Bits From Life, Life is such, Uncategorized

Let Me Write My Heart Out, Please – A Note To Self

 

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Image source : here

Sometimes, to passively glide through a day seems the most daunting of the tasks. Unembellished moments lie scattered on the path; uninspiring thoughts float around like an aimless bottle on the surface of a murky water body. Believe it or not, life is never an easy ride. Neither is it filled with thorns from start to end. One day, you smile like the happiest being on earth; the next day, your nerves are stifled with the darkest fear. One day, you are at peace with yourself; the next day, you are overwhelmed by the agonising tentacles of apprehension. To not surrender to the vagaries of life might sound the hardest thing to do. But somewhere down the road, one comes to peace with the truth that powering through each day keeping one’s hopes high makes all the difference. To be satisfied with the irrevocable facets of life, yet daring to address the weak ties becomes a necessity. Finally, but most importantly, to live the present to the fullest, whether it sounds clichéd or not ends up being acknowledged as the best advice around.

You might wonder why I would dust clean the decks on this blog saved for personal posts and visit the same with a philosophical post. Well, certain phases arrive in life, when you feel you have hit rock-bottom. You feel uninspired and the days seem unbearable and long. You are left with few options, and one of them would be to take things in its stride, to breathe in and let the moment pass. It is good to do that, but one should also be astute enough to know when to stop being passive and to start taking control over your life once again.

I have been through a passive few months in my life a while back and the hiatus inevitably spread to this blog as well. I was left with no option but to take things slowly, and not to fret over the dreariness of the situation. There were a few reasons for the impasse, mostly personal ones, but definitely impinged with those prickly stubs of professional downsides. I was having troubles with writing my heart out too; every time I sat down to write I had niggling thoughts about how the post would be received by the readers and whether it would sound biased or whether the reader would pick up meanings hitherto not meant to be passed on through my writing.

It took me some time to come to terms with the fact that one ought to write for oneself first and foremost. The judgement stemmed from the realisation that I indeed write almost every time for my happiness and to appease the passion in my heart. That the reader could strike a chord with my writing and at least some of them like what I write is a joyous bonus. And that is exactly why I narrowed down to a particular genre when I decided to write and polish a manuscript of my own, my first solo work of fiction, not surrendering to the irrational hype over certain genres and not being wary whether my book, when one day it comes out, would not be accepted by the mass simply for the fact that the genre is seldom touched upon in the Indian literary scenario. So also, when I finally made up my mind to restart blogging, I was determined to not let unimportant matters overpower me and let me down. No one ordered me to start blogging. I started blogging at my own will. Similarly no one asked me to start writing. Writing found me one fine day, filling the void that had been missing from me since my birth. I feel complete when I write, just like mothers confess that they feel complete after the arrival of their baby, even though they were unaware of the vacuum that had been residing inside them before. When the truth remains so prominent, why should I worry? 

 I have read many blog posts where the writers confess how they shook free their hearts from dilemmas and hiccoughs of this sort. The one thing that definitely carries them forward, or any writer for that matter, is the sheer amount of love they have towards writing and the revelation that if one doesn’t write from one’s heart, the act of writing itself would be vapid, static and short-lived. The conclusions that took birth as a result of much brainstorming have paved way to this post and I am happy that I finally wrote this. 

I sincerely hope I don’t flounder further along the trail writing has so gracefully guided me through all these years. Let me wrap this up with a toast that summarises the whole essence of this post in one line. Here is to many more posts right from the heart!

Before you leave let me ask, have you ever had roadblocks along your writing journey? Do share. 

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fiction, Uncategorized

Wistful – Short Fiction

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The room was garnished with the most luscious of elements. Bright, velvety flowers lay strewn across the neatly made bed, from which emanated the fragrance of splendour and a resident whiff of the exhilarating mystery that lay ahead at the fall of midnight-darkness. A silver tray, filled up to the brim with carefully selected array of fruits, lay perched on the table near the adorned door.

Rhea ran her deeply painted eyes over the embellishments, done studiously with the sole intention of celebrating the uniqueness of the night. Plaintive motes reflected from the murky corners of the room blinded her vision, as a lone drop of tear rolled down her rosy, made-up cheek. As on a cue, a southern summer breeze that sailed through the partly open window settled down on her damp face and stroked it in its vain attempt to erase the redundant streaks of melancholy.

The impatient thud of the door being closed startled her. She rose from the bed and stood against him with her head hung low. The wax and wane of her heart gripped her, gluing her frail body to the floor.

“Hi”

The longing that reverberated in her husband’s voice failed to pierce the thick, stoic veil of her heart. She felt an unprecedented gurgle emanate from the deep recess of her throat, nevertheless.

“Hi,” she uttered, forcing a smile on her face.

She realised then that she had a lifetime ahead to try and forget her past.

