I have been brought up “typically Indian” (proudly so, albeit) meaning to say I was told that self-pride is loathsome, that achievements should be celebrated for exactly one evening (after which time is to be devoted to draw up the next milestone plan), that children should never be praised in public and that one should not be too aware of their intelligence (it is a power that corrupts a child’s urge to work hard, apparently).

I grew up aware of my intelligence, but till date being shy to admit my IQ (while my western peers “ooh aah’ed” over my psychometric evaluation each time). I grew up, fully aware of my photographic memory but never talking about it in public (despite still being used often as “goto answer person” by my family and peers for fact recollection).

I grew up with realisations but I grew up often alone. I realised that no matter how much I strived to remain humble, my nerdy self, peaked in appearance. I grew up, often talking to myself for seldom did I find another kid who would be interested in talking about Batman’s brooding over the city or the latest NASA anti-gravity threats (these are still my dreams – I kid you not!)

As you can see, the above three paragraphs when read without all the disclaimers that I am striving to provide, makes me emerge as the same pompous person that my parent’s nightmares are made of.

Why this today? Why this now? Coz, that is how my brain power helps me to write – all in my head, laid down all crystal clear – just like the way I solve crime, I dabble in analytics or merely write… How could I therefore begin a marathon without paying an ode to it? I don’t know how “pompous” I will again sound when I say that I have come to love this power of mine over years – it somewhere makes my life so easy (while others wonder how many hours did she spend to type this!) *touchwood*.

I know people, who need an ambience to write – that cosy corner, favourite music on the loop, pens / paper, stationary of many other types. As for me, I just need some quiet time, over a drive, a cuppa of tea or even in a party sipping my drink pretending to socialise … I would be already writing a post / case plan in my head.

I have never gone about telling people, cause again it makes me weird but then again the truth is that I don’t write fast, just that by the time I have sat down to write I already have things written down in my head and typed out before my eyes. I am merely then a translator or a typist slave of my own mind. I have written papers like that, books like that and till date draw up investigative case plans like that. I just don’t know how to do it any other way.

Writing to me is a release of all the conversations that I keep having with myself – maybe that is why I have never learnt to be bored. Writing to me is the catharsis of all the pent -up emotions – maybe that is why all my lovers have patiently waited for a text / letter after a fight, for they know that spoken words would have failed me inevitably and that no matter how clueless they are about what hit them, the letter / text would explain it all.  

Words – I befriended them aged 6 months and that is what makes me up. So yes, I write as I talk, eat, dance or even cry, for I write on an elusive sheet of paper, that is beyond time and space.

So how do you write?

May be once you answer that this NaBloPaMo November 2016 will be easier?

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