I have had a proclivity towards writing as far back as my memory goes – that is two days to be precise. But I am sure my passion was ignited much before that. My father very often recounts an incident when I was just a year old. With a black ink pen, it seems I had written all across his shirt while he was asleep. I guess it was in my blood to be a writer because even my mom recollects writing all over my dad but for better effect, she chose a broomstick.
My evolution as a writer didn’t happen overnight. If I put my mind to it now I see the wordsmithian streak in me even while at school. For one, I used to be miserable with math because it was all about numbers. How can a word-friendly guy like me be expected to do well in it? In order to survive, I started converting all of math to English in the exam papers – 3 to three and (2abc + xy) to (two-abc–plus-xy) but the math teacher was a goat of a sadist. He soon realized I had found a way out and started throwing geometrical figures like triangles and pentagons in the paper which I couldn’t anglicize. (I can imagine him smirking behind his chalk-powder stained glasses at his victory). This was an eye-opener as it is during such exams that my skill as a writer dawned on me.
Other exams gave me an even greater platform for unleashing my prowess at fiction writing. In a history exam, I penned a beautiful poem on the emotions behind the first war of Indian Independence. Physics and Chemistry were difficult I admit but then, I never said I was good at sci-fi. I still wonder why I was always low on ranking in spite of my turning out one original masterpiece after another. Of course, I didn’t allow any one to copy from my paper as I was fiercely protective about my works. I wrote my way through school and college. In spite of adverse criticism from a numerical community called ‘professors’ I kept up my desire to continue writing. I still don’t understand why they used to threaten me with ominous phrases like, “Your days are numbered”.
The days of math are over, now that I am out of academia. But I have a new problem now. Despite being my creative self, I feel I am severely handicapped in one important aspect – women! I wonder why. Intelligent women, I am told, love original thinking and creative people. For example, whenever my dad says something original like, “You are looking great today!”, or “This dish you prepared is wonderful!” my mom is all smiles and blushes. Even celebrities like Pamela Anderson love creative people so much that they can’t seem to decide whom to stick to. Hence, I can’t imagine, despite being imaginative, how I have become the exception to this rule.
If you don’t already know, then let me tell you that I have all of those outstanding abilities that instantly appeal to women. And I have acquired all these abilities only because of my love for writing. Writers are very observant by nature. They have an uncanny ability to spot details otherwise unnoticed by anyone else. At a party, I once told a gorgeous lady that her fake diamond ear-rings were looking absolutely fantastic. Immediately after that she came closer to me and all the while I was expecting to be kissed on the cheek for my sheer observation, she chose to walk out on me! I was amazed; I bet you are too. How can somebody ignore a compliment like that? Beats me!
Writers hate errors and slip-ups. Our innate sense of precision follows us everywhere. Yes even in the loo, just in case you were wondering if I actually meant ‘everywhere’. But even this ability of mine has gone largely unnoticed. To illustrate, I was once waiting at the bus stop where I noticed a nubile lady right in front of me with her pants not quite covering her underwear. I must admit I was quite ‘Enamor’-ed 😉 at the sight of it at first but my sense of precision soon took over. I tried telling her using gestures that her lingerie was on display but she chose to ignore me. Well, I personally like pink, but black is better I suppose. What do you say? 😛 I thought I should help this lady out and was about to pull up her pants for her when my friend yanked me away and the lady continued to stare at me with cold eyes. No one appreciates good intentions these days, especially not pretty damsels.
As writers, we also tend to communicate well. We get to the point immediately and do it in the shortest possible way. Of course, we sometimes elongate a little here and there because we are paid by the word (like this particular line in brackets for example. It was totally unnecessary but I just thought I should improve the word-count a little so here goes.) But most of the times we prefer to stay concise. There was once this lady I was seeing. We met one evening at a park and the dialogue between us was somewhat like this:
“If you continue like this we will never be able to meet. Why do you always put off things until the last minute?” she asked
“You mean, procrastinate?” said I
“Duh? Pro what?”
“No nothing forget it”
“Oh you have begun to think too much of yourself, huh?”
“You mean to say I am an egoist?”
“Look here mister, are you trying to make fun of me?”
“No dear, I am not disparaging you”.
“Of course you are discouraging me with your smart ass one-liners”
“Oh! So you don’t like my semantic laconism. Then why don’t you explicate on that?”
“ENOUGH! I have had enough of you. I am going. Bye”.
“But hey! What happened? Things are still quite inchoate between us. Listen up, hey!!…..”
She was already out of earshot. She didn’t even give me a fair chance to know where I bungled up.
Wonder where I am going wrong despite my impeccable qualities and a benign writerly nature!