on Saturday, October 2, 2010

My flair for writing is profoundly known to any and every person who is a part of the world which I inhabit. There are a few, who feel my strong affinity towards penning down my thoughts, trivial or consequential, is nothing but a madness- the sort that in due course of time might lead me towards schizophrenia. I write extensively. I write here, on Nascent Emissions, I write for magazines, I write articles for friends (which do get published under their names), I write speeches (my best friends in college literally 'use' me for this, 'cuz they promise a pay, and forget the payment), I often scribble short stories, I sometimes try my hand at poetry- All these and more! However, the one aspect of my writing which I am intensely, miserable attached to is writing my diary, or journal, or by whatever name you may know it.

Humans, as per me, are the most artistic creations of God. My English teacher, while reflecting on the same once remarked in laconic terms, "Man is only next to God in divine hierarchy." May be that is why when He made us, He endowed us with aspects that were His' exclusive domains. He is, veritably, the Supreme Artist, one, who painted spectacular, breathtaking images on a blank, imperceptible canvass. He, while creating us, blessed us with emotions and expressions, and a divine right to Create- create a habitat exclusive for our sustenance within the larger ecosystems which come as a part of our natural earthly endowments.

Besides, He hid within us all an artist- an artist exclusive to all, yet common to all.

Caught up in the maze of our mundane, hectic, competitive lives, many of us lamely deny the existence of any such thing as an 'artist' within us. However, this artist is latent only till we allow it to be latent. The moment we close our eyes, keep our hand on our heart, and feel its existence, it materializes and communicates with us. We only need to understand the language it wants to speak in. The manifestations of this artist are many, but the purpose of the manifestations is the same- to express, to put on display the wide array of thoughts which inhabit our inner being.

In my perspective, the most fortunate among these artists are those who articulate through brush strokes, those who paint and draw to put in front of the world what lies in their heart. These for me are the elite class of artists, who at a whim can become absolutely lucid in depiction of their state of mind, and at other times, can symbolize their thoughts in a manner so magical, that despite the creation being in front of all, the absolute meaning remains elusive to most. A private rendezvous is always be on between its creator and itself. Its as if they wink at each other for perplexing and mesmerizing the others, while perfectly communication with each other.

Of the myriad varieties of artists, the second on my list are the people who create musical notes to convey expressions of anger, bliss, hate, lust, grief, alacrity and many others, which can't be worded, just purely felt. Why I respect these artists is simply because of their indomitable skill at touching the very strings of the hearts of the listeners which gave birth to that music piece the heart of the creator in the first place. These artists never make their expressions explicitly public- they pave indirect, subtle (but sublime) paths for their emotions to flow in the air around.

I am convinced I am missing out on many, but the last type of artists on my list are the people who simply, humbly, express through words. Given that words are the most direct tool for revealing innate ideas and feelings, it is still, by no means, an easy task to make words your instrument of expression. Mastering language, at times, takes an eternity. One remains a student of this art, for that matter any art, for more than just a lifetime. For those not born in the silver class of literary elites, it does sometimes become an extremely arduous undertaking, to give voice to the simplest of thought. Yes! This is where I think the catch is- giving shape, words to the most uncomplicated thoughts in such a manner that the reader not only understands what is in front of him in black and white, but also relates to the emotions caught in between lines. (Here is where I fail miserably)

So, it must have become unambiguous that I ascribe to this last modest category of expressions. Besides the numerous things I advocate passionately, writing (in particular diaries) is one which falls topmost on my list. I romance words and phrases and sentences and am ever thankful for making my own thoughts transparent to me. I love documenting my life. I love flipping through the history of my existence. I love learning from my own (and no one else's) experiences. I have had amazing friends in life, but my most consistent, reliable, and endearing confidante have, indisputably, been my diaries, now around seven in number, scribbled around the last few years of my life.

Writing was not a hobby I was born with. I cultivated it after numerous reprimands and black stars of my report card in the 'writing skills' column. Writing diaries was my means of improvement, coerced at first, but gradually my fondness increased so much that today, none of my diaries last beyond three-four months. The only gifts I got on my last birthday were diaries- a total of six! As queer as it may sound, I give names to my diaries- they then become like a compilation of short stories, running with a common theme, the essence of which is encapsulated in that name. This name is also symbolic characteristic of that particular phase in my life.

From those seven, I'd like to quote two as examples-

  • IBTIDA- After having gone through some major upheavals, and having been shattered over again and again, I resolved to start afresh. Naming my diary as 'Ibtida'- a beginning, I started scribbling the details of my daily rituals in a manner which kept reinforcing the objective I had set for myself- to get over the past and make this new beginning as fruitful for me as possible. Revisiting the positive pages of that diary, with words written in my then dainty handwriting, my heart warms us, is encouraged, inspired, and I smile 'cuz of the deluge of memories that simply take me over. 
  • SEARCH- This is what my current diary is called. I settled on in two nights ago. The present time in my life is pretty satisfied and stable. However, I find myself at an enormously crucial stage in life, one that shall be pivotal in determining if the dream I dreamt forever will actually come true or not. Not knowing where my life is headed, at times I search for a clarity in my dreamworld, which can make my destination clear to me. When the destination sparks before my eyes, I start searching for the path I must embark upon to reach there. When I glimpse the path, I search for (and must find) the focus I need so as not to swerve from it.
It is a neat chronicle of my life, at least the recent bits of it, which I value as my most precious possession. For those who ever enquired would now know the perfect cause behind my near obsession with writing. Better worded, it is a passion- not an obsession. It is my love. Something, that elevates me when my mood is low, calms me when I feel hyper and reinforces my happiness when I don't have another soul to share my smiles with. It is a guardian of even those infinitesimally small thoughts that I can't discuss with anyone.

If you write, I can guarantee, this is one habit that will never disappoint you. In fact, it will give you a chance to know yourself more closely, understand yourself better. A 'search' for the beautiful person that resides within you is definitely an onerous task, but it is a journey worth undertaking.