The sun is setting, it’s peaceful and calm yet so exciting and it looks like what I am feeling at this moment is contagious. The trees, the birds, the dogs and cats and their owners, the air, people roaming around, the couple I see sitting under that tree everyday are feeling the same thing I am feeling right now. The dogs are barking furiously, the couple are fighting on the top of their lungs, the owner of the Beagle with the pink collar seems infuriated because the dog peed on him, a beggar across the street is fighting with another beggar I have never seen before, and is it weird if I say that I feel satisfied somewhere inside because the world around me is also unhappy?
Here I am, drowning my sorrows in a mug of coffee, in a cafe, looking around trying to write something. Something or even anything at all. The words don’t come to me easily these days. I am hungry for inspiration and I do not want to die of this famine; the famine not of food for the physical body but soul food, the famine of the sheer joy I get when I am able to write an emotion correctly or when I sew words together to form a sentence that used to be cherished by all. All this after seven International best-sellers is not acceptable to me at all. Why me? Where did I go wrong? What did I not do? Questions still roam in my mind. You might ask me, what else do I want even after seven best-seller and billions of dollars made from those books. I will answer, the only thing that I want again is to feel. To feel joy, to feel sorrow and not feel satisfied when I see others sad like me, I want to feel again what it feels when words are slipping off my fingers first to the keyboard and into the screen. And I will answer “Because I want to feel alive… again”.
It is dark now and I am still at the same spot gulping down the fourth pitcher of beer after three cups of coffee and, I do not know how many more are yet to come. I sit on this spot the whole day, till evening, the cafe then turns to a bar then I drink till I puke, my son takes me home from the bar in the night after he finishes his shift at the same cafe/bar. He takes me home, I pass out on the bed. Wake up around noon, get ready and head towards the cafe. Every day, every hour of a day, every minute on an hour and every second of a minute I long that something will strike me, excite me and I will write again. This has now become my daily routine.
I am angry, not at myself because I cannot write but because others have gone way ahead of me. 23 year old, 25 year old brats who cannot write and have no experience of life at all are making best- sellers and me a 65 year old best-seller author has not mentioned of any book for the past 5 years. These kids I tell you have no sense and therefore make no sense at all in their books. Silly. The pages are full of crap and unreadable material. How do people even read them? The audience must be a bunch of silly teenagers with no understanding of literature at all. I am smirking already. Silly