The writer in me.

I was wondering what to write and Dr. Antony gives me an idea through his latest post. Thanks doc. I think I want to take off where you left. Why do I write?? This is a question that often comes to my mind. Am I a good writer? May be not a good one but an okay kind perhaps? But I keep writing not so much for others but for myself. You see, I am a talkative person and I seem to want to say so much. My girls are busy with their children and the son keeps asking me to come to the point and I take a long time getting to it. They just won’t listen. My husband and I talk different languages. Not literally of course. He loves discussing politics and treats me to a generous dose of it each day. I don’t have to listen to the same news in 10 news channels to understand that politicians are what they are. I watch programs on discussions about the education system instead and try to figure out the reason why not a single student has taken up Botany honors this year. I mean I am granted an extension of two years and my subject has no takers? Husband couldn’t care less for the next generation’s lack of interest in my subject. He firmly believes that all the scamsters are really going to be exposed and the money launderers are definitely going to be punished. In fact each day of his retired life is spent on betting that this or that person is soon to be declared a political outcaste. I am yet to see it happening. So after 38 years of togetherness we talk of issues that have no relevance to the other person.

Now you get my point. I write because I want to share my anguish and joy with people who I cannot see.

I was just joking.

Let me then analyze how I stand to benefit by writing.

I feel important: The name hip grandma has been coined by my daughter. It gives the impression of a wise old woman ready with tips on making life a bed of roses. To tell you the truth I haven’t found answers to my own questions on life and living. But it does not harm one to feel wanted and important does it?

I can postpone housework: There are days when I feel inclined to defer work. The blog offers me the perfect alibi for being absent from where I ought to be. The creative me does not dwell on trivialities like folding clothes and stacking dishes. So I can safely forgive myself for removing laundry from the washing machine a full hour after it has been washed. No mother in law to question me, a doting husband who would never disturb me when I am typing something (he actually enjoys his moments of peace but I like to believe that he is proud of my writing skills) and no children/grandchildren to attend to. So I scold myself for procrastinating and excuse myself for doing it.

I can afford to change the order of things: Like I can comb my hair at nine in the evening. I hear writers are allowed quirky habits. It was Dr. Antony who said it, not me, but I feel relieved at the thought. I haven’t actually washed and combed at the specified time. But should someone point out to queer mannerisms and quirky habits I can ignore their observations. I can mutter to myself-‘ What do they know about writers? Eh? Can’t write a full sentence and see how they talk………’

I can imagine things: Why not? As a writer I am free to imagine that I was a blood relative of the legendary R. K. Narayan in an earlier birth. Or that I have actually written a book that goes on to become a best seller. Ram Gopal Verma offers to buy my story and I give it to him for free. Please don’t imagine that I don’t need money. It is just that excess of it baffles me and RGV will not demean himself by offering a paltry sum would he? We Botanists declare anything beyond 10 as infinity while describing a flower. So, in case he offers me an amount with more than 3 zeros following it I would get confused. May as well be magnanimous. What do you say?

To top it: I can sleep in till seven in the morning when it suits me. My husband starts waking me up from around five in the morning. I can mumble something like ‘I was working on my post till late last night. Please let me sleep a little more’. He cannot verify the actual time because he is asleep long before me. Ha, ha!