The Love for Writing

    Recently, running through the pages of my sketchbook which, had coincidentally turned into a journal that had more sentences than pictures, I realised that the spirit of writing has come back. Abstractly recalling the lines of Orhan Pamuk I believe, the angel of inspiration choses to reveal images and dreams only when the writer feels lonely, doubtful in his efforts, his story and the value of his art. Well then here I am running through the words on my blog. Just taking where the words take me.

    Why am I here? Why am I writing or blogging again? I am writing for myself. One has to start somewhere, right? I am no expert and I hope to learn as I write away. Oh wait. Here’s something. Our department hosted an exhibition last week. Speaking of writing we put up a stall where the visitors could write a poem, one line per person. When the crowds had slowed down, I went to the stall, reading the lines people had anonymously made. Although I do not remember the lines, I noticed that each new line had a character unique from the one before. It complimented, questioned or even seemed to confuse its predecessor. It was beautiful; every line had a story behind it. Come to think of it, perhaps someone was trying their best to beat Wordsworth, or someone who was figuring out what love is, or perhaps someone who found the whole ordeal amusing. Everyone has a story to tell, or a story they do not wish to say, yet. So here I am dear reader, ready to write, fingers tapping on.

            There it goes, you have been warned. Blogs Away!

P. S. Find below few pictures from my sketchbook turned journal.