MUCH ADO ABOUT AN ARTICLE
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!!