But, if only she could. 

~~~~~~

Bits From Life, Journey, Life, Life is such, Mid Week Quests, Uncategorized

My Delicious Bait – Mid Week Quests

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There are people who, with utter madness, admire talented personalities. I am not saying  I don’t admire laudable talents, but I am not excessively, fiercely dependent on them when leading my life. Good books satiate me, good music fills my heart and soul with joy and a beautiful piece of writing, magnificiently laced with evocative threads, never fail to uplift the person in me.

But these days, I find myself lend an attentive ear to memoirs – both written and spoken. Perhaps that bit of character has been an innate part of me for long, since I have always liked reading personal blogs more than anything. I am not overtly dependent on them, but yes, I do find happiness out of taking a stroll through the life of another person. I am yet to decipher the craziness that resides in the liking, or if I have company in the form of people who nurture similarity in that regard. Some are of the opinion that such people are diffident about their own lives. But then, what if the act inspires me to be more? In my case, there is a second reason too, to which I shall reach in a while. 

People are different, I believe, and everyone has his/her favourite bait, which quite positively hooks them, feeds their souls and releases them for a better life.

Well, I have a few other such similar nourishing baits too on my list – like A.R. Rahman’s music, A Kazuo Ishiguro novel, an Alice Munroe short story, a Mohanlal movie, a chat with my best friend and so on. But the latest one to have conquered my heart, once I started working on my own manuscript, is reading the writing story of my favourite authors. Sometimes, I might not even have read their works, but their presence – their sheer authoritative presence and their diligently acquired accomplishments, out of the many other reasons, inspire me and I look forward to knowing more about their writing journey. I have been flipping through many such authors, a few of them blogger-turned authors, when my eyes fell upon the blog of the acclaimed author, Ruchita Misra – Blogging All The Way. I read and re-read most of her blog posts and they brought smiles to my face more often than not. There is something surreal about reading the amateur works of a person who have been a success ever since. 

Is it because of she is famous and widely accepted now, that I find her earlier writing amusing? 

I don’t have an answer. But I do know that I have a soft-spot for innocous memoirs and I can read and re-read personal blog posts for any number of time I want. Somehow, they take me closer to the writer and I feel I have been given a huge comforting bear hug by an invisible force. 

I came to know that she too is an anxious person like me and although I never read the blog aiming to end up with a tutorial to alleviate my anxiety, my haphazard mind was pacified to realise that I am not alone when it came to matters such as that. She, in one of her posts’s, mentions about bringing down her anxiety by trying to solve the mathematics table in her mind. Every person has his own technique to deal with his problems, griefs or similar downsides. For me it has been work. But I cannot work round the clock and there are times when struck with a bout of anxiety ( for a reason ), I discern methods to escape from it. These days, it has been reading good blog posts for me. I blog-hop, find interesting blogs and devour the articles which strike a chord with me. They inevitable leave me at peace at least for a good one hour or two, when my mind returns back to the jovial self.  

Even as a child, I used to listen to my dear ones sharing stories with one another – my mother about her work place to my father, my grand mother about our relatives to my mother, my mother about my brother and me to her friends, my brother about his eventful day to me . .  the list is endless. No, I am not nosey, nor am I a gossip-monger. I simple love stories. Good stories. Happy stories. Intriguing stories. Undoubtedly, there is something soulful about listening to true stories. They are flawless and pristine. On the contrary, I hate movies made out of real stories. The tweaked version irks me and I would rather have someone narrate the story to me than watching it. 

So much for my love for true stories. As I wrap this post up, I can’t help but leave you with one simple question. If ever you feel lonely and would like to have a friend listen to your story, you now know who to approach, don’t you? 🙂

~~~~~~~

P.S: This post is tagged with Mid Week Quests, a sub section of this blog where I write on a Wednesday, about random nuggets from my life.

fiction, Uncategorized

Peep Into The Past – Short Fiction

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I gaze longingly at the effervescent girl who looked back at me from the photograph enclosed in the safe, glittering walls of the exquisite photo frame. I know what she was thinking while she smiled her heart out, her dainty arms perched delicately on the welcoming, supportive hands of her sweetheart.The jet black strands of hair that fluttered in the warm summer breeze heightened the twinkle that sparkled in the summit of the valley that was her eyes. I know what her eyes chanted as she posed for the photograph, trying hard to make her naive attempt at a pout succeed, after the many rehearsals in front of the mirror during those secure, inconspicuous moments of her solitude. I know what her heart yearned to scream out till her lungs gasped for breath. I know, for her smile, as infectious as it was, managed to hide little.  I know, at that very moment she was wishing upon the stars for that stage of her life – those deeply satiating, resplendent years that formed it – to last forever. She was hoping for her youth to be arrested; her evocative bond with her loved ones to be preserved in virginity. Under her breath, she was unassumingly whispering a prayer for her thoughts forever to be just as vibrant as the present. A fleeting seed of fear that hinted towards the inevitability of change failed to bother her. She lived in the moment, sans doubts or dilemma, and believed it the right way to face life. Continue reading “Peep Into The Past – Short Fiction”

Bits From Life, Life is such, Mid Week Quests, Passion, Uncategorized

Self-doubt And The Likes: A Piece Of Me

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So I sit down to write and I find myself doubting whether I will be able to churn up a good post or rather, put my thoughts into words most precisely as they fleet through my mind. This is not the first time this stump of doubt has left me wondering about my writing abilities. I find the same, old, irksome piece of bone gnawing at my peace of mind, every time I sit down to write – be it a story, a poem, or maddeningly enough, even a personal rant, which I assume, I would be the best one to be writing. Even when the heinous mote of doubt lurks as a shadow in the precincts of my conjuring mind, I somehow make my up mind to bring to life the idea that sprouted in my mind anyway. This has been a routine, since forever. No, wait. How can it be since forever, when the fact remains that I started ‘writing’ when I was 20 years old. Random thoughts on the many inconspicuous nooks of my belongings wouldn’t classify as writing, I believe, even though, they could be the first appreciated signs of the likelihood of spring around the corner. Continue reading “Self-doubt And The Likes: A Piece Of Me”