He
came, with someone who looked like his friend-figure, with bag clung to his
shoulder which appeared to have guitar in it. The road juxtaposed to him was
Eastern Express highway. The footpath he was standing on was crowded by juvenile
couples enjoying their private moments in public place. The Powai Lake has to
be blamed for its beauty; had it not been there, don’t know where these
love-birds would have spent time.
The life
of footpath lurks with cacophony hurled by vehicles on one end, thus debilitating
the pleasing silence emanated by shying water on the other end. When one stands
on the disputed border, footpath in this case, is compelled to choose: rest or
restiveness. I chose the former after short-long infighting.
He
took out his guitar and after few tweaking with strings he started running his
fingers over it blended with his voice. Singing few bollywood classics and rock
music on footpath takes sheer grit. For most of us adhere to imaginary-bondage
rules- which we yearn to know all our lives; yet stand vindicated after finding
none. No qualms in appreciating his talent: playing guitar and singing. What
awestruck me was his passion every time he plucked the strings; behind every
word of lyrics synced with his guitar. He insisted me and my friends to sing
along with him- yes, on the footpath when people strolling on footpath
exchanged uncanny twitching of faces, when passengers from bus kept staring at
us with suspicion and enviness. Picking our reluctance, he quickly asserted, “Sing
guys. Don’t care for people. Just sing!!” This was the moment we sang, yelling
at the top of our lungs, with a feeling of being victorious in the quest of
possessing a minutes’ happiness.
Well
I am not digressing from what I am supposed to convey. Incidences like these
make me write. We contemplate throughout the day; very few find place in our
memory. We grapple with lots of thing physically and mentally. We hate so many
things and yet end up letting those things dominate us. This is the juncture
where writing comes in as savior –as a
hobby and passion which allows me to be alive, mentally. It makes me WRITE what
I THINK.
Writing
to me is panacea to all my problems, because there are none when we find
ourselves expressing our thoughts with alacrity and naivety. Writing is
something which has reiterated my identity- not in the way others expect me to
have, but in my OWN carved way. Writing is no easy job to perform, for you have
to be patient enough to carry on with your thoughts as long as you can keep your
readers’ interest.
Where
does one get inspiration to write a story? It’s simple. Look around and you
will end up having myriad ones. To me writing has been a journey of picking up
small incidents around me, molding it with my imagination and presenting it to
small clique of my readers. Writing has taught me to think out-of-the-box; it
has taught me to never withhold what I have in my mind; it has showed me how
creativity can be used to make the best out of your thoughts.
Finally,
writing has given me a milestone, which is to write a novel!! Since then my
writing has given me new course. I don’t know how long this journey is going to
be. I don’t know how many troubles wait for me, but one thing is for sure: my
problem will be solved, since writing to me is panacea, didn’t I mention
before?
truly said. Writing is something which reflects what one's thinking. :)
ReplyDeleteI totally agree with you Saurabh.. Thanks for reading it :)
DeleteNice....
ReplyDeleteEnjoy your weekend and happy writing....
Cheers
Anish
Thanks for reading Anish :)
Delete