The One where Pablo is stuck on the same stor(e)y

[Submitted for an online writing competition held by Harper’s Bazaar with the theme ‘City of Stories]

(Journal 101, Theme: City Stories Interview of: Pablo G Time: 10:42 AM)

There is palpable energy surrounding the quite gigantic room, given that it was a cheap motel tucked in the interior parts of Southern France, Marseilles. Sprinting from one corner to the quite extended another corner of this oddly grand room is Pablo G. His worn out shirt looked better than the crisp formal wear a man struggles to pull off sometimes in his work place.

Pablo was struck and shook like never before. He mutters under his breath, “This time I have messed up things, only worse this particular time.”. Life never seemed this despicable but this very day, Pablo felt the water run over his head. He knew what he was getting into. That same rubbish arty phase he detested. A selection of wines was being flown in continuously to gulp down his insecurities and fear. The classic where the clothes are strewn all over the room and there are some cigarettes butts to kick in.

After pondering for a while, Pablo throws the cutlery from the table and finds comfort in doing so for that particular moment. He was stuck in that god damned storey of this motel tucked in the outskirts with no cable wires and no empathy to spare or find any. Pablo had always been the introvert who strangely turned into an ambivert a few years back. Eventually, he crawled back to shielding himself in his protective walls he had built up as a defense mechanism since childhood. Now here is a little secret that Pablo hides behind his tall demeanor and his husky voice.

He was battling anxiety. A fearful state was a constant where he feared travelling to any place or destination. That included a cheese market ten minutes away from his residence, also can be his scheduled business trips as an artist. It doesn’t take time for him to develop his beloved cold feet. Beloved, because he tucks all his confidence in his system and brings out the worry of travelling. The anxiety kicks in the most subtle way ending up in cancellation of plans, abstract paintings on canvases and again and some wine to go with his mood swings.

The next morning, Pablo discovers that his artwork exhibition was planned three days from now and he had to fly back to his hometown. Pablo spoke in vain to himself, “Shouldn’t I be overjoyed with the thought of going back to my native place”. Sadly, he found comfort only in quaint little rooms where he wouldn’t have to travel too much. He had never witnessed the colorful folk dance competition that takes place every Saturday two blocks away from his residence. He had never seen the flowers growing in the neighborhood. How they were blossoming and how their fragrance was wide spread. He had never seen the little hill behind his house where people trekked for a better physical and mental health and Pablo was oblivious of all the magnificence buzzing around him on a daily basis.

An avid traveler knows how magical it is to hopelessly scour for new places and avenues and in that process, strangely feel very one with yourself. Rediscovering yourself is one of the oldest tricks to understanding your soul and what it feeds on. Pablo was yet to taste freedom. He shackled himself and made himself immune to not having to travel anywhere and be unimaginably deep into his abstract body of art and his love for closed jail cells that he loves to call as a ‘cosy, coy room.’

A phone call woke him up from his mental slumber and he fetched the phone call with a bored look on his face. It was from an unknown voice who spoke words of sage into Pablo’s complicated twisted brain, as told to me by him. Pablo narrates the entire monologue that this unknown person had told him over the phone call.

Monologue of a strange voice from the other side of the call

(Day: 28th June 15’ Time: 12:55PM)

‘Life is too short to live in closed chambers that you have created for yourself. I am not advising you to jump around like a tadpole to a thousand places every day but exploring a certain activity and getting out of those closed chambers is essential. Can I stress on the fact that although you find comfort in your solitude, the outer world has a lot to offer on the table? It isn’t so bad. You seek happiness in the way you flip your brush all around the canvas not worrying about its final outcome. After a lot of technical difficulties, you find your way. Your art is worth millions. Why can’t Pablo apply the same idea in the way he interacts with the world?

It is as simple as it sounds. Get out of that god damned motel and find your soul. There are so many tiny details we miss out each day. There are so many interesting people we haven’t interacted with. There are so many adventures awaiting your visit so that they can take you for a ride *pun intended*

I was aghast, listening to the narration by Pablo. Here we are, having an interview on the streets of Naples, Italy, his beloved hometown. He takes me on a quite oddly, a very time taking the trip and gives me detailed insights about each monument, each and every little house and their national pride, their sumptuous cuisine. I shut my notepad with a thud of excitement on my face. I try to ask Pablo one last time who called him up that day but he wanted that to be the origin of how he changed slowly into what he was today a secret. He still resorts to ‘his wine and the classic clothes strewn on the floor’ habits he embibed since a long time. He altered it a little after the strange phone call. He finally got out the storey of his building and created and weaved magic in his body of art when he discovered his city’s stories.

Srishti Hemmady