OOOPS! I LET THAT OUT
I have been writing on this blog for almost a year now. I have been writing for fun since I was in my early teens. School College and University magazines published my stuff, helped by the fact that I edited some of them. Ditto various friendly neighbourhood little mags and office publications. Later illustrious papers did it too, and paid me good money!
But one thing I could never do was write poetry. I wanted to of course, but just wouldn’t dare. Limericks I could do at the drop of a pugree, but serious stuff—no way! In fact serious stuff even in prose was tough, not to write that is, but to show anyone. Poetry was infinitely worse. Rhymes, jingles, ditties, and parodies I did on demand, covering the eccentricities of teachers, professors, bosses, classmates and colleagues or making them up; and recited them on various occasions. Relatives and friends weren’t spared either.
My aversion to being serious extended to speaking as well, even official speeches, presentations, lectures and interviews. They turned out to be extremely popular but not necessarily effective.
I secretly wrote serious philosophical stuff and even poetry when my mind had been sufficiently expanded, but could not decipher them when reality returned. I may have meant profound things when thus inspired, but they eluded my sober self.
A while ago, I was on our Verandah, alone, with a drink, watching the rain sweep in from the bay, racked by nostalgia, loneliness and misery, with no one around to observe, thus did not need to use flippancy as a shield, and lines started pushing into my mind; in blank verse too! I firmly pushed them back. It was too embarrassing.
Next day, driving to Pune to deliver a lecture, the Green Ghats in a veil of mist, the pregnant clouds lazily grazing on the curves, drove those lines back into my mind, till I had to let them out or cry, and taking advantage of a rain induced hold up, I poured them out on my laptop.
It was a strange exhilarating feeling. I felt lightheaded. Of course they would never be looked at again
On the return journey, I had a huge urge to share them with someone who does not know me, with a stranger with a blank face.
I did not bother to read the lines, but uploaded them on my blog. It was a most painful miscarriage.
Here is the offending piece.
Written for a prompt on Project 365 on something I didn’t want to publish but did with great difficulty.