It has been around three weeks since I wrote anything. I wanted to write but always failed to make up my mind to sit and type the words on paper. This is what leaders call procrastination or lack of motivation.
Most writers are the hypocrite. They do procrastination like other people does. Even the writers, who write on being productive, postpone their work. It’s just the hopes that one help to lie awake, the whole night. We spend times in hopes, always finding out the content to write. Time and again, we miss living the moments in capturing the moments. Sometimes, writing becomes very depressing and dull job for us. At least for me.
Often, I get amazing ideas in my head. Thoughts that could make anyone ponder upon for a longer period of time. But as I sit writing down my philosophies, it flies off and I end up writing something else.
The Lonely Days
A few weeks ago, I was hustling, writing down thousands of words on the paper, draining cups of tea one after another, and puffing out the clouds of smoke from my cigarettes. And then at a sudden, I got the writer’s block. I spent my next three whole weeks in convincing myself to sit and write. Once, I even felt afraid of being a writer again.
Some of the days were consumed with deep sadness. I stopped meeting with anyone and walked up and down the streets of the village where I live in a rented room, far away from my college.
In those lonely days, the sky always seemed to be laden with the clouds, especially in the night. I have three windows in my room. The middle window always remains shut. I never felt the need to open it. Or shall I tell you the iron got rusted, making nearly impossible to open the lock? In the morning I open the two windows and in the evening, as the sun began sinking, I shut them to impede the mosquitos coming inside the room.
There were some sweetest memories of those days as well. As I had stopped reading and writing I could now live freely. I had no deadlines to complete the work. For long hours, I stared across the window, on the trees where millions of birds lived. Every evening, they sang the song and made me more melancholy.
It was not the birds who were sad. Birds sing in the same tone, in the same pitch. What wondered me is they would take you even deeper in your emotions. If you are joyful, the song would delight you and you would lose yourself in the beauty of life. If you are upset, the melodies would overwhelm you with desolation. The song would always be the same, but it would match every situation.
A New Friend And A New Secret
Apart from staring at the window, I made a new friend. My friend and a neighbour, Raja, who went for his evening tea at a nearby shop, met with a little dog. The dog leapt and sat in his lap.
On seeing the dog’s affections, his heart got melt and he brought the dog to his house. The name of the tea shop was Hero Tea Stall, so he named the dog Hero. It was after a few hours playing with the dog he came to know that the dog was a bitch. So he changed the name from Hero to Heroine.
It became difficult for him to take care of her and clean the mess Heroine was creating in the house, so he abandoned her from the house. I’m guilty I didn’t take her to my own room. I remained busy all the time and took less care of my own health and body. It would only be worse if I had taken her to the house. But my roommate and I made sure to feed her regularly. We put her name back to hero, for the name heroine didn’t sound good to us.
Now, she sits at the door of my house and every morning walks behind me to the Hero Tea Stall. I remember playing with her when I took several breaks after revising the notes on medieval India that I made last month. An interesting thing about medieval India is it is full of adventurous. Often Indians avoid reading medieval India and Mughal empire, for it is very wide and the events are easy to be forgotten.
For the first couple of days, I revised the notes continuously but little did I remember. Then I sat for a few hours solving how to memorize information I prepared. Then suddenly, my eyes fell on the audio recorder that I bought to prepare podcasts.
I took the audio recorder and recorded all my notes. In the free time, I heard those notes again and over again. I digested all the information in just two days, including the big names and dates.
As I recorded it on the rooftop, the hero was with me. The noises of the barking of hero and how I convinced her to keep silent were also got taped. Often, these recordings amuse me, and I feel grateful that I found a new way of teaching myself.
Like you cannot remain far from your dear ones, it is somewhat impossible for me staying away from my passion. No matter, how many times I discarded my love towards writing, I return to it. My hobby of writing is just like my beloved. It hurts a lot, but at the end, it is the only thing that gives me solace.
I believe every human being must know how to write. Writing is not just a hobby but also a medium to understand inner-self in a better way. It is a soul’s song. Moreover, you don’t have to learn writing from anyone. Just write and you will improve over time.
Writing is just a medium to share your thoughts and experiences. If you embrace it like a true lover, it takes you in a state of meditation. You feel blissful and complete. You spend more time in solitude, discovering the secrets and philosophies of life.
A foolish question I’m frequently asked: ‘how much you earn from the writing?’ Nothing. If someone pays me happily for sharing my experiences, I take it as doing my duty truthfully. I merely think I’m earning from my passion. The money I get is just a gift from loving someone unconditionally, and gifts can never be weighed.