Author's note: This one is a comedy that most people should be able to enjoy. It was the first story of mine that I let other people read (showing others my older creations would have got me locked up in a mental asylum). BTW I didn't draw this picture.
Every writer goes through a rough patch in life when he starts off with his career. It is usually a time when he is an unsociable ogre desperately trying to socialize in the hope of finding inspiration. Unfortunately his overdrawn monologues induce even his friends to run for their lives at the sight of him. Of course anybody would scatter when confronted by a pauper who wants to drink with him. Before my first best seller was published I was almost labeled an antisocial drunk.
You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it. *
We, the accomplished writers, have certain patented techniques to help rookies through this exasperating period. I was employing one of these to scout for new ideas. I wanted to be inspired enough to write volumes incessantly. I would visit new places, listen to strangers’ conversations and even stare at interesting faces in the hope of finding a muse. I used to go to Corner House and join lively groups (of strangers) at their tables. I did that until the security kept a look out for me. The official term for this technique is ‘snooping around’.
The evening before I started writing my first magnum opus I had gone alone to my favorite restaurant. My roommate, who bathes so rarely that the plumbing clogs when he does, had raced to the bathroom when I asked him to accompany me. It seems he wanted a leisurely bath that evening and that he planned to remain under the shower until late at night. It did sound suspicious to me, but since he has done stranger things I did not force him further. Also the prospect of a roommate who didn’t stink intrigued me. I went to my neighbor to check if he was free. My neighbor is a very jolly fellow and we are good buddies. I knocked on his door. He opened the door and I could just make out his petrified face before he slammed it shut.
“Man……. I am on an important call now. Come later.”
“Hey! I didn’t see a phone in your hand.”
“I am using hands-free.”
“No you are not. I have your hands-free kit. OH! You bought a new one? I'll keep the old one then?”
“Keep it. Keep it. Just leave now.” It almost sounded like he was crying. Was he upset with me? Did he want back his iPOD and DVDs and the books and magazines and the trekking shoes, sports socks and ....? (that was all I could remember then). I never found out.
Time is money
I had to dash the final 100 m. The board with ‘Sea Shells’ embossed in blue neon allured me. I was panting by the time I reached the place. I scampered to the bar counter and in between gasps for breath ordered four drinks. I had just about made it. Happy hours get over at 8:30 p.m. and it was already 8:25 p.m. Content with myself for having valiantly saved some money I started ‘snooping around’ while leisurely sipping my drinks.
There was a young couple in the table next to mine. The pretty girl was wearing a bright red top and jeans and had the face of an angel. She was chatting excitedly with exaggerated expressions and gesticulations and the guy er.... the guy......er... I just remember that there was a guy. I had tried to listen to their conversation. She was talking about her friend's marriage and it started getting interesting as their conversation went into more controversial topics like soul mates, true love, live-ins etc. I thought I was about to get an interesting story when her mobile rang. And that was the end of it. She was on the phone for god knows how long, whispering and giggling like only girls can do. I got bored and decided to wait for other people to come. In the meanwhile I concentrated on my food and drinks.
“We are slivers of melting ice adrift in a gilded sea. Navigate through treacherous bubbling whirlpools and torpid froth to not sink into mediocrity. Eventually all fade into the sea without any trace of this journey called life so wade through all the muck and get to the lemons. Yeah, the sweet sour lemons.” I was almost philosophical while sucking the lemon slice in my long island iced tea.
Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen
I was rudely interrupted from my reverie by some commotion in the adjoining table. One guy was screaming profanities at a waiter. Something about not getting ice cubes for his drink. His companions were trying to mollify him but he didn’t budge and kept up his tirade. It was apparent that he was an idiot. Not all the ice in the world will get him to the lemons I thought and a bout of hysterical laughter took over me. Again I was rudely interrupted by him, but this time he muttered only one sentence. But the filth and grime contained in that one line will never wash off me. “YUCK.”
I quietly turned to the opposite side and searched for newcomers at the restaurant. It seems there was a cricket match that night and all the regular patrons were at home with asses glued on their couches and their eyes stuck to their TV sets. All the other tables except for one were empty. That table was strewn with a lot of empty glasses and was occupied by a shabbily dressed man with unkempt hair, an unshaven face and blood shot eyes. He was looking at me with keen interest like he was studying me. I realized that I was giving him the same look. As realization turned into recognition I abruptly diverted my gaze to the ceiling (surprisingly it seemed like he did the same). He was doing the same thing as me i.e. scouting for a muse in the guise of a desperately hopeless drunk and it even looked like we were in the same mental state. It felt very eerie right then, as if I had met a doppelganger.
“Will I explode if I touched him, like when a particle meets its anti-particle?” as I pondered this a waiter told me, as obsequiously as possible, that the bar was about to close. It was time to leave. Anyway there was no one there who could inspire me. Also I had only enough money for the return auto fare, one and a half of course. “May be the person who can make me write is not born yet”, I lamented.
