For a long time now I’ve been meaning to write a post that, had I titled it, would read- “how I began writing” or some such autobiographical title. I want to write about my love for writing, my experiences so far, the good, the bad and the downright ugly.
But believe it or not, this is my fifth attempt at writing this post. Everyday I sit to write, I type a couple of lame, half hearted sentences and I stop. If I want to sound all writer-ish, I could label it as ‘writer’s block’. But I’m not sure if that’s what it is. It’s funny though- the fact that I can write my way out of anything, but I simply can’t write even one paragraph about how much I love writing.
I want to go back in time and figure out when I discovered my ‘talent’ (as some call it) to write. And even though I can’t remember the beginning of this journey, I do remember that I loved writing even before I realized that I’m pretty good at it.
It began, I guess, when I was in school. English had always been my favourite subject. I would read my English text book even before school term began. And I always dreamt that one day I would write one of those stories in that book. And not to say that I didn’t try. I’d tried my hand at writing a book when I was somewhere in the 6th or 7th grade. A couple of my friends and me were writing a combined book that resembled some of our favourite books at that time- the Sweet Valley Series, the Baby Sitters Club Series and the likes. I’m sure you could imagine what it was like at that time. Three girls huddled together on the school playground, talking in hushed tones discussing how to introduce ‘Lisa’s’ boyfriend in the next chapter, or whose parents should get divorced to add to the plot.
That book never got further than chapter 3, and that too only because all three of us were assigned to write one chapter each.
But even though the dream to become a writer didn’t materialize back then, I didn’t cease to dream. I told myself that I just had to wait until I got better and the urge to write was so overpowering that words would flow out of my head and onto the paper with absolute ease.
After that childhood attempt at being a great writer, I moved on to writing more serious things for the school magazine or for the endless public speaking competitions. I still remember the thrill and the pride I felt when my article first appeared in the school mag. And that feeling I got on seeing my name in print made me decide that I want to become a writer.
I initially confused my want to write with becoming a journalist. Somehow I thought that only journalists could write and be recognized for the same.
So I went on to be trained as a journalistic writer. In graduation I began writing news reports, news scripts and the likes. I wasn’t that great at it, but it always read like a report. And somehow it didn’t make me happy.
But then there were classes where we could write about a given topic in just about any way we chose to. We could write in any style. No rules, no formats and no defined structure. I wrote to my heart’s content in those classes and that’s when it hit me that I was so in love with writing and that I wanted to do just that all my life long. And it was during that time that I wrote one of my best pieces about the sea. Something that amazed people and showed them that I was good. And from that day onwards, there was no stopping me.
Even though I’d always kept a diary when I was younger and would scribble notes to myself anywhere I went, I now kept a book and a pen with me to put my thoughts into words. And I realized that I loved the feeling of a new thought taking shape in my book.
I don’t know how good I am at this, but I know that I’m not bad. I write to express and not to judge my self or my writing skills. When people tell me that I write well, I often wonder if it’s true. Because I never know whether it’s a good piece or not. For me, if my words feel good, if they take me to a different world, if they flow in a rhythm, like music, if I’m happy at the end of the piece, if my thoughts and my personality and my life reflects in what I’ve written, then that’s all I want.
I’m not always inspired to write. There are times when I have to try over and over to get something written (like this post) and still not get to the end. The writer in me doesn’t always take over. And that’s when I really struggle. I remember writing for the college journal. I had to do a piece on our trip to the Dangs. And I sat at my desk for so many days to write something that gave justice to the people of the place. But it just didn’t come. And then one night, out of no where, it hit me like a tidal wave and I sat for two hours straight in the night and wrote an 8 page long article that got great reviews.
Another time that I wrote solely on inspiration was my piece on Mumbai. I was sitting at a cross in some place in Mumbai in the early hours of the morning, listening to Iktara (a song from the Bollywood movie ‘Wake Up Sid’) and watching a bunch of guys playing volleyball and another man training his dog on the football grounds. And it just came to me. Word after word, emotions at their peak, feelings so over powering that they just didn’t stop coming. I had no paper or pen with me at that point of time. And so I kept my words running in my head all through the day, adding more thoughts, new ideas, and more people into what had begun as a simple travel piece. I spent the entire day in Mumbai with my head bursting. And when I finally got back home to Baroda, I sat down and poured everything into my book. I wrote like a maniac, like there was no tomorrow. And the result was fabulous, if I say so myself. It was an incredible piece of writing and so was the feeling when I finished.
And the most recent thing that I wrote was about a friend and his work, during a media law lecture, sitting in the last bench. One hour and 10 pages later (I can’t write short stuff) I looked at my work and I couldn’t wait to show him.
So this is what I’m talking about. I can only write when I want to, only when my heart wants to (I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s true). Like right now. After several attempts to write this, I finally did so today.
I can’t see myself not writing ever. You know how a man feels lost if his sight is taken away from him? That’s how I would feel if my writing was taken away from me. (I know that this wasn’t a very good example, but I’m hoping you get the point.)
In the months of May, June and July 2010, I had my articles printed in the Times of India, some with my by-line. And I absolutely loved it.
But last month, I got my first magazine by-line in India Today’s supplementary Simply Gujarati, and I just can’t describe the feeling of seeing my name in ink. I want to do that everyday and feel that way every day of my life.
I’ve realized that I’ve written 3 full pages in MS Word and now I need to stop. I’m glad that I got my writing streak back, and I hope to write something good really soon.
