Skip to main content

Can You Write?

The first week of college;
New place, new faces, awkward first conversations, silent observations.
We were asked to register for something called 'The most promising fresher.'
Our seniors judged us on our communication skills and talent.
In the first round of the screening process, I was asked to give a creative introduction about myself followed by a talent round.
A lot of people sang, danced and even beatboxed.
I wasn't that kind of a person who'd enter a room and boom their greetings.
I finished my short intro.
"What's your talent?" someone from the judges asked.
"I can write," I replied.
They didn't seem impressed.
I was interrupted, "Can you narrate a story?"
"My stories are kind of big, but I'll try to be brief..."
I was interrupted again, "We don't have much time, do you have any other talents?"
"No," I replied.
"Thank you. Who's next?"
I felt dejected.
The list of students who were shortlisted for the next round was put up the next day.
I wasn't surprised when my name wasn't there.
There will be many occasions when your talent isn't recognized.
There will be many times when you won't receive the appreciation you deserve.
There will be many times when your voice won't be heard.
You might have the greatest ideas.
You might have better stories to narrate.
You might be the most creative person in a crowd.
It is incidents like these that teach you life lessons the hard way.
I felt terrible that day.
I went home and watched 'The introvert's banter' by Rabia Kapoor in a loop.
I honestly haven't heard or watched anything that relatable.
Yes, I am that shy guy who thinks twice before starting a conversation.
Yes, I am that shy introvert who is dying to be heard but never gets heard.
I would never be able to say this aloud; hence I write.
But can you? Can you write?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dear Kabira

Dear Kabira, I don't know what's perfect, the lyrics or the feelings you say which I fail to express. Sometimes you meet some songs that melt you from the places you are afraid to touch. Re Kabira Maan Jaa (रे कबीरा मान जा) Re Faqeera Maan Jaa (रे फ़कीरा मान जा) Aaja Tujhko Pukaare Teri Parchhaaiyan (आजा तुझको पुकारे तेरी परछाईयाँ) Your heart just can't stop beating for the lines that play with all the untouched memories you have. Loneliness engulfs you, it tears you part by part and this song just makes you feel everything you hide from the world. This song calls you to be back home and realise your home needs you. It questions why do you want to wander for answers when your home is right there in front of you? Your shadow is calling you back. Come home. Tooti Chaarpaai Wohi (टूटी चारपाई वही) Thandi Purvaai Rasta Dekhe, (ठंडी पुरवाई रस्ता देखे) Doodhon Ki Malaai Wohi (दूधों की मलाई वही) Mitti Ki Suraahi Rasta Dekhe (मिट्टी की सुराही रस्ता देखे) This song gives beautiful me...

Tujhse Naraaz Nahi Zindagi

Tujhse Naraaz Nahi Zindagi is a landmine of life’s wisdom. Despite being tapped into countless number of times, it still has more to offer.  Its layered texture is without the overbearing appendages of pretence. No wonder it is wielded by the pen of Gulzar Saab, one of country’s most aware and prominent literary voices. In its own right this summons life to a center table. And then submits to it. Ensues an engaging conversation that I’ve never had the courage to move away from. For it has often felt a bit too personal when pain is made to sound like a due to be paid. In lieu of life’s grand moments. But isn’t that true? Even without the poetic justice. Come to think of it, don’t we always carry the pain like a tagged baggage? How terribly independent though are our joys, squared up only by infrequent bouts of nostalgia. Barely anybody has spoken about adversity with such poignancy. Life’s hard questions are not innocent whims but Gulzar Saab, a stellar wordsmith, romanticizes pain ...

Tea for Two!

 I pour water in the bright red pot, gleaming on the outside, a bit rusty on the inside. Red was always your color. Your wardrobe was literally fifty shades of it. The familiarity and warmth of the color red make me smile as I bring it to boil. “Look for angry water bubbles,” you used to say when you were teaching me how to make tea instead of stacking my kitchen counter with instant coffee sachets. I take out the twin tin containers marked “sugar” & “tea” off the cabinet and carefully put them in, systematically counting the number of teaspoons and measuring the amount in each. “I prefer coffee,” I used to whine but would still let you hold my hand as we put in the sugar, not too much, not too less, surprisingly always the right amount. Then in went the tea leaves, a bit less than I'd like, I always had a taste for intense flavors. But I rarely complained for I knew how much you valued your perfect, daily cup of tea. I then pour in the milk, thinking how I'd never been abl...