Posts Tagged With: Writing

Today, I want to write something. But what should it be?

Warning: Here, I am complaining about myself

I’ve wanted to write something for a while, but lately I’ve started questioning every theme that’s dancing in my mind. I wanted to write a piece on what stops me from wearing a saree. I did put together 800 words, but I deleted the word document because I was not happy with the piece. Then I never got back to writing it again. It doesn’t start here. This goes back several months.

I went to Dharamsala in June. On the trip, I made note of pegs I could write on. This included things one should keep in mind when planning a trip to Dharamsala, places worth visiting over a weekend trip to Dharamsala, my opinion on the villages of Dharamsala versus McLeodGanj, and the last one – why my friend and I decided to trek around this pretty city in the district of Kangra. What I landed up doing was uploading all the images in the form of a photo-blog. I didn’t even caption each photograph.

Why am I writing this, anyway? Everyday, I tell myself that I need to write 500 words, but these 500 words don’t materialize. But this evening, I was spending some time with a senior colleague at work, and she asked me what I’d like to be doing in the next three years. Again, I said the same thing – I want to write. I seem to be using this line as my sword, but I don’t seem to be sharpening it at all, and everyone’s realizing it. But me.

When I moved to Delhi, I started exploring the city through churches. The idea was to eventually write on the churches in Delhi. Well, that didn’t take off either.

Now, I’m writing this because I want to ask myself why I haven’t been writing. I’m lazy, I’ve been procrastinating, I’ve had more time than ever on my plate, but I’ve been using that time to scroll down Facebook and Twitter. Oh and, I haven’t been reading either. Neither have I been watching any TV show nor movies. What have I been doing then? Sleeping. I sleep like I’m not going to be allowed to sleep for the next three days. Why am I writing this, again? I don’t know! Maybe I should stop complaining about myself and write something worth your time instead.

Tell me, what would you like to read. Let me write something for you. Maybe that’ll push me to write something worthwhile. And sorry for putting you through this 😐


Categories: Scribbles | Tags: , | 2 Comments

Because it’s your turn now

Go away.
For I have,
And now, the turn is yours.

Stop doing that little dance in my head.
Quit playing havoc with my thoughts like you’re a carpenter and my head’s a plank of wood
That you’re whittling away at and slowly trying to destroy.

Go away.
Go away because I’m letting you.
Go away because I’ve brought you down from that pedestal I’d designed.
Also because I’ve pulled myself out of your ugly thoughts.

How would I know that?
Why wouldn’t I?
The little head of yours can barely comprehend my words.
Leave alone me.
I was never your cuppa tea.
I was mistaken when I dreamed I was.

Go away to never return.
Go away because you’re better off when you’re fucking miles away.
Go away because I’ve gone too.
It’s your turn anyway.
I’ve done it twice.
And this time, the third time,
You go.
Go as far as you can.
Because this time,
I couldn’t comprehend your words.
Those last few words.

Just go.
You’re better when gone.
Or maybe not.

Categories: Poetry | Tags: , , | Leave a comment

My Vocation: Pen and Paper

1368514513984When I was in school, I wanted to become a software engineer. Sadly, my relationship with Science was not quite smooth, even though I loved Mathematics. Then I joined college and when asked what I intended to take up as a career, it was singing. To me, singing was the most convenient career option. I also started learning the violin. Again, didn’t work out. I decided to separate talent from career instead of confusing the two. Towards the end of junior college days, I started growing fond of the media space. So, with nothing more to think about I left Goa for Mumbai and completed a course in Mass Media. During the three-year course, little did I know where I was heading, and that’s something most of us face during college days.

Towards the end of my second year, I developed an interest in journalism. Completed an internship to figure out where I fit best – reporting, writing or editing. Reporting and editing seemed like my areas.

It’s been two years since I completed my graduation. Today, I’m working with a digital agency as a content writer and as a freelance journalist with The Goan on Saturday. It’s funny how I never considered writing as an option.

During school days, I would never read. A fresh novel would sit in my bag every week, and was treated like an untouchable. Even during college days I continued the same trend. It was in my third year at Sophia College that I developed an interest in reading. We were once given a project to review Known Turf by Annie Zaidi. I read the book and conveniently skipped pages. In the bargain, I found those bits interesting so I started reading the novel all over again. I went back to God of Small Things and read the novel again. Gradually, reading started capturing me. I started borrowing books from friends and professors. I then signed up to a library. Today, I regret not reading when I had all the time in the world as a child. How much I’d learn. Reading taught me much more than anyone else could.

And with reading, I don’t know when and how, I grew fond of that one segment I ignored during my third year. I thought I could make a good crime or politics reporter. But see where I’ve anchored my ship. This dock is called writing. Now I want to write. I want to keep writing. But it isn’t all that easy all the time. Ideas come and go like breeze. Even though I’m sitting all alone and writing, I’m as nervous as a shadow  before making a submission. But there’s something about typing words. Even though I enjoy writing, I’m not quite a fan of calling myself a writer. I’m yet not convinced about the road I’ve taken. Will I be a writer or is another profession awaiting me? For now I’d like to believe that this is my vocation.

Categories: Open Letters | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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