alone? I still have never-ending conversations with nile. Sometimes, I even feel that when I'm reading a book, a voice narrating, defining all annotations. Is it a personified shadow living in my secret garden or my consciousness? I don’t want to know. I am satiated with this living fiction. Actually, I have comfortably grown up with nile. Be it my darkness or my sunlight, nile is there. Nile is actually those raindrops that made me smile when I had no reason to.

I am comfortably habituated living with this fiction of mine. I mend it, create it according to my choice. I'm the master, I'm the script writer, I orate, I dictate, I vision, I caution. It’s a world where I have my silent crevices and narrow escapes.