Saturday, 5 July 2014

To read and write

Do you stall reading? I do. Guilty. I finish books in a week that I would rather in a day or two. I surf through their pages unhurriedly. Reeling in its crisp or stale smell. The smell of fresh unread words. The same words said over and over again. With varied meanings. They amaze me. Simple words.  White Sheet. Complex formations. Complicated me. A sparkle of crisp champagne is how it all feels to me.

Read this sentence out loud stressing different words one at a time. It will mean different each time “I did not mean she stole my money.”  Amazing? Astounding.

Words feel like magic to me. Conjuring worlds out of nothing. Teleporting us imbeciles to a surreal world. Where everything is perfectly imperfect and yet everything fits into each other, somehow its more real than real.  It’s a cheap vacation that we take to escape the boredom of routine. That dreaded routine. I don’t know about my readers but I fly high of the spirit of the books I read at the time. Am unapproachable. My self impenetrable. Am drenched with the thought process of the writer. I talk like the protagonist, think like the protagonist, eat, sleep, drink like the protagonist. And only if You can stir up emotions, as such, in me, do I read. Else am too lazy. Am too lazy to pick up a book for a mediocre ride. I want to be high. And that I’d be. Anything for a roller coaster ride.
Writing. Writing is another excuse for me to read. I cook up excuses as to why is it necessary for me to read, to be able to write. I read ten pages to write one. Sometimes my writings are influenced, others I call inspired. Either ways they later feel like trash. So I keep away from reading for a while to deliver truth and honesty in my writings. I fail. Am neither, I am loyal. I am made up of all that I have read. So in parts they visit me in little pangs. And I write. 

When I swell with words, I write. When I need to write, I write. When I ache to read, I write.  Sometimes or most(You tell me?:) ), my deliverance is not as spectacular as I perceive. Like in a dream where everything is augmented. Enhanced a notch higher. Yellow seems blazing. Green feels moving. Blue feels flowing. White feels eternally soothing. Every emotion is amplified. But when You wake up it feels like it was: Just A Dream. But I write , I write to reveal, as Sidney Sheldon, “The other side of me”. 



  1. This article makes my love for reading and writing, stronger :)

    1. Am glad it does SrishTi :)


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