The Antidote

1 fDIp2sD4WYoB7eqJp6go5wThat writers block is no myth was among the hard-hitting realities I discovered very early in life. That it is chronic is more of a recent, unwelcome revelation. Over the years, I have done everything to rein in this dreadful condition but to no avail. Reading, I thought, was a natural cure for a suffering writer and I picked up books by the dozens. The fortunate outcome then was that I became a “chronic” reader and that’s it. All the reading I did couldn’t eke a meaningful word out of me when pen was put to paper. On the contrary, I stopped putting pen to paper in the lure of reading another person’s beautiful musings when they put pen to paper. That’s bad, I thought, and I stopped…the thinking but continued the reading.

Then I conceived the grand idea that it was all about the right ambience. If I only had that, inspiration would instantly strike me and then there would be no looking back. Lo and behold, I landed in a place with my dream ambience: a little apartment by a gently gurgling stream, green pastures, a comfortable couch, a warm mug of tea and a great library within walking distance. Still, words kept eluding me. Although I did a lot of useless, work-related and general writing, the actual soul-satisfying arty stuff was no where in sight. On the contrary, the ambience birthed in me a love for the outdoors. I started enjoying my evening walks by the stream and that was that. By then I had reluctantly written myself off as “un-creative” and uninspired. I was happy reading and taking walks, albeit laden with the heaviness of putting to rest the unfulfilled desire of being able to write regularly.

Life went on, meandering through joys and sorrows, crests and toughs, calm and storms. Through it all I read and walked. I even managed to write a little. One day, I looked back to a smile-worthy discovery that the little writing I had done was actually much. What was a startling realization was that while I had walked and read through the joys, crests and calm of life, writing came by when the storms struck. Who knew that the roiling within would turn out to be the perfect antidote to writer’s block!

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