In my mind, I always consider myself to be some sort of a writer.  I may not have been able to become a writer in the real sense, but I don’t care.  It’s enough for me that I have a great deal of reverence for the printed words.  Ever since I was in a position to do so, I have bought, curated and surrounded myself with books.  I find myself instinctively attracted to anyone who has got the gift of writing beautiful prose.  Whenever I see the name of the author on the title cover of the books I have, I can’t help thinking what a tremendous high it must be to see the sum total of your wisdom, for better or for worse, immortalized in written word.  Now that I have acquired some modest experience of reading quite a few books over the years, I think I can relate to the moods and emotions of the writer.  There is one aspect of this thought process that I very much relate to.  It has something to do with procrastination.  You see, I want to get a lot of writing done, but besides the physical limitations imposed on me by my situation; I also tend to be a lazy person when it comes to putting down my thoughts.  The overwhelming feeling is of lethargy.  I hate to love, or you can say that I love to hate the word ‘procrastination’.  Sometimes I know that I have a germ of an idea in my head about some things to write about and tell myself to do it as soon as possible before the idea disappears.  But due to one reason or the other, I would let it keep simmering in my mind and not do anything, in other words, avoid taking a decision, for instance like this post.  It is only marginally reassuring that a lot of people who are a million times more resourceful and talented than me also go through this phase all the time.  There is always this paralyzing fear that you are about to lose your ability to put into words what is consuming you from inside.

It happens like this.  I am thinking about writing something, but I wouldn’t act on it right away.  I would let this train of thought coming and going for quite a few days not knowing how to begin.  In the meantime, if I am reading something, I would tell myself I should be writing instead.  And when I am writing, I start thinking maybe it would be more productive if I enrich my mind and soul by reading something and in case I am enjoying some show or a movie, then the guilt would be all the more embarrassing.  At times like these, I would even rationalize myself in the most strange of ways.  I would tell myself that I am not the only one who keeps looking for excuses not to put down my thoughts.  A great many people have undergone similar experiences and they are none the worse for it.  In fact, the great V.S. Naipaul has admitted on many occasions that after finishing one book, he would be crippled by the agonizing fear that how is he ever going to write another book in his life!  But he did all right, didn’t he?  Now, don’t get me wrong.  I am not about to commit the ultimate blasphemy by even remotely comparing my predicament with the great man, but you get the drift.  Yes, I would say that people like Naipaul and quite a few others are a source of immense inspiration and learning for people like me.  Their way of being and doing things are constant reminders to me that once my monitor is up with a blank page and the cursor is blinking, somehow, I can produce a serviceable prose.