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!!