If writing was a hidden talent, it sure lay dormant inside of me for many years!
Not the best person to comment on my current writing skills but looking back at the long journey does make me believe that Life is genius at turning things around and surprising you with your own abilities.
In my case, there weren’t any prodigal genes! Despite being born into a highly academic-oriented family, I was never bitten by the reading bug as a kid. While my sister could sit inside the cupboard and read a year-old newspaper (on the pretext of cleaning it), I was usually scolded for leaving sentences incomplete in examination-answer sheets. While she finished reading Operation Blue Star (one of the most controversial and debated Indian military operations) at the age of ten, at twelve, I kept Gone With The Wind back on the shelf after reading precisely seven words (got stuck on the word ‘seldom’, which Ma refused to tell the meaning of, obviously appalled by my awesome vocabulary or the lack of it 😀)
Anyway, I detested putting pen to paper with exception of doodling.
But thanks to minimal-technology-invasion during most of Nineties, Ma was able to plant the seeds for exercising this ‘art’ and our Dad being in the Forces supported her cause.. there were many instances when he was posted to far flung areas where hand-written letters were a surer way to communicate than relying on telephone cables. 😛
Even then, lazy me’s letters were almost always the same as my sister’s; with a slight tweak in chronology of sentences here or changes from active to passive, direct to indirect speeches there. (Technically not the same; I’d argue 😀 )
But things were destined to change.
As the years went by, books became an integral part of my personality. I had never imagined being thrilled about reading a dozen reference books in the library or quoting authors in answers but that’s exactly what I found myself doing.
Today, I stand at a point where I say that writing calms me down. A mindless scribble, an erratic scrawl, a detailed description of poignant feelings, a series of questions dripping with frustrated angst… make me peaceful.
Yet, the irony continues! I don’t write as much I wish i did.
Every morning on my way to work, I’m raring to start ticking things off the day’s to-do list. Excited with the thought of developing a story or even writing a blog. Most days I even tell myself loudly, I’ll finish all that needs to be done by lunchtime, read ten pages of the book( yep! an unfinished book is a permanent fixture in a day’s-plan :P) and then write!!
But more often than not, one thing leads to the other and either the day comes to an end, the urge to write plummets or the task seems so daunting that I end up reading a couple of blogs and shut the system.
Honestly, I don’t know if the creative genes are playing a cruel joke on me or its me letting them down !!?
Ever happened to you?