The other day one of my friends, apparently having read some of the stuff that I’ve posted, asked me about my inspiration, about what inspires me to write. That simple question spun my mind into different directions, as I sat down to reply and realised with a horror struck truth, that I indeed didn’t know where I got my inspiration from! So, I actually got to thinking and reached a conclusion. Anything inspires me, everything inspires me and nothing inspires me to write.
Anything inspires me to write-
I’ve never given any particular attention to the little things I experience on a daily basis. How I’ve never noticed that little child who sits outside the medical store every evening, and never, ever skips his daily, “Didi, sab badiya?” and that hundred watt smile he flashes. Seeing him sitting calmly every day had become a part of my evenings that I stopped noticing when the sun bid adieu to me.
This one day I turned to look at him when I saw an empty chair. No sign of the thumbs up, no sign of that smile, no sign of the cheeky ball of warmness. That’s when it struck me how that unoccupied chair wasn’t merely an empty space, but was a gift he had left for me. That chair spoke volumes of a new journey he must have embarked upon, no matter how shaky.
Everything inspires me to write-
From the scary problem of hair fall to the relief after getting your eyebrows done. From the sore muscles after working out to shed the extra love your pizza had showered on you to cuddling with your own bed at night. From that first ray of sunlight that cleans your face to that quilt of moonlight you put on while sleeping, I find that each and every moment holds a new meaning.
Nothing inspires me to write-
How at times I realise how barren and colourless my dreams have been lately, my mind fills up with a new, invisible charge of painting new images, undiscovered images, unexplored lines that no one ever has thought of, never crossed, and what interests me is a new world far beyond anything, anyone would have ever fathomed.
So, I guess it is safe to say that I’ve still not found a definite answer to this question, and maybe I never will find one. But as long as my hand doesn’t stop working and my mind doesn’t shut itself out, it really doesn’t matter, does it?