I like writing and writers. I really admire this trait typed I sometime ago to someone I know. After sending the email on the way, I stood up and stretched and up pops this question When was the last time I put pen on paper ? The reality is that it was a long,long time ago and in my rough calculation it should have been as far as five or six years. Other than form-filling or signatures, the writing process is more or less extinct for me. At the work place I do jot down a to-do list at times but to a team member who chances upon it, it is more of an exercise in crypto analysis to understand the language.
It is frightening to introspect on how reliant I have grown on the computer. When I commence writing, the words are there : I know how they sound, I know how they spell and I know what they mean but I never am at peace until I run spell check. Then again there is the tricky job of trying to write in malayalam. Forget the fact that I read it every single day when the time comes to write, there are seconds long delays when I try to debate with my mind asking Hey, is this what this word looks like ?
I guess the real art of writing is disengaging from me paving the way for the keyboard to do its job. There is a small thread of similarity to that of a love affair : after a long while of being in love, the inevitable slip of taking your partner for granted enters the picture. Only when it slowly starts sliding downhill does the full effects of what was going on registers in the caverns of the mind ! I make no resolutions. No pledges of I shall write five pages from now on or anything of that sort. As in many of my previous posts, this is but an observation of sorts. Someday I would like to explore this in more detail.
