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Writing to me is…




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?

This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda

Comments

  1. truly said. Writing is something which reflects what one's thinking. :)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I totally agree with you Saurabh.. Thanks for reading it :)

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  2. Nice....

    Enjoy your weekend and happy writing....
    Cheers
    Anish

    ReplyDelete

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