“It’s been so long since I am treading around my existence exactly in the same way”, I realized it over a phone call while having a life-talk with my best buddy. She hung up and left me pondering — how couldn’t I ever notice the static graph of my life, being practically the closest to myself?
It is funny how sometimes people appear closer to us than we are to ourselves. Yet, her words were not really explicit and I am not even sure if they were meant to kindle the existential dilemma in my mind. Anyway, at least I noticed the stagnancy residing in the peripheries around me. Playing the safest, I passed it all to my destiny and made myself believe that it is what it is and that my life’s flow is bringing to me what it can, which I must embrace. You think this way when you really do not want to waste your time on an introspection that can cease you from having a sound sleep.
I could not sleep, as the phone rang when I entered into the city of vivid dreams, almost believing in the new and better world. But a better world is mostly a dream and definitely a far-fetched idea. Feeling the heaviness of my eye-lids, I didn’t care to check the number (technology is a waste when it stands between you and your slumber). The same friend called but sounded unusually cheerful and content. Sensing her emotions made me take a look at the time. “It’s 3 o’ clock in the morning, is she dream-talking?” I wondered. “What, what is it? You sound kind of good.” “Well, the stories I have been working on since months for the Penguin guys, got selected!”
Opening my eyes gradually and not believing my ears, I listened without uttering a word. She told me how unburdened and secure she feels, as she can see herself as a writer in the near future. “I think you can dip a toe too, I am not saying it’s easy but why don’t you try a hand over it?” Dipping a toe in the vast ocean of words, she meant. Either she is earnestly suggesting me to consider the idea or she just pities me, thinking I am in need for changing the course of my actions.
It is a true fact that she has, without fail, come around me with the idea of starting my blog and writing something solid. But this moment was on an unconventional route, as I was feeling an uncanny push in my head. No, I wasn’t thinking of myself as a wasteful being nor was I thinking of competing with my genuine well-wisher. The vision of me inscribing the imaginative colors down on a white paper brought about a sort of comprehensiveness in my heart of hearts. Placing her reasons on one side and planning for my first topic at the other, I was reliving the vivid dreams with the sleepy, yet wide-opened eyes.
Although, poems have been my thing even before this epiphany occurred but it wasn’t like I was a bard! The biggest challenge mirrored the art of conveying my truest being before people. My poems always captured vaguer pictures through entangled words and a romanticized form. Previous to conveying my authenticity to people, I myself wanted to acknowledge the graphic photograph of my cognition first. At this point, my hazy poems could never prove of any help.
Pursuing literature, I was technically habitual of writing more words. Nevertheless, this talent always began and ended at the examination hall. Writing about the works and stories of other writers (however good or bad I was at it) became a routine. Ironically, writing something which is at the closest proximity to me or to simplify, becoming a writer myself, proved to be a task.
The next morning, I woke up with some good vibes bubbling in my head. I planned on picking Wordsworth’s brain by recollecting emotions in tranquility. Squeezing in the coziest corner of my room, I began to scribble some stuff that I most strongly felt. I have essentially proved myself to be a negative person, advancing towards darkness and dismal thoughts at times but while scrawling, it was a parallel world altogether.
As I wrote, I found a huge trail of ideas following me. With stream-of-consciousness as my supreme pen, I had my feelings inside-out. The pessimism appeared just as a thin layer covering me around the surface. Internally, I religiously carried the spirit of buoyancy. Just a poke into my subconscious and I was there with the treasure-chest, containing my truly defined mind-set that culminated at optimism.
Ultimately, giving a finishing stroke to the prose I was up with, I stared at the white sheet of paper full of black marks. It appeared as if those marks were already there, lurking inside the fine fibers of haziness and becoming visible as I meticulously wiped all the abstractions away. Eventually, it occurred to me that it wasn’t the feeling of missing skills, nor the intention to prove things to my friend that moved me from the core. It was just the epiphany, the abrupt revelation that became a principal accelerator, which I utilized while building a bridge between my words and thoughts.
When thoughts arise there are no patterns seen. Garima Bahl believes that writing makes a festoon of our thoughts, bringing about a vibrant design.