On Writing: Part 2

(When I feel like I should be writing something, but can't figure out what, I usually end up writing about writing itself. Yes, I am a little crazy. You can read the first installment of crazy here.) 

I am having some trouble with this writing business again. What I feel refuses, adamantly, to tie itself down to words. Every time I plead for coherence, my thoughts run amok and hide in forgotten crevices of my brain. The worst thing is, I can hear them giggling. Pushing back annoyance, I try to tempt them out with offers of finding new friends. But stubborn that they are, they refuse to  budge. So at this moment, what I feel is not expressed in what you just read, or what I might write in future. My thoughts have eloped now to someplace where words can only dream of reaching. Despite all this maddening hide-n- seek, writing remains my 'safest' mode of communication. When talking I have a tendency of letting my emotions get the better of me. So what I intend to say and what I end up blurting out have a huge gap which almost always translates into some very awkward silences.

Writing, on the other hand, allows you to process the senseless chaos in your mind and let it out in a, somewhat, coherent fashion. Be it pen on paper, or fingers tapping away on the keyboard, there is something very therapeutic in writing as an exercise. So I find myself looking for reasons to write, sometimes I might have some ideas which reluctantly agree to settle down with words that aren’t their choice and in sentences they are clearly not comfortable expressing themselves in. At other times, like now, I sit down to write the first thing that comes to my mind. Just for the sake of it. If it’s blank I coax them out with the shadow of an idea and once chatter within begins, it’s difficult for my fingers to catch up with the madness inside and button them into a written, readable form.

Credit:  Robbert van der Steeg. CC BY-SA 2.0

At times, like a child (high on sugar) in a toyshop, I go wild and run in all directions. Suddenly there are ideas calling out to me from everywhere, promising me that they are the Next Big Thing. Why can’t they come one at a time, and knock for heaven’s sake?! I do my best to cater to the calls coming from all around and finally burn out and, frustrated, just try to shut it all out. Oh but once you’ve provoked the dragon, you can’t will it to go back to sleep. The clatter doesn’t cease so I go online and after some mindless surfing on YouTube, the most restless of brain cells have been numbed into a harmless buzz. This, I like.

I then take a calm stroll and occasionally stop to (after some mental acrobatics) take a whiff of thoughts which are bursting with potential yet restrained acknowledging the possibility of them never materializing for the lack of good words. Good words, I realize, are like Good men (or at least what is said of them), they are already spoken for or non-existent. It’s frustrating, to say the least, when you possess a seed of an idea that you know has greatness in it but can’t bring to blossom for the lack of those damn words!

So is there any way to get around this conundrum that all writers,at some point or the other, are faced with? Is there another mode of communication that can encapsulate things which refuse to reveal themselves with mere words? For expressing free-spirited thoughts which are so cocky in their own perfection that they prefer nakedness to the humble rags that the writers can (barely) provide? To this end, I propose funding a research on how to seduce good ideas out of one’s mind. A research so intense that these damned things won’t know what hit ‘em. So writers, take your pens (and your keyboards out), crack your words, and together we will work till the last standing thought relents and dances to our tunes. Let the (mind)game begin!

That Moment

There are some moments in life which are so vivid that they etch themselves into your being. Moments so fleeting that if you’d chosen to blink instead you would have missed them altogether. They dawn on you when you least expect it, at the most insignificant of times, following no particular pattern.

These unannounced visitors stay with you. You guard them fiercely, for losing them would mean losing a part of your self. So you store them in the deepest part of your being. Cushion them and cover it so well that no jolt will stir them from that state of rest. Life around you may fall into absolute madness but even in constant chaos, these moments you preserved stay still. So still that you’d almost forget they are there at all. But they are. Waiting for you to come back. Dust your insides and uncover them. Remove the layers, one by one, and savour the excitement you feel at the prospect of rediscovering something you’d forgotten. Let yourself be whisked away into another reality.

You will remember exactly where you were and what you were doing when it happened. Maybe reading a book, maybe taking a walk outside, or maybe nothing at all. Smile at the memory of not knowing a minute before how, in a while, something in you will change forever. Sometimes for the better, sometimes not. As you twirl around that moment in your palm, feel its contours and marvel at the intricate design. Smile. Sigh.

All of us have had these moments. And they are as different as it can get. For some it may be a smile shared with a stranger on the bus, a spontaneous outing to have ice cream with a loved one, watching your baby sleep after a long day at work or just sitting still and realizing you are happy, right here. Just where you are.

I experienced one such moment a few days ago. I was on the train going somewhere and was engrossed in a book. A little into the journey, when we’d made our way out of the maze of grey buildings and into the open, I happened to look up and what I saw, took my breath away. There it was, the clear sky, blue, dressed in silky strands of white clouds intertwined with the warms rays of the sun. From the right to the left, stretching out into the horizons was this incredible scene. The sky was a canvas for creative clouds, arranging themselves into this piece of art. Surreal art.

