Arundhati Roy presents her characters as they are, with all their uneven edges and rough textures. Everyone is reduced to their crude humanity, stripped down to their naked, imperfect morality. She makes the reader jump from hate to love to sympathy, all in the span of a single page. The reader’s heart is almost a puppet in her skilled hands and she masterfully tugs the right strings every single time. She evokes every emotion in the spectrum and in the end, you’re left with a flood of empathy. You’re not going to find any black and white characters in these pages.
As a writer, I often make multiple drafts when I write anything; This indirectly means wasting a lot of paper. But it is a fun sport too. Tearing a sheet and crumbling it to get a perfect shot at the dustbin across the room is the next most exciting thing I do. But yesterday night, while I was asleep, my conscience got to me, and I had a rather amusing dream. So today morning, I woke up and decided to write it down in a more ‘reader-friendly manner’ for writers like me.
“There is an understated struggle lying in the underbelly of every single day, and the seconds that go into wading through that river aren’t worthless”
Sometimes life feels utterly stationary and the lack of movement makes it seem like that is all your future holds too. Feeling as though you are living life doing tiny insignificant things that don’t matter because you can’t seem to do anything else. Well, if this is a problem you face, I’m here to offer you some perspective and tell you that it might not a problem after all.
There’s this poem on Pinterest which says, ‘when the doctors cut me open, they’ll find a churn of black longing’. Most days, it feels like the black hole inside me swallows everything I throw its way. But never itself.
Having to choose among all your childhood fantasies sometimes narrows down to just either having to be practical or brave. Also, not all the times are both the things same. That’s when you need to listen to just you and yourself only. Is it as easy as I’m making it sound? Am I sugarcoating something which would probably harm you but you need to know anyway?
You write what you like to. You write, taking inspiration from all around you. You write because it’s your hobby. You write to make yourself useful. You write to express who you are, what you are, and how you are. You dream and pen down your fantasies. Your writing does not become yours. You become what your writing is. But what if it all ends? What if you are not able to write again? What if your inspirations turn a blind eye on you? What if you are not able to be you?
Cartoons..done, poetry..nah, facts..too TWE. How about racism? Oh no, I feel it is too controversial, let’s not do this. Oh God! I have been staring at my laptop for more than an hour right now and haven’t been able to write a single word. Wait, why can’t I write about not having any ideas?