I sit with a pen in my hand, open notebook, blank page and an empty mind. I do not have a single thought in my mind. It is like somebody just washed it clean. I start to write but the pen does not work. I try, try and try but no avail. It refuses to co operate with me. I have to get up from my cozy couch and get a new pen. I open the cupboard, reach for the pen holder but it stares back emptily. Emptiness, that is what me and my pen holder share. I hunt for a pen or a pencil in the side drawers but I find none. I do find a purple colour pencil and I give up. I reach for it ans start writing. And I think how lucky this purple pencil is to be used by me. okay, not so lucky. My attempts at writing are interrupted by one of the species in my house, my eldest brother trying to crack my knuckles. I bolt and take refuge on my bed. The relationship that me and my bed share is very understandable. It puts me down to sleep the minute I lay down on it. Its teak wood and springy mattress gives me the comfort that a 5 star hotel can’t. But right now its not doing its job. And I am still awake. So I sit up and reach for the book that I have been trying to read for past 2 weeks. It happens to be a classic forced upon me by my cruel BFF cum sister.You see classics are not my thing. But I am trying. I open it to page 134,
She thought, without exactly wording the thought, how strange and God like was a composer’s power, who from the grave could lead through sequences of emotion, which he alone had felt at first, a girl like her who had never heard of his name, and never would have a clue to his personality. -Tess Of The D’urbervilles by Thomas Hardy.
I want my writing to be like this. And now I am lost in the world of reading.