My initial impulse was to whip out my camera and click away. Capture it, store it forever. But then I stopped. This was the moment. And I didn't want to live it through a lens. So I just looked and kept looking. Letting it all in. Feeling so unbelievably happy and grateful and blessed to have this moment for myself. For once, I was glad I was alone to witness something beautiful. Because a shared word or even a sigh could have taken away from that magic.


And when I was about to leave that last stretch of beautiful sky behind, I took this because mere words are never enough to describe raw beauty and what it makes you feel.

Let It Go

On cloudy days, when gloom prevails
and shoulders sag with the weight 
of the world and its many folds
When you stand alone
watching the world revolve 
Crumbling, tumbling. Breaking and tearing,
Remember to let it go. 
Let it go.
Breathe. 
Don’t let the tears stop.
Let it flow.
Cup your palms and collect what remains of
broken hearts and shattered dreams.
Let the pain seep through your pores and
drain yourself inside out.
And just when you think you are done,
Pull yourself out and head back into the whirl because
The world won’t stop spinning if you get dizzy,
So hold on to what remains because
This is not the end. Never will be.

And remember,
Time will heal as it always does
the scars will fade as they always do
and the memories? They will just float away.

In Conversation With Old Age

I looked old age in the eye,
caressed her many wrinkles and
let a tear slide by
I took her frail hand in mine and asked,
Are you ready yet'?
‘I’ve always been’ she replied
‘I’ve lived my days and known my nights
Seen the world and felt it in my bone.
I’ve chased dreams over valleys and
swum rivers to find love.
Oh and I’ve loved and laughed
and shed tears in pain too.
So I have lived and
I am ready.
But you, dear child, are not.
Your clear skin and agile bones have blinded you to life
and her deceptive ways.
You’ve taken for granted every sprightly step
Too drunk in youth, you don’t realize that
This Won’t Last.
Your steps will become slower, your breaths sharper
stabbing at your heart everyway
Eyes cloud, ears fail and soon
you will begin to trust yourself a little less each day.
And then, when your memory begins to fade,
you will remember-
this wasn’t the case.
But now,
All doors have closed and
there’s no where left to go.

Implode

Blinded in Bliss,
I traded my dreams for yours because
The world ended
where you began
Your pleasure my only goal,
I stacked old wishes in dusty corners
where you’d never look and
In imagined futures I saw us:
I was yours and
You belonged to the world
But I built sand castles too soon
on shaky grounds
where the winds never cease
and illusions don’t exist.
On a summer day you left,
my shattered spirit in tow
while I came apart,
one dream at a time.

Before I forget...

Before half remembered thoughts become me and
you become just another face 
Before the last streaks of memory fade away 
taking with it your name
Before I forget,
Let me remember love
as it was supposed to be
Me and you
Before blanks spaces invade
and nostalgia becomes an empty frame,
Come, make yourself known.

On the subject of writing...

It’s been long since I’ve written anything significant. The truth is, I am afraid. Afraid of not living up to what I wish for myself. It sounds silly, I know, but there is a reason. I cannot begin to describe how much I value writing, as a mode of expression and as a creative outlet. I’ve always been in awe of how we can take random words and string it together to create something so meaningful that it can move hearts and etch itself in ones memory. The right words together can make magic. It can spark love and break hearts too. Just play around with words, and you can elicit any emotion you want in the reader and in yourself too.

This realization of the power of words is precisely what keeps me from writing. Frankly, I am terrified. Of words. And yet,I constantly feel this intense need to write something, Anything. But I’m always waiting for that perfect beginning, for that spectacular end. It’s like, I can’t start without knowing for sure where I am going. But that’s not how writing has worked for me so far. Writing has always been an organic process for me. Before this, I never consciously thought about writing. I just grabbed on these ‘sparks’ blindly and then didn't let go till I managed to get something out of it. Lately, I've been missing these sparks. either because I was too late to capture them, or because once I got them, I didn't hold on tight enough…Or maybe I don’t see them at all.

This inability to write has made me generally unhappy. I've had words reach till my finger tips and then trace their way back without any explanation as to why. It’s frustrating and exhausting. At times I sit with a pen between my fingers, or the laptop in front of me, coaxing the words- the right words- to reveal themselves to me. They make brief appearances and then, just like that, they disappear. Leaving me hanging, lost for words.


Maybe I’ve waited long enough for them to approach me. Maybe it’s time I go looking for them- in conversations with friends, chance encounters with strangers on the subway, between thoughts over a solitary cup of coffee, under strange skies where everything is capable of being that spark. I am sure I’ll catch up with them. Soon enough.