When I Write

“If there’s a book you really want to read, but it hasn’t been written yet, then you must write it.”  ~Toni Morrison.

I started writing about 16 years back. My first post was published in media about 9 years back. But there was always a feeling of being incomplete, of partial dissatisfaction or uneasiness with what I was writing. It was always below the surface, perhaps I lacked courage to tell myself that I wanted to be a writer.

Fortuanately, my local library membership gave me a new direction to explore and do what I wanted. I started my first fiction work in 2003 and it was published in 2006 – ‘The Death Of Common Sense’. Even now, it brings a proud smile on my face when I am writing this post. That is the essence of life, at least I tried what I wanted to do.

A few excerpts from my book: 

“Vijay was sitting there still, with expressionless face. There was a mild suggestion of distraction in his eyes. He felt as if his nostrils were blocking the air. He could almost hear the air entering into him but not while it was coming out, as if every time it entered in, it was lost, inside him.”

“Vijay began to think how simple and uncomplicated the world was for him. People like Raj, Niti and Rashi had made it so simple. It didn’t matter that they were far away from doers and makers but the less ambitious he was, the more at peace he was. And the more easily he could get himself along with that life – at the pace he expected everyone to be a part of it.”

*******

 “No Sir, “she was quick with a mild suggestion of reluctance, “I don’t.” She lowered her eyes with a brief smile but it soon curved back to grace, to composure and to conviction.”

*******

“Sir, have you been sending these to newspapers?” Suddenly Niti asked him with a lazy elegance. Hey shy blink was almost a short smile on her face while her face didn’t suggest it as a smile. There was some softness in her voice, a slowness and a peculiar idleness. She was sitting cross-legged, with her right hand folded inside her chin, her right elbow resting vertically straight at the cross-junction of her knees. “Yes, occasionally, “Vijay took some time to reply.

*******

“He looked at her and saw that her face was glowing a little more that day.

 

There were more smiles.
Her eyes were a little more bright.
Her head was a little less still.
Her hair a little more organized.
Her arms were little less relaxed.
And her posture a little less purposeful….

 

 “Vijay tempted to tell her that she didn’t need to look at him that way. And he liked that she enjoyed talking to him. 

*******

For a moment he decided to ignore that, pretend that he was not noticing her energy. But she was sitting there looking so damn civilized, so damn cultivated and so full, groomed and smiling, the pen poised perfectly in her long slender fingers. She shifted her smile between her eyes and lips and her glance almost disappeared. “

*******

 

“He tried to guess if Niti was enjoying the evening. He saw stiffness in her posture, though she was supposed to enjoy the game. It seemed as if she could do little to improve her standard by not participating in the game. And she knew that.

 

In her clothes, he saw privilege. She wasn’t fighting to keep that style. He had seen her more as a person touched by the glamour of the world, not the outside world, but the inside world.

 

 

*******

“Vijay obliged her with an equal smile. The faintest smile appeared at her lips and soon it adjusted there. She didn’t say anything, and kept listening to him looking down at her books, her eyes moving sometimes under the table, or glancing at him from the corner of her eyes, and again back to her books, all very quickly.”

*******

 

“He watched them sitting quiet, not changing their postures frequently, no gestures being exchanged, no smiles being suppressed and no ball point pens were being ticked-ticked.”

*******

They talked about the movie briefly. Vijay wanted to ask her something and her intermediate glanced made it little easier, “Have you seen this year’s calendar?” Niti reacted as if she expected him to ask that and she enjoyed that. Vijay too enjoyed that she expected that, “No Sir,“ she said with a bright smile.”

 

He felt strength amassing inside him. He felt tight. He felt capable of saying anything, or listening anything. And he tried to understand their silence. “Sir aapne latest movie kaun si dekhi hai?” Niti was in boisterous mood that evening. Her eyes were clouded and accent thick and lazy, though devoid of any effort. Vijay looked at her. She glanced back with raised eyebrows before quickly turning back to her books, as if she valued his desperation, and she enjoyed it.

… “Niti, kam se kam ek sum to poora kar lene do, “Vijay said, with an equal smile. He felt challenged.

Her eyelids dropped for a while. She glanced at Vijay in admiration so open that Vijay noticed it and felt himself obliged to answer her.”

*******

“He looked up in the sky and sensed that the weather was changing.

From shorter days to longer days. From longer nights to shorter nights.

From foggy mornings to clear sunny mornings. From burning woods to flying kites. From quilts to blankets. From small love to big love. From big things to small things.

From Self-belief to Courage. From Courage to Common Sense. From Common Sense to Attitude.

*******

“He assumed she might have forgotten what she had asked him a few moments earlier. Or she just pretended that she had forgotten.  It was cruel of her in either case.
Vijay walked back while Niti continued. He sensed vibrations somewhere in his mind where she lived. Was it something to do with the sense of urgency that she asked him?

“What was it?” Vijay asked, “And why did she ask me that?”
“It was the death of Common Sense,“ He remarked and disappeared.

*******

“Niti asked him giving a sort of impression that she had been remarkably patient and that he should acknowledge that. At the same time she sounded forlorn because others looked not interested enough. It was silence. Vijay felt uncomfortable by the compulsive unity of their glances.

The book drained me mentally and furthermore, I got married the same year. So, the next one is taking time

Also as Burton Rascoe has said, “What no wife of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when he’s staring out of the window.” It would take time

Watch this space for more….