* - Statistics show that many enterprising readers** in this country prefer 'self-help' books that profess time management and confidence building skills. The lines in bold are for their comfort and interest
** - Statistics also show that these readers are morons.
Every writer goes through a rough patch in life when he starts off with his career. It is usually a time when he is an unsociable ogre desperately trying to socialize in the hope of finding inspiration. Unfortunately his overdrawn monologues induce even his friends to run for their lives at the sight of him. Of course anybody would scatter when confronted by a pauper who wants to drink with him. Before my first best seller was published I was almost labeled an antisocial drunk.
You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it. *
We, the accomplished writers, have certain patented techniques to help rookies through this exasperating period. I was employing one of these to scout for new ideas. I wanted to be inspired enough to write volumes incessantly. I would visit new places, listen to strangers’ conversations and even stare at interesting faces in the hope of finding a muse. I used to go to Corner House and join lively groups (of strangers) at their tables. I did that until the security kept a look out for me. The official term for this technique is ‘snooping around’.
The evening before I started writing my first magnum opus I had gone alone to my favorite restaurant. My roommate, who bathes so rarely that the plumbing clogs when he does, had raced to the bathroom when I asked him to accompany me. It seems he wanted a leisurely bath that evening and that he planned to remain under the shower until late at night. It did sound suspicious to me, but since he has done stranger things I did not force him further. Also the prospect of a roommate who didn’t stink intrigued me. I went to my neighbor to check if he was free. My neighbor is a very jolly fellow and we are good buddies. I knocked on his door. He opened the door and I could just make out his petrified face before he slammed it shut.
“Man……. I am on an important call now. Come later.”
“Hey! I didn’t see a phone in your hand.”
“I am using hands-free.”
“No you are not. I have your hands-free kit. OH! You bought a new one? I'll keep the old one then?”
“Keep it. Keep it. Just leave now.” It almost sounded like he was crying. Was he upset with me? Did he want back his iPOD and DVDs and the books and magazines and the trekking shoes, sports socks and ....? (that was all I could remember then). I never found out.
Time is money
I had to dash the final 100 m. The board with ‘Sea Shells’ embossed in blue neon allured me. I was panting by the time I reached the place. I scampered to the bar counter and in between gasps for breath ordered four drinks. I had just about made it. Happy hours get over at 8:30 p.m. and it was already 8:25 p.m. Content with myself for having valiantly saved some money I started ‘snooping around’ while leisurely sipping my drinks.
There was a young couple in the table next to mine. The pretty girl was wearing a bright red top and jeans and had the face of an angel. She was chatting excitedly with exaggerated expressions and gesticulations and the guy er.... the guy......er... I just remember that there was a guy. I had tried to listen to their conversation. She was talking about her friend's marriage and it started getting interesting as their conversation went into more controversial topics like soul mates, true love, live-ins etc. I thought I was about to get an interesting story when her mobile rang. And that was the end of it. She was on the phone for god knows how long, whispering and giggling like only girls can do. I got bored and decided to wait for other people to come. In the meanwhile I concentrated on my food and drinks.
“We are slivers of melting ice adrift in a gilded sea. Navigate through treacherous bubbling whirlpools and torpid froth to not sink into mediocrity. Eventually all fade into the sea without any trace of this journey called life so wade through all the muck and get to the lemons. Yeah, the sweet sour lemons.” I was almost philosophical while sucking the lemon slice in my long island iced tea.
Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen
I was rudely interrupted from my reverie by some commotion in the adjoining table. One guy was screaming profanities at a waiter. Something about not getting ice cubes for his drink. His companions were trying to mollify him but he didn’t budge and kept up his tirade. It was apparent that he was an idiot. Not all the ice in the world will get him to the lemons I thought and a bout of hysterical laughter took over me. Again I was rudely interrupted by him, but this time he muttered only one sentence. But the filth and grime contained in that one line will never wash off me. “YUCK.”
I quietly turned to the opposite side and searched for newcomers at the restaurant. It seems there was a cricket match that night and all the regular patrons were at home with asses glued on their couches and their eyes stuck to their TV sets. All the other tables except for one were empty. That table was strewn with a lot of empty glasses and was occupied by a shabbily dressed man with unkempt hair, an unshaven face and blood shot eyes. He was looking at me with keen interest like he was studying me. I realized that I was giving him the same look. As realization turned into recognition I abruptly diverted my gaze to the ceiling (surprisingly it seemed like he did the same). He was doing the same thing as me i.e. scouting for a muse in the guise of a desperately hopeless drunk and it even looked like we were in the same mental state. It felt very eerie right then, as if I had met a doppelganger.
“Will I explode if I touched him, like when a particle meets its anti-particle?” as I pondered this a waiter told me, as obsequiously as possible, that the bar was about to close. It was time to leave. Anyway there was no one there who could inspire me. Also I had only enough money for the return auto fare, one and a half of course. “May be the person who can make me write is not born yet”, I lamented.
* - Statistics show that many enterprising readers** in this country prefer 'self-help' books that profess time management and confidence building skills. The lines in bold are for their comfort and interest
** - Statistics also show that these readers are morons.
0 comments:
Post a Comment