Social Short Story – My expedition to writing
Photo credit: cohdra from morguefile.com
It is since long time I have been thinking to write. The moment i feel I can, there have been so much of great works coming to my mind, making me feel guilty. I have had nightmares where I am in a court with all great authors as lawyers questioning me. After that I quickly and fearfully change my decision. Every time I sit to write, I feel the whole world is against my writing. There is interference always. I slowly started realizing that these nightmares were simply a sign of my inferiority complex in the midst of great writers. I made up myself saying no one is born great. There have been so many options before me to choose from, out of which it has taken fifteen long years for me to understand that I can also write. I try to put down my thoughts, it always stagnates at the first step of thinking. This time I have battled it in my own way to bring out my emotions.
My school to begin with has been a driving force to provoke me to write. The language I speak has been liked by one and all, and many would end up asking ‘Are you convent educated?’ I always feel like lifting my collar if I had one. My teachers would always insist on correct spelling and pronunciation, for which I have shown my negative attitude as a child. This reminds me of an incident that took place in my eighth class.
I was instructed by my class teacher to get two flower vase from my English teacher who was also the store in charge. I entered her cabin with an excuse and asked her ‘ma’am I need two flower vase(ways)’. She scorned at me for a moment and told me that I would get it only if it was pronounced right. I was shaken and worried, but to escape the scene I tried and got it right. This is just one of the incidents which taught me that a word has to be written, spelt and pronounced correctly. I did not know the value of my teachers then, the confidence they have dinged into a person like me, who is on the real side an introvert and a coward in the crowd.
The very first look of mine has never been impressive to anyone. The moment I begin to speak, people glare with uncertainty to see if that was me. If I am not wrong, it is a major human tendency to feel that people with fair complexion know everything while dark complexion know nothing. I don’t want you all to know this, but neither do I want to exclude this. There was a group of three, two men and a woman who once came home to campaign for oral polio vaccine. They mistook me for the maid and asked me to call the owner. I tried explaining but they cut me short, showing their displeasure to talk to me. In order to make things clear, I had to abnormally raise my voice with some filthy english that gave them a better understanding of who I was in that house. This I could make out from the apology they were owing to me then. Only a couple of my close pals could better understand me and myself. Throughout these years they have made me feel that I am worthy enough and capable as well.
My better half to my knowledge should have be an astrologer, for he kept predicting long time back that I can engrave my thoughts into writing in a more simple and meaningful way. He would always keep telling me to pen down my thoughts rather than wasting time fighting with him. He also added that I have a long way to go in writing. It was quite a long while ago, so I was totally contradictory to his predictions. But today I feel he should be overtaking my mother in judging me or knowing me better.
When I think in a state of tranquility, I get to foresee a chain of events and incidences. If I had penned down my thoughts every now and then, I would have had much more to my collection now. I always took life very lightly, and so my aspirations in life. At last I decided; let me also stick on to the old but eternal maxim ‘Better late than never’. I gave it a thought, if I should write, I should start with a work that could in anyway be a piece of motivation to others who crave to write. And there it goes my first work, “My expedition to writing”.
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Priya Anandh
