Ashish Sharma ’98


Creativity is the soil which bears the seeds of new inventions and innovations. Creativity lies in the soul of every human being. However it has a very fickle nature. Stupendous innovations may be achieved in no time while a petty task may become next to impossible. Recently I had a close brush with this aspect of creativity.


 I was asked by my editor to submit an article for the magazine. Thus faithfully I collected all the paraphernalia associated with creative writing. Pen, paper and coffee mug; all stood in their respective positions waiting for the final assault. Satisfied with my preparations I sat down and took hold of my weapon (read- pen). Charge screamed my mind as I dashed for the paper and then came the stumble;

I didn’t have a single idea about what to write.


 My grey cells started working frantically. Politics was my first thought but that would be misplaced;

Philosophy- too mundane; current affairs- BAH; music but I don’t know much about it; a moralistic sermon- who’ll care to read it, so on and so forth.


This method of negation was leading me nowhere. After a couple of hours I was stranded without even a single idea to work upon (and an empty coffee mug). “Perhaps a little walk do good to me”, I thought, but all it yielded was wastage of another precious hour. Time was running out and my page was still blank. I tried to calm down and reasoned with myself. “There is a way out, there has to be a way out”, I reiterated and plunged into my stream of consciousness.


 I fished for a logical topic; personalities-but couldn’t find one to suit the occasion; literature- nothing to write which everybody doesn’t know already; science- but that would cater to a select readership and thus I was back to square one.


Slowly my expectation was burning into panic. The ticking of clock hammered through my nerve cells. My desperation started giving me weird ideas. What could I write upon? My neighbour; cow: sewage system of my locality or delay in monsoon. I tried to shake them out of my mind but I felt my panic which was making me crazy.


Time became my enemy. I lost my cool and was on the verge of tearing my hair apart. I  walked round the room, scratched my cot; drank a bottle of milk and even stood on head (perhaps the increase in blood circulation would result in an idea).


Just as I was loosing hope, a ray of hope glimmered at the far end of the dark tunnel. Why not write about whatever I have been doing all day.


The pen cover flew off; pen screeched and table shook as I frantically scribbled the experiences of that dreadful day.


It is this manuscript which you had been reading so far. All I can pray is that this nightmare never repeats itself…..Amen!!


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