Till now I was awaiting for the birth of divine artistry instilled in me. But I understood that there isn't such a thing or we cannot record such a moment as its date of birth , when one of my friends said me,
" just enter the world of letters without any horoscope then definitely u can....
". I praised my friends' expertise in scribbling down their thoughts. Everyone is well versed and got a green thumb in their writings. Vexed with lack of letters, I talked to my confidant in our consortium. I love to call it a consortium because all sort of business concerning us get discussed there. As the routine procedure I discussed the whole shebang at my college to him as if I'm a reporter. As a result, he knew most of my friends and teachers and their unique characteristics. When my chats got a serious tune he asked me to get a good sleep and by morning I will get the adequate stuff for my post. But, I was unable to sleep as my mind chants
" posting a post
" always. Actually, I'm neither a good writer nor a good reader . But here INTERNAL matters. Internals are the swords in the hands of our professors . They can cut the head and also gift it as symbol of victory. To bag this victory is an Herculian task. Internals: the essence that binds pupils to classroom. I should also write as my words decide my internals.
"Sitting desperately, I wandered through my mind to fetch an instinct to write on. (Like jack and Jill went up to the hill to fetch water)but I could not opt one. I heard mom complaining,'wherever there's an inch space there is her books,that too archaic...... If u don't want them then just clear the place...' I thought how lovely she is even when she scolds me. Putting the pen on my book I went there my sister handed me a book asking whether I need it or not. To my amazement it was my ' Creative Writings' book. Our tuitor made us to write something of our own every week. It was same as compulsory social service ,compulsory creative writing. I remembered his words "you will worth it someday even if you disliked it." I turned the pages with excitement gone through the letters and was happy to get the stuff for my post. I read the poems and stories in it aloud and aloud forgetting my premises. I read them once,twice and thrice that too with my maximum voice...."
Suddenly I felt a hand on my lips. I opened my eyes my hubby is next to me asking what happened. I searched for my book in my hands but it was not there. It took a few minutes for me to realize it was only a dream. A profound dream. As by Freud: dreams are the particular form of thinking. Now it get posted expecting not being an amphigory in front of these cognoscenti...!
