I was a lazy writer.
Still, am. But again, writer is way too heavy a word. I couldn’t find any
matching term here. But since I am still trying, I can live with — say a “so-called writer” for now. A “so-called writer”. Ah! Quite a pleasure!
Let me clear this up
how I was lazy. I was not a writer but my mind worked as one. So I used to see
things in a writer’s perspectives, almost everything. I saw many things that I
could have written. I saw them in a way that nobody could see. Unfortunate I
was that I could not give them a shape of ideology. Many and many concepts were
thus disappeared in the history and they just vanished so completely that never
ever could they be resurfaced. With time, memory starts to fade. The thing or
scene that you see with your eyes right now will sprout certain feel up your
mind. Those ‘feel’ in your mind should come down through the ladder of your
pen, tapping in steps of words. I was gifted with lethargy, and many steps
really didn’t take place. No words, no sentences; there were just the blurs,
blanks and brackets with missing details.
Actually, I used to
write. But all in scraps. They were ineligible. They were incomplete. They were
of types that would least attract anybody’s interest. That’s what I thought
because almost all the time, I was the first and the last reader of my own
anemic writings.
I was a human body amassed
with imperfections. I wished to do more. I could not. I desired to stand out in
any fields that were there. Sometimes, there used to be table tennis contest in
school. I even did not know how to hold the tennis bat. I was an avid
spectator. When the victor won, I used to place myself in his position.
Similarly, when there was volleyball tournament, I wished to be an expert hitter
who could deliver unmistakable short. I did have too poor physique and too weak strength.
I was a below average, save studies.
Good thing is from
imperfections came a writer. Even the dream cannot fulfill your desire because it
is not in your control. But writing does. That means when you are a writer you
can be what you want. You can satiate yourself. Writing is beyond pleasure and
it is born from beneath the unspoken, the untold and the unheard. Pure writing
comes from tranquil imagination. Thus, I started to slink in the world of
writing because in there I could finish the unfinished, all in my own way. I
could wipe out my weaknesses and speckles. When I could not do a task in the
real, I could do it in my writing. So, writing also let me live in alternate
realities.
In today’s changing
world, there is more appropriate word for people like me: a blogger. It is because you need to get accepted to be a writer and when you are repeatedly not accepted, you are destined to be a blogger.
A version of this article appeared in THE HIMALAYAN TIMES, English national daily on 10th of July 2018. You can get to the link by clicking here.
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