A Writer's Woes -2

                                                    A Writer's Woes -2

"Think in a straight line...think..."He motivated himself. He had a weird way to do it though: putting your head between your crossed legs is not a pretty sight.But then he was at dead ends everywhere. His thought process was constipated. What had looked like a subject a couple of months earlier looked so mundane.What had looked like mundane a couple of months earlier seemed almost oblivious!!

He was not that someone who could stretch himself to write.Subjects came to him.He never went to them.

His idea of writing was simple: an idea would form in the heart,germinate in the brain and terminate with the hand.

"So always write with your heart...."he would recommend to budding writers.Writing had to have a soul.

"You should connect with it first"-his Guru had said.Only then would someone else connect with it.

"And as long as you connect with it,nobody else really matters."

This was the founding principle on which he based all his writing.Yet his situation at present was one he wasn't accustomed to.A deadline was approaching and he wasn't even able to pen a paragraph in the last few months.Half-formed ideas,disconnected ones swam in his mind.

"Life."He wrote. The word seemed a world to him. It has such simplicity to it-on first thought.Then the profoundness hit you with all force.He had this peculiar feeling that it was not just the living things that had life..

He looked at his watch that he had worn every single day in the last 7 years.If it didn't have life...how would you describe the attachment?Even some of his friends hadn't lasted so long... 

And people sometimes behaved as though they had no life at all...he remembered his previous boss who was worse than a machine.He wondered how that guy got into the writing field.

"Life."He wrote again.This time it brought to mind all those people who led (followed..??!!) their lives just because they'd been given one.No path.No ambition.Just wishful thinking. They dragged themselves through the day..they dragged themselves through life..Surprisingly they were the happiest in the world.They never expected anything..so they never got anything as such.Yet they never really bothered.

"Life." He wrote again.It was a surge of ambition this time.He was reminded of people who thought they were here on a purpose by birth.Or people on whom a purpose was thrust upon by birth.He was for a fraction reminded of all the great people who achieved a lot in their lives and to whom mankind owed a lot.

He then looked out of the window.

He saw a labourer-boy of not more than 12 years carrying a can of water to a nearby home.He had met that boy before.He took care of a mother and a sister.Would the boy ever be recognised by the society at large in his life? He had a purpose in his life...yet he would probably never be great. 

 The writer sighed."Life."He wrote again.This time two words started forming beneath the word Life: Luck  and Destiny.He wondered.Was life a matter of good and bad luck?

Yes said a corner of his mind.How else could you explain him running out of ideas at such a crucial time with a deadline approaching?

No said an other voice in his mind.He didn't get ideas because he didn't look for it.Waited for the ideas to come to him.He had to go for it...

Slowly an other word started forming on the paper.Opportunity."Ah..yes."he chuckled."Lesson learnt"he said aloud and was almost sure that the sheet of paper had chuckled as well.

He was folding the sheet of paper when a line appeared

"This is your Destiny" it said.

He took his pen out and with a fluency that reminded him of his own,scratched the line that had appeared and wrote: "This is my Choice." 

He went to a world where an ocean of ideas waited for him......

                                             -3rd April 2012