LOCKDOWN MUSINGS

(I am in bed, wide awake. Talking to myself, listening to the prevailing silence, trying to be as real as I am, understanding myself. I confront a war between my thoughts)

“What’s most frustrating than a poor network connection?” 


“When there’s a lot going on in my head, more than other days, and I am unable to pour it all out on paper. And I guess I am frustrated today, because today is one of those days when words elude me.”


“Write all of it tomorrow then. You could always wait a day.”


“No, you don’t understand…without writing my day is incomplete…I am incomplete. The paper is a refuge to my scattered thoughts. The pencil helps me fight all the battles of my mind. All my unanswered questions find their answers as soon as they are written in some corner of my diary. Every time I sit down to write, there’s always some person in my head, or some memory I am reliving, and writing helps me connect with that person, more than we ever did in reality. It takes me to another world, where I start seeing things from not just my perspective, but from the perspective of the other person as well. It makes me understand things in a better way, understand people better, and most importantly understand myself better. It is writing that streams me, and when I am unable to scribble over the blank page, it haunts me, and I know I am ruined.”


“Ruined, that’s a big word for such a small problem. It ain’t a big deal…chill and breathe.”


“BIG DEAL! It’s a big deal for me. That’s the thing, it’s a small problem, because it is not some other form of art. For people, singers are artists, dancers are artists, painters are artists, even chefs are artists, but writers, nah! They are not. Everybody can write, what’s the big deal! It hurts me deeply to see people take writing for granted, to take writers for granted. Yes, everybody can write, but not all can express. For everybody, the escape is different, peace is different and happiness is different. Just because all writers do is write, doesn’t mean it’s not art. It’s an art to choose the perfect word, place it at the perfect place and punctuate perfectly. One mistake, can change the whole meaning and people are bound to take everything in the wrong way. It’s an art to write the language of the heart. My father’s greatest gift to me is the skill of writing. Writing is something which brings me closer to not just the world, but also to myself. I can’t even remember what life was like without writing. The earliest memory that I have of me writing, is that of me on a stool next to the kitchen platform, asking for a topic to write, discussing that and writing while my mother moved around working in the kitchen. Since childhood, be it writing small cards or school essays, writing made me feel alive like nothing else. Each time I felt down, writing wiped my tears. Each time I felt over the moon, writing danced with me. Each time, I was heartbroken, writing sang for me. Each time I stumbled, writing held my hand. Each time I was confused, writing guided me, showing me the right path. With time, I have realised writing is what I am best at, better than being a daughter, or a sister or a friend or a student. Writing is me. Writing is not just my passion but my way of conversing with the world, my way of making myself heard in the most silent way ever, and most importantly, my identity."


"Sadly, there was a time when writer’s block colonised me and I felt pained, hurt, blurred, stressed and empty. I cried out of helplessness as no words came to me and I felt, the one thing that made me feel more than being just a mass of muscle, that made me feel alive had been lost forever. Every time people would tell me how excited they were to read my next blog, and ask me when I intended to post a new one, something broke in me, as I had no answers. No matter how happy and proud I felt, that my writings were being appreciated, or people were looking forward to read more or that my parents were proud of my work, the feeling of being trapped always overpowered the others. If it hadn’t been for my mentor and guide, Radhika ma’am, who has seen me grow not just as a writer, but as a person also, I doubt if I would ever have flapped my wings again and basked in the glory of my own world of writing. She pushed me to believe in myself and write, write what I felt, and not what people wanted to read, she motivated me to connect with people by being me and she inspired me to write everything my heart screamed, not worrying about being accepted or appreciated at all. With great effort and struggle, I came out of it, strong and better! But every time I am unable to write, I am scared- scared of losing myself, scared of living a dumb life forever, scared of not feeling anything and scared of perishing without leaving a mark…writing is my life and it is me, and at any cost I can’t bear to lose it.” 


“If writing is so important to you then why scar this beautiful gift with insecurities? For when a thing becomes an insecurity, it is a weakness.” 


“But I want it to become my strength. Let nothing else matter… judgements… opinions… critics… I will write from my heart, pour out my deepest thoughts, connect to likeminded people and let critics become a guiding light of what I want to do and what I don’t want to do.”


“But what if the writer’s block hits you again?”


“No worries for I will grow letter by letter, word by word, sentences would start flowing and chapters would come, and finally the book will be ready. If you understand what I mean to say…”