I can write as well...

I am listening to a soulful composition by Harris Jayaraj. A haunting melody sung by Bombay Jayashree. My fingers keep rolling on the keyboard of my laptop, as my thoughts translate to words on a Microsoft word document. Yet sometimes, I struggle to form cohesive sentences. The fact that ‘Backspace’ is the keyboard button I use the most after ‘Space’ is testimony to this fact. I have forgotten how it feels to physically hold a pen and write on a piece of parchment. There were days, when I used to practice so many mathematical problems on paper that my index and middle finger would terribly hurt. Don’t you remember the days when possessing a ‘Cello Gripper’ was considered a fashion statement of sorts?

And now, here I am trying to make a name as a ‘Writer’. Okay, not just a ‘Writer’ but a great one. But I am struggling. I am no better than a junior artist in Bollywood, who’s trying to break in and look for that one ‘lucky break’ which is elusive in most cases. Why? My manuscript has been rejected by the biggies. That was a jolt I probably needed to come out of complacency. I was pretty confident of my writing abilities. But rejection forces you to rethink. Rejection is the best thing that can happen to anyone, for it is a humbling experience. I think I should first set the context right, before I proceed further.

It all began in the month of September in 2011. Four months of life in the corporate boardrooms, I was disillusioned. Who am I? What was I doing after passing out from the ‘toughest B-school to get into’? What do I want to do with my life? And then there was this tryst with... I suppose you got that one! A very depressing day in office was the trigger. I furiously opened my laptop and vented out my feelings on the keyboard. And there it was – a short note, reflecting on anything and everything that happened in my life in the last one year. I read and reread it and laughed at myself, wondering how puerile I can be sometimes. I wasn't immature. I was less mature. Then, as an afterthought I decided to share it with three friends who know the in and out of me. One of them then suggested that I extend it further into a fully fledged novel. Of course, it had to be fictionalized. And it was. It’s been over two years now. We are on the verge of getting it published.

We? Yes, me and my editor. This script is my baby. Precisely five months ago, I began searching for an editor to nurture it. Lucky me! It wasn't such a painful exercise after all. Working with my editor on this ‘soon to be published’ book has been a delightful and an immensely enriching experience. Of course, I did have some trouble trying to unlearn all those things ingrained in my psyche, to which I was conditioned to and look at the script from her perspective. And I also managed to rile my editor once with my stupidity while reworking on the script. But she pushed me to stretch my realms of imagination and come up with something better. Of course, that’s what good editors are supposed to be doing. Now, when I realise I am a better narrator than I was probably a year back, then I have to thank my editor for it.

Dear editor, if you are reading this and I know you would, I would like to tell you that I have downloaded a copy of Wren and Martin. The file’s conveniently saved on my laptop's desktop, so that every time I see it, I know I am messing with the ‘funniest language’ in the world and trying to make a career out of it. This, despite the fact that my score in the ‘Verbal Ability’ section of CAT 2008 led me straight into the hallowed portals of IIMA! Boastful, eh? Unequivocally, yes!

Disclaimer: I am venturing into the ‘blunt’ mode. I would like to call this the ‘phase’, when I am unabashedly shameless and brutally honest about my views and the insights I share. So, if you can’t stand this mode, I suggest you stop right here!

‘Writing a book is the intellectual equivalent of running a marathon’. I quote my ex-roommate, verbatim. He so succinctly described my experience of writing a novel that I could only nod in admiration. He recently quit his job to venture full-time into wedding photography. A bold step I must say. Anyways, the point I was trying to make was that Writing as a profession doesn't guarantee financial stability, especially for a fledgling writer like me who aspires to make it big. And moreover, writing is an exhaustive activity in itself. I remember having endured the proverbial writer’s block a couple of times – a phase a writer dreads the most. Writing is inherently associated with solitude. Most writers embrace silence and contemplate in solitude, for it allows them to be ‘in the zone’. I know what it’s like to be ‘in the zone’. It’s that phase when the creative juices overflow and you just can’t stop writing.

Being a writer is also tough, in a society that is turning increasingly materialistic. What’s the first thing that comes to your mind when I say I am a writer? People who don’t know me well might conjure one or all of the following: Crazy, lunatic, eccentric, most probably a serial drinker, hardcore introvert, irrational, radical, lean, hairy (OMG!). It’s bloody true, given the kind of imagery associated with some of the bestselling authors of the world. I can’t just roam around proclaiming that I am a writer. Not until, I have written a bestseller. Unfortunately, I see myself being dragged down by people who fail to appreciate fine arts and still have a word of advice for me or worse, think that all I do is daydream. Bloody hypocrites! But, I have to also acknowledge the presence of friends who have firmly supported me. It’s because of them that I can dream, imagine and write. The sad truth about us, the proud Indians that we call ourselves, is that we sometimes ruthlessly rebuke those who dare to dream beyond the obvious. Visionaries have blossomed in environments where they were encouraged to dream and act on fulfilling them. What harm is there if I want to be one? Anyways...

I have managed to complete my book. Per se, it’s an achievement. Is the book good or bad? You have to judge. Incidentally, there’s a contest called NANOWRIMO where budding writers register and write 50000 words of their novel in the month of November. ‘Gosh’ was my first reaction when I first went through the infomercial. That’s crazy! I can never do that. Probably, that’s the reason why it took me two years. 

My editor did ask me once. How did I keep going? Did I not run out of patience? Was I not tired whilst letting my imagination run amok and pen my thoughts down? Of course, I was. But I was so involved with the characters I created, that it would have been gross injustice if I hadn't finished their story. I felt a strong inner urge and the responsibility to finish their story. There were days when I only thought about the characters of the story I was weaving. I was in the zone and I felt special. Damn! I already sound like those well established authors. I hope I become one of them. And yes, for those cynics droning on around me – Yes! The book will be out soon. 

signing off,

taureansandy