The ticking of the clock is clear and crisp at this hour. I can hear the watchman whistling away to provide a fake sense of security to all those sleeping. The screen is a bit too bright for sleep deprived eyes which can easily be mistaken for being dreamy. And; I am thinking- do I need to do this? Do I really need to revive my passion? Is it worth to just do something because you feel unworthy of not having anything unique or worth being appreciated? Or is it my ego which is making me pick up the modern day pen and type my way to yet another attempt at making myself loud and clear- that I am what I really am. Good, bad or Ugly - you can't get more than what I have; from me.
Writing had been my passion since the time I can remember. Or rather I should say; I wrote better than I spoke. I didn't realise when did I start writing and in all honesty; I don't even remember what was the first stuff I wrote. I do remember my folks telling me: " our son writes so well and he won the second prize in the school debate". Hah; Am I really lucky here? I came second and my folks they were proud of me. Whatever happened to that, " Our kid came first"? I've penned down my thought for umpteen times and each time I have always had a confused mind about what to write. I always thought; how should I write. The biggest challenge was: Goodness gracious; Would I even be able to express what I am feeling in a confused mind.
As I write this, yet again the watchman whistles. And this takes my mind back in time, when I was a kid. There were a spate of thefts in the locality I stayed in. And all the residents worried about the increasing rate of thefts, decided to utilize the services of a night watchman. Man, I was excited at that very thought. A night watchman to me sounded like some superhero right out of the comic books. And boy; that day I understood that comics were purely a work of fiction. Right in front of us stood our Watchman. My first, natural, reaction at seeing him was: He is the watchman? He was an elderly fellow of around fifty and three. He sported a white moustache and had more wrinkles on his face than he ever seemed to have hair on his gleaming shiny head. I asked my father; how would this guy protect us from thefts? He himself needs protection. I could see the same question making rounds in my father's mind. Nonetheless, he was employed as our night watchman of two blocks. Fortunately for that elderly gentleman; there was a reduction in the thefts due to the crackdown of a particular gang of thieves.
Yet again; I sat down to write something else and ended up writing about the watchman. The title of this note should probably read: The elderly watchman. I can't stop smiling on my confusions which still wrestle my mind each time I try to pen down something, err sorry Type something I mean. I am again trying to revive this craft of mine which I call; being a writer ( trust me; it's cool to be something like this - 'Oh I write', as if Willy himself gave me his pen to write). And before I finish this meaningless post - I am definitely good at writing. And I know it's cool to have something unique. It's good to be forced sometimes from the slumber.
The watchman has gone crazy today. Maybe he's got to know that I've just finished writing about his fraternity. I salute thy watchman. You keep me safe when I sleep. :D
Writing had been my passion since the time I can remember. Or rather I should say; I wrote better than I spoke. I didn't realise when did I start writing and in all honesty; I don't even remember what was the first stuff I wrote. I do remember my folks telling me: " our son writes so well and he won the second prize in the school debate". Hah; Am I really lucky here? I came second and my folks they were proud of me. Whatever happened to that, " Our kid came first"? I've penned down my thought for umpteen times and each time I have always had a confused mind about what to write. I always thought; how should I write. The biggest challenge was: Goodness gracious; Would I even be able to express what I am feeling in a confused mind.
As I write this, yet again the watchman whistles. And this takes my mind back in time, when I was a kid. There were a spate of thefts in the locality I stayed in. And all the residents worried about the increasing rate of thefts, decided to utilize the services of a night watchman. Man, I was excited at that very thought. A night watchman to me sounded like some superhero right out of the comic books. And boy; that day I understood that comics were purely a work of fiction. Right in front of us stood our Watchman. My first, natural, reaction at seeing him was: He is the watchman? He was an elderly fellow of around fifty and three. He sported a white moustache and had more wrinkles on his face than he ever seemed to have hair on his gleaming shiny head. I asked my father; how would this guy protect us from thefts? He himself needs protection. I could see the same question making rounds in my father's mind. Nonetheless, he was employed as our night watchman of two blocks. Fortunately for that elderly gentleman; there was a reduction in the thefts due to the crackdown of a particular gang of thieves.
Yet again; I sat down to write something else and ended up writing about the watchman. The title of this note should probably read: The elderly watchman. I can't stop smiling on my confusions which still wrestle my mind each time I try to pen down something, err sorry Type something I mean. I am again trying to revive this craft of mine which I call; being a writer ( trust me; it's cool to be something like this - 'Oh I write', as if Willy himself gave me his pen to write). And before I finish this meaningless post - I am definitely good at writing. And I know it's cool to have something unique. It's good to be forced sometimes from the slumber.
The watchman has gone crazy today. Maybe he's got to know that I've just finished writing about his fraternity. I salute thy watchman. You keep me safe when I sleep. :D
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