The journal is tattered now, barely holding the pages together. On the top left corner of the cover, a fading yellow mentions the year: 2013.
The same year I began this journal.
God, it has been 10 years.
I open it. On the left page, I have scribbled some words: “If found, knock on my door, or call me on 7********4.”
It rhymes. Read that again.
On the next page, there is another set of words. It’s a guideline for aspiring writers. But during the years past, I made it my life’s mantra too.
“Show, don’t tell.”
I flip through the pages. Some contain neat well-written sentences, others are scribbled upon haphazardly. While most of them have successfully become part of a short story or poem, some fragments of thoughts still await their destiny.
I can't help but reflect now on how these words have accompanied me over the past years after my flight of dreams crash-landed. The bits and pieces that remained, I carried them along with me when I retreated to find a firm footing, to rediscover what I wanted in life, what I wanted to become. Over a period of time, I realised it wasn't just me who fell down. There were others - friends and family - who were running a similar race. They had fallen too or were lagging behind or had never even begun. I tried to contribute to their journey in exchange for the motivation I derived from them. Somehow along the way, I ended up becoming friends with people who believed in me more than I did myself. I wrote. They read. That only propelled me further. And when they left, for different jobs in different cities or to lead a married life, the words still remained by my side. Sometimes, they came to me promoted by the beats of my favourite songs. Other times, they just chanced upon me whenever I paced around randomly on my own during night-time. All of it, I poured into the journal, a sentence at a time.
That's it.
I close the journal and fire up my laptop. My untitled manuscript has a name now.
I type in the words slowly and carefully as if I have forgotten where the alphabet keys are located. Any random person observing me would have mistaken me for a person who was using the keyboard for the first time.
c-v-B q-w-E A e-r-T a-S
With every letter I type,
Shift + 7
I feel a rush,
i-o-P A z-x-C q-w-E a-S
I have never felt before.
BEATS & PACES
***
My debut book 'Beats & Paces' is now available for online purchase. Do read and leave a review.
Flipkart: https://www.flipkart.com/beats-paces/p/itm6cd07c3e28050
Amazon: https://www.amazon.in/Beats-Paces-Manish-Ranjan/dp/8196075111
Kindle: https://www.amazon.in/Beats-Paces-M-R-Maiti-ebook/dp/B0BSVPY47C
Google Play Book: https://books.google.co.in/books?id=6eKxEAAAQBAJ
The same year I began this journal.
God, it has been 10 years.
I open it. On the left page, I have scribbled some words: “If found, knock on my door, or call me on 7********4.”
It rhymes. Read that again.
On the next page, there is another set of words. It’s a guideline for aspiring writers. But during the years past, I made it my life’s mantra too.
“Show, don’t tell.”
I flip through the pages. Some contain neat well-written sentences, others are scribbled upon haphazardly. While most of them have successfully become part of a short story or poem, some fragments of thoughts still await their destiny.
I can't help but reflect now on how these words have accompanied me over the past years after my flight of dreams crash-landed. The bits and pieces that remained, I carried them along with me when I retreated to find a firm footing, to rediscover what I wanted in life, what I wanted to become. Over a period of time, I realised it wasn't just me who fell down. There were others - friends and family - who were running a similar race. They had fallen too or were lagging behind or had never even begun. I tried to contribute to their journey in exchange for the motivation I derived from them. Somehow along the way, I ended up becoming friends with people who believed in me more than I did myself. I wrote. They read. That only propelled me further. And when they left, for different jobs in different cities or to lead a married life, the words still remained by my side. Sometimes, they came to me promoted by the beats of my favourite songs. Other times, they just chanced upon me whenever I paced around randomly on my own during night-time. All of it, I poured into the journal, a sentence at a time.
That's it.
I close the journal and fire up my laptop. My untitled manuscript has a name now.
I type in the words slowly and carefully as if I have forgotten where the alphabet keys are located. Any random person observing me would have mistaken me for a person who was using the keyboard for the first time.
c-v-B q-w-E A e-r-T a-S
With every letter I type,
Shift + 7
I feel a rush,
i-o-P A z-x-C q-w-E a-S
I have never felt before.
BEATS & PACES
***
My debut book 'Beats & Paces' is now available for online purchase. Do read and leave a review.
Flipkart: https://www.flipkart.com/beats-paces/p/itm6cd07c3e28050
Amazon: https://www.amazon.in/Beats-Paces-Manish-Ranjan/dp/8196075111
Kindle: https://www.amazon.in/Beats-Paces-M-R-Maiti-ebook/dp/B0BSVPY47C
Google Play Book: https://books.google.co.in/books?id=6eKxEAAAQBAJ
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