Of late, in an inspired attempt to stop myself thinking of my personal gaps and lacks, I have entered a phase of restless creation. I am almost maniacal in this endeavor. As soon as I start thinking of anything that has the power to make me question myself and my relationship deficiencies, I force myself to think of new things to create.
Now the ideas and stories come so fast, my desk is littered with scrawled unfinished stanzas of poetry, first drafts of novels, titles of short stories, all written before I can forget them. The front of my desk is peppered with cryptic post-its, talking of cats and the Commonwealth, names of characters, and what they like to drink. As soon as I open out my desk, it erupts into a sea of paper, blunt pencils and inky black pens, cluttered in a midst of poetry, plays, and a plethora of imaginings that my restless mind is forever giving birth to.
Some weeks ago, I got a heartfelt tirade from someone who told me to use my loneliness and my feelings of inadequacy to create constantly. He ripped my previous works and words to shreds, and reduced me to tears, but told me it was for my own good, and to grow from my grief. I took his words to heart, and every morning I make myself write. Even if its just a doodle of random happenings of my day, I make myself write. And at the end of the day, because I am exhausted from the effort of not thinking of my life, and the almost effortless way I am able to generate ideas, I can sleep, deeply and dreamlessly. I wake up the next day, and before the ache has time to set in, I start scribbling and scrawling again.
Yesterday, a friend and I sat in the perfect weather on a perfect beach and enjoyed perfect silence, and he broke the silence to tell me, that this would be a perfect place for me to come and write. And while I nodded and agreed with him at the time, on the long walk home, I realised.
The best creators can create anywhere at anytime. They can scrawl words on napkins, sketch on bare hands, compose on tabletops. True creators can shut out the world, and focus only on the pieces of themselves devoted to their work. They can be on a train during rush hour, in the coldest of corporate offices, in a busy mall, on a crowded street, fighting with a teller at the bank, and they would still be able to create if the urge washed over them. They possess that cold, almost selfish ability to shut out everything, family, friends, lovers, and most importantly, the trivialities of life, and they can create, because at the end of the day, they know that will stick. Your creations will never disappoint you, and more importantly, you can never disappoint your creations. They are beautiful and yours and will always remain yours.
I know that I am far from being a true creator. I know I will still need to use the perfect beach in perfect weather to gain the strength to create. But in an attempt to mar my personal failures, I shall try my level best to inspire creative triumphs, and one day, I will be one of the true creators, and I will be scribbling perfect poetry on a Churchgate train during rush hour.
Note: Missing Mumbai Week is officially over, and it was a beautiful and happy week filled with Kishore Kumar and Bollywood, bindi’s and bangles, dupatta’s and yellow chappals. It was the nicest-feeling homage to my beautiful city.