Friday, November 13, 2009

Why do I Blog!

There is something delightfully refreshing about childish exuberance and youthful innocence. The only thing that separates them is the age. As the boy grows he is able to temper the effervescence. But the innocence and the curiosity still remains. Its only when he matures into an adult does the guile and diplomacy creep in. The curiosity and innocence both are buried under layers of canard. The questions are still there in the mind. But they don’t come direct. They take a tangential trajectory.

Last night after dinner I and Tanmay went for our customary walk. I took him up to the recreation hall in his community to watch Table Tennis. But he was bored. So we came out and walked a while and then sat on the kerb. He is a real chatterbox. I have to listen to all that happens in the school everday. But today was important. He pompously informed me that he is the Hospital Leader of his class. I just gaped. What on earth is that? “Well! If someone is hurt or sick , its my duty to take him to the doctor in the school.” “ But you can’t speak Telugu!” Immediately he recited what he says in front of the doctor fluently in three languages- Hindi , Telugu and English.

Before I could compliment him on his skills, the lean and gangly boy from his bus stop was standing shyly in front of us. He had that awkward teenage gait. I smiled at him and invited him to join us. Suddenly he smiled expansively and told me that he had solved the conundrum . I laughed. Conundrum indeed! These kids couldn't speak normal english!

Two days back he had met me in the morning when I went to see off Tanmay to his school. He said that he knew me but cant place it how. I was sure I didn’t know him. I can hardly recall ever talking to a teenager in India , forget Hyderabad. But I didn’t want to sound rude and I told him that he certainly looked familiar but even I cant place him.( I am an adult. And I am supposed to lie!)
“ It’s a conundrum.” He had laughed. I had to agree it indeed was. The next day we met again. He smiled at me. I had forgotten him the moment he had left.


“ When you invited me to join your Chaupal I suddenly remembered. I read your blog”. There was a glint of Joy and mischief.

I felt like Jeffrey Archer. I had to buy this kid a treat.

As he settled down, his curiosity had totally taken over and he started bombarding me with all kinds of questions. Who I am( a small fish in a giant pond), what do I do in USA ( nothing! )and why am I in Hyderabad when I am not a south Indian. (I don’t even know why am I in this world! This is my second home I instead said. He wasn’t impressed.) Did I speak Telugu. ( Kuncham Kuncham . Now I tickled him.) Did I ever try the local food. ( Ofcourse! Love Gonghura. He was now rolling). I think I passed the test.I relaxed.

Suddenly, he threw me a googly. “ why do you blog?”

I was silent for a while gathering my thoughts. “ Is it the creative urge within you?”. He enquired helpfully. Boy!. This kid has a real flight of imagination.
What will he think if I tell him the truth? I had compelling reasons. That I started because I was jobless. This was the cheapest way of killing time. That it was my safety valve. I could vent my frustration, my angst, my anger without harming any one.
That the words that I wrote were silent. They didn’t disturb anyone. if I sang or danced instead , the neighbors would have dialed 911. That the last thing I wanted was cops at my doorstep.

He was too young to understand that life doesn’t go by lofty ideals.
But I had to be honest. I had to tell him the truth. I cleared my throat and as I was about to open my mouth I looked at Chikka ( that’s how he introduced himself.) and I stopped.

His smile could light up the whole street. His eyes had that puppy like adoration. His face had a rare innocence. I wistfully thought. A few more years.

“ A writer is like an artist. It’s just that the brush is replaced by the pen. The paper is his canvas and his imagination the colors with which he paints a picture. Some deft strokes, some gentle……….”. For the first time I almost felt noble as I lied.

( Hope Chikka doesn’t read this!)

3 comments:

  1. yes writer is like an artist

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  2. wow...such a beautiful post sudhir n surprising that there aren't many comments...
    i salute to the amazing writer in u n also the wonderful,wonderful person that u are...
    stay the same...

    "i felt like jeffery archer..."
    -you are even better...a writer with a soul:)

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  3. Hi Suruchi,
    I am overwhelmed with your comments. thanks very much indeed.
    ( Please see i am blushing :) )

    ReplyDelete