“It’s been a long time since I wrote something…”
This has been the starting line of most of the little I have written in the last 2 years.
There was a time when I would churn out two, three, sometimes four posts a night.
I could wake up at 3:27am on a black summer morning and find inspiration in the blank, except for the rotting bloody bodies of dead mosquitoes, walls of my minuscule hostel room.
Today, I lie in my plump bed, fatter in both body and experience, no not wallet, do you know the ratio of the salary of an ASE to her cost of living?? Its 1:38 (No I was just trying to be witty, no I did NOT calculate it, but you get the point right??)Ah! Well! I digress, so where was I? Yes I was in my plump bed with a fat body of experience, a fatter body per se, a blank page and a printed keyboard, in short all the tools required to cook a delicious literary broth.
Yet, the page remains bland and the words in my mind half-baked, because my kitchen is out of stock of the one key ingredient, “Inspiration”.
What is inspiration anyway?
Is it a strange face in the crowd that is gone forever in a span of a heartbeat, or a familiar stranger we sit next to every day on our way to work? Is it a little voice we hear inside our head, or is it the God whose existence we all try to believe in? Is it the smell of rain in the air or the colour of the sky on a sunny day?
Is it a broken heart or the edge of a tapestry you see through the half open window of the apartment in the building opposite to yours?
Is it hope or is it life itself?
I do not know…
All I know is that there times when everything feels empty and meaningless and life feels like a dream trapped in an eternal repetitive cycle. You crave for a way out, to write something anything yet everything eludes you, it’s like you are empty of ideas, empty of ability, empty of life itself.
You remember, how when you were little
life meant a cute cuddly teddy bear with a pink satin ribbon we loved to run through our fingers, ‘coz it felt so soft and shiny. Today, it is a monstrosity of unspent tears and dusty emotions, of broken hearts and discoloured dreams…
And then comes a day when you are sitting at your window, listening to the thunder of a rainless sky, as the sun takes a deep plunge down the horizon, feeling the wind whip your hair around your face. Your legs are cramped, your laptop at the verge of becoming extinct, your view is the same empty plot/garbage dump, you try not to look at every day, yet for no reason you feel this faint stirring of something, like hope, like just a faint hint that something other than emptiness still resides in some hidden corner of your being…
And in moments like this, you almost believe, that under all that grime, under those broken pots and disfigured pans this monster still has that little cuddly teddy curled up somewhere, a little too dusty, a little too frayed, quite a bit thinner and very wobbly… but with that faded pink ribbon stills blowing around its crumbing ears, just as soft if not as shiny as it was…in moments like this you almost believe in belief
What Does The Middleman Take?
2 months ago