It’s got to rhyme…..and more

I haven’t written much in life. I mean meaningful stuff that people preserve for life. I started writing when I was in my fifth standard. It was really important for me to make all the lines rhyme. I guess at the age of eight or nine what good is poetry if it does not rhyme? So I lined up all the “puppet” and “bucket” , “fight” and “tight” and tried to make some sense out of them. Made a beautiful, leather bound maroon diary, the kind your parents always give you for New year.

Life moved on as a student, I had followed many pursuits in life. Between singing (my idea) to Judo (Mum’s idea), reading a lot of classical novels, writing got left out somewhere on the way. I did write a lot of funny stories in my language composition tests if those count.

Then after my tenth board exams I started writing again. I was on a literary high I think. I mean memorizing twenty odd poems and Julius Caesar can probably do that to you. And then that summer I read ‘Illusions …Adventures of a reluctant Messiah. My sister almost forced me to read it. In those days, I refused to read anything below five hundred pages. I fitted the chat room of obnoxious, self righteous, fat classic novel readers, if there was one. Anyone who has read the book in question will know that it frees you even if you never were captive. The ideas and the possibilities it brings to mind. I caught myself, many times, trying to walk through walls and doors. Before I digress further…. we were talking about writing. Well so there it was I was belting out poems in a matter of three hours, rhyming ones at that. Lake Isle of Innisfree, Upon Westminster Bridge and Solitary Reaper all rhymed. Who was I, a small timer, if I wanted to be taken seriously I have to get it to rhyme. So rhyme they did. Were a few poems, to do with Faith, Detachment, Mr. Right and Love. I shared them with my sister and some close friends. Always hungry for appreciation, aren’t we all. J

It was not until I was in my plus two, doubling under the pressure of PCM (you don’t want to be reminded what it is, specially the C) I was able to share my poems with my Nana ji. Nana ji is not a literary figure but he writes with a wealth of anecdotes he has inherited in life by being a Civil Servant in a young and free India. He has had a long fulfilling career, and has been writing articles in newspapers and anecdotes since the day he retired. He was not as free with his praise as my sister and friends about my work. To my dismay, he even took a red pen and corrected some of my work for grammar etc.

It’s been over a decade since. Meanwhile I have lived in six cities and three countries. I have lost many times more words from my vocabulary than the number of years that went by. And for the past many months I have been bitten by a painting bug. Just recently I met Nana ji at a family function, after many years. He asked me “So do you write any more”. Took me by a surprise!! He did ask me a couple of times in college or soon after. But after so many years? I did not expect him to remember. I was embarrassed, like you have an exam coming and you are reading a novel behind your rajai. Felt really nice too that he remembered. I mean I had forgotten. Mumbled a reply about not having the time. He just laughed and said knowingly, “Don’t worry there will be plenty of time.”