Skip to main content

When I Stopped Writing

People I usually meet in person first, often come back to me with this statement later – Oh, I didn’t know you write. Some acquaintances have often declared that I don’t look like someone who would write. I don’t ponder upon such words much but I am slightly bothered by the one I heard last week – “Why did you stop writing?”

I was taken aback. I never stopped writing. Who said I had? So I went back and looked at the source she was referring to- My blog. The last date said October 2017. It’s indeed been 5 months; maybe I did stop writing after all.

The last time I wrote something I was in Rourkela, a peaceful city in Western Odisha where life was as slow as it could get. I moved to the capital, Bhubaneswar in late November where every morning I would wake up late but still manage to write a short poem while rushing on my way to work. Within two months I found myself loaded with responsibilities that made my shoulders bend. I would wake up as early as 6 in the morning, I would dream of work and I would talk of work. And sometimes on a quiet Sunday morning I would wish that I wasn’t so tired so that I could sit and write. ‘Next time,’ I would tell myself.

It’s the fourth month of this year and I don’t see the next time coming any time soon. So I look back to see what I did if not write-
I picked up Ayush’s idea of reading every morning for half an hour and I just finished reading Sadhguru’s Inner Engineering. I feel wiser already.

I learnt to cook some awkward khichdi in the microwave for dinner after work. And even when I forget to put salt in it, it would make me happy just for the fact that I cooked something for myself.
I put great efforts to keep my house clean- something I would never do when I lived in hostels. For home should be a place I look forward to going to from office. For home should bring in nothing but peace.

I slept too early to write. There were nights when I dozed off at 9.30pm and forgot to send my daily reports to my boss which I usually send at 10pm. I would wake up too early but would begin my day with the official daily reports we receive so there was no scope of writing in the morning. I would read when I would make my morning cup of tea.

So I started making tea in the morning for myself. One of the things I look forward to as soon as I open my eyes to welcome the new day.

I worked every day but I also learnt that there is more happiness in doing something unusual than doing the regular work. I started counting only the unusual work as productive. The regular were just duties. It made me unhappy most of the times- mostly when the unusual work wouldn’t turn out to be greatly impactful.

I made friends in events and found cafes to eat and hide for a long time. I discovered restaurants serving Odiya delicacy just the way I like. I found small shops that would serve me tea that would make me forget my worries.

I held hands with adult-ing reluctantly and I would be nostalgic most of the times. I could write then but there was too much to grasp already, too much to understand, some things to react to and some things to digest. Growing up is indeed a trap, but the less I grow now, the more shackled I feel.

So I visit beaches to feel free, and collect shells that would remind me of the vast sea.

I embrace the adult life and I forget to write. So, I listen to new music every morning in the cab so that I would feel just right.

But no matter what I did or what I learnt, and no matter what I am yet to read and yet to learn, there is nothing that makes me happier than the point of time when I sit down to type.


  1. Very Nice Articles, Thanks for sharing us. This is awesome and beautiful post.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Embracing the Late Twenties

I have been wanting to pen aturning-something post ever since I turned 21.
However, at 21, it was too early to write about the “profound wisdom” I had gained about the world.
At 22, it was cliché.
I was busy stuffing myself with cake all the subsequent years to suddenly wake up one day and find myself on the wrong side of 25 yet neither at the pinnacle of wisdom nor covered in the blanket of naivety. I reach an age after which I am probably going to keep chanting the phrase “age doesn’t matter” a lot to myself. But till then I heave a sigh as I pick up phone-calls from distant friends wishing me a happy birthday, and marvel at the fact how easily things change with age.
You grow up whether you want to or not- your new job and the new place ensures that you do.
You turn wiser and you laugh at the wisdom you thought you had gained when you were only 22 and a fan of Taylor Swift songs.
You also realize you know nothing today as compared to what you are about to see tomorrow.
Every day is a c…

In the Pitstop of the Race...

I cannot stress on the fact enough that life has changed after working. Well, it should because what good is stagnancy anyway.
After a year of working, I find myself tired by the second half of the day. No wonder, every time I take a flight I doze off even before the flight takes off.
I remember, I was traveling on New Year ’s Day and the flight was delayed by multiple hours. That was the first time when I woke up from a nap on a flight and didn’t find myself on air or on a different city. I woke up and we were still at the take-off area. But I had a good nap anyway.
It was last week when I took an afternoon flight but couldn’t fall asleep for some reason. Like most journeys I was seated near the window, but unlike my previous journeys, this time I looked out of the window. We were just a couple of metres above of the clouds but the view was great. A blue horizon on a sea of clouds. I was lucky enough to spot a rainbow amidst the cirrus; the hues getting clearer with each passing s…