Trials of Life are Good

It has been two years since I wrote on this blog. Life has changed a lot in this time. I have emerged out of the toughest times of life and things are completely different now.
What has changed?
Not much on the outside. Only I have graduated as an individual.

“Your trials did not come to punish you, but to awaken you.” ~ Paramahansa Yogananda

Writing has and always will be an integral part of me. I don’t know why it is so.
Without writing I am incomplete; therefore, I write daily.

I always have a journal & a fountain pen around.
It isn’t that what I write has any significant value for anyone; only it is important for me to write.

I never go back to the journals I have finished. Once the thoughts grazing around my mind are out on the paper, they are done for me. It is like loving someone completely and then letting them off to their freedom.

In these two years, I have asked few questions to myself:

• What is the purpose of life?
• Am I here only to eat, sleep, work, reproduce, and then decay?
• Why doesn’t anything – house, car, relationships, dreams, achievements, goals – give me lasting happiness?

Maybe you have also pondered over them at some time. I haven’t found the answers yet. My search has just started.

The Guilt of Not Writing for a Long Time

In each of our lives there is something which is effortless, pure, and enjoyable. It is the thing which gives us real pleasure. When we are it, we are mindful and aware of our existence. It could be dancing, gardening, painting, reading, writing, or anything. We may name it ‘the calling’, ‘stress buster’, or whatever we wish. But the only truth is that it makes us forget the time and connect with our real self. For me, writing has always been one such thing, apart from reading and spending time in nature.

So the question comes is, does it really make any difference if you love reading but don’t read, love writing but don’t write, love dancing but don’t dance?

It doesn’t. Doesn’t make any difference to the world.

If you don’t read, or write, or dance, or paint, it hardly matters. The earth continues to revolve at the same speed as before.

So how does it makes any difference?
It makes difference to YOU.

It has been one & a half year since I last updated this blog. In the past also I’ve taken breaks from blogging. But at those times I had never forsaken my writing habit. I maintained a spiral journal in which I wrote frequently, if not daily. But this time it has been different. I did not write anything at all.
Guilty? Yes, highly!

Why?
Because due to change in work I had to part with my family. And the times have been challenging. Further, I chose the easiest option – not to write anything. Whereas the truth is that hard times provide that needed fuel on which the flame of our creativity feeds. I could have continued writing and put on paper my tough times, the lessons I’ve learnt, and the way I managed to go on. But I didn’t. And that is what hurts.

Nonetheless, times are still tough, though slightly improved with a tiny silver lining beginning to appear on the horizon. And I’ve dusted off my spiral journal, and I’m writing more religiously than ever before.

“If you stumble, make it part of the dance.” -Author Unknown

One thing I’ve realised is that writing is nothing more than pursuit of truth, your truth. I had a false notion that writing is about style & grammar. Writing is all about truth. And I think each one of us should write something everyday to find our truth, our meaning of existence. So, do write. Write few words a day, few sentences a week, few paragraphs a month. But those words, sentences or paragraphs should contain truth – your truth. That is all there is. May be this is what Hemingway also meant when he wrote:

“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.”

See you in the next post. Till then, keep writing.

A Typish Story

‘Hello, Uncle.’ I extended a greeting to the typist cum sales manager cum owner of a small document shop.

‘Haan. Hello!’ He replied while straightening his body on the tattered wooden chair he had been reclining after a lunch.

‘I’m looking for a typewriter,’ I asked. ‘Do you have one?’

‘A typewriter! Why do you require a typewriter?’

‘For typing, of course!’ I grinned.

‘See! Here!’ He tapped the keyboard of his computer and the dozing computer got back to life. ‘Does all, haan. Why would anyone still need a typewriter?’

I need a typewriter…

I need a typewriter because I’m fed up of sitting in front of a computer all day in the office.

I need a typewriter because when my family is asleep in the night, I want to creep into the next room and go rat-tat-tat, tat-tat, click! And see words forming on a paper.

I need a typewriter because I’m too lazy to write in a notebook and too fastidious to get distracted on a computer.

I need a typewriter for a better vocabulary.

I need a typewriter because then I’ll pause and think and type; rather than type, pause, think, delete, and retype – as in case of a computer.

I need a typewriter because words once typed are permanent.

I need a typewriter because hard drives are prone to errors, failures, and crashes.

I need a typewriter because it’s tangible and personal.

But, of course, I didn’t say any of this to the typist cum sales manager cum owner. Rather I said, ‘Anyways, thank you, uncle.’ And left the shop.

***

Meanwhile, here is what I found on youtube: a typewriter renaissance slowly picking up in few corners of the world. But would you prefer a typewriter to a laptop for writing?

The Devil won’t let me Sleep!

I had been snoring pleasantly till that little devil – a house fly – came out of nowhere and started buzzing around my ear. The room was black, except for a filtered glow through the curtain by the window. And soon the devil landed on my nose and started singing: Hmmmm, Mmmmm, Nmnmnmmmm….

I jerked and turned and didn’t want to quit my warm quilt and my lazy slumber. I treated the fly as a harmless creature; the fly had a somewhat similar impression of me, too.

This ordeal continued for minutes, or maybe an hour–I don’t remember–but soon it was beyond my forbearance and my subconscious kicked my conscious: enough! I forced myself to wake up, determined to have blood on my hands, if only I had a gun under my pillow.

The moment I rose, the fly took off and landed on the curtain.

She rubbed both her front legs and winked and screamed at me, ‘Come on, catch me if you’ve guts!’

I shook the curtain and the devil landed on the nearest wall and started bouncing there.

Pondering over my helplessness, I sat there thinking of ways I could rid of the devil. But soon pulled the quilt and slept with my entire body covered up to the head.

The fly charged again, only with a louder chirp this time: Zzzzzzzzmmmm, Mmmmm, Nmnmnmmmm…. And I woke up in a raze, determined to not spare her this time. But my rumble had caused discomfort to other creatures lazying in the room, and the wife turned and begged to let her sleep, which spared the fly her precious life.

I was helpless: the fly won’t let me sleep, and my wife won’t let me kill the fly. So I left the room with a heart full of vengeance – for the fly, for the fly, of course – determined that the little devil won’t have a tomorrow. But then I forgot….