During the early 2000's, when I was an ardent reader of the Hindu, the column named my "My husband and other animals" by Janaki Lenin caught my attention. It drove me insanely crazy with its magnetic name. I thought I should too be that creative when I write something, if at all I write. I had all kinds of expressions on my face when I read that article every Friday. I smiled, I stared into the newspaper, I opened my mouth, I laughed, I wondered but on the whole I enjoyed. I loved some the articles so much that I read and read and reread and reread them till the next week. These articles by Janaki Lenin inspired and influenced me to write. I am specifically not an animal lover, nor do I enjoy the sweet and sour chemistry of a couple, but this able writer created a wonderful union of both. But what interests me is the English - my hero.
I guess every one of us has a passion from the very beginning. It's always on the back of our minds and at the last on our lists. But my passion was magically struck by these articles. From my childhood, I read every bit of newspaper, an English one, with great interest. I highlighted the words I didn't know, my dad encouraged me to do so. I never ever took a look at any other newspaper than the Hindu, which is an epitome of perfect English language. I had many paper cuttings as a child of articles, lessons on grammar, idioms and many more topics. I copied the accent of actors in foreign movies. I used to use such words in my sentences which the friends of my age never understood. I wrote poems, long and sometimes senseless ones. I collected tons and tons of proverbs. I still have all of them. But in these 15 years, wasn't my ardent love for English ever suspected? But who would expect, after all, I have even been a coin collector, a puzzle- solver, an artist, a chatterbox, a craftsperson, a topper in the class; in short the jack of all childish trades.
But ya, one day the ice broke or rather, the heart broke and words came flowing. And I wrote far better than I thought I would. My writings were initially very intense and strong in their sense. They opined my anger, pain, love and other emotions more profoundly. But I gradually neutralized the tone of my writings. From poems to reviews, to musings, to thoughts of mine and thoughts of mine about others, everything was well taken care of.
I had had my share of hurdles as a writer. There were no ideas, sometimes the right words didn't occur and my writings went bland. And after that no more writing happened. But a good old friend asked me to write for her blog recently. I said I would write either for myself or for money. And so, I started writing again. For myself.
After spending some time thinking of the reasons for that hiatus, I realized I set my goals wrong. I aimed at writing a novel or to write something that could be printed by bigshot publishers, to write something that brings praises and prizes. And that immense pressure created the writer's block in my mind. But I realized my ultimate goal is to write. On the days I write I smile more and I am 99% the happy me, but oh that 1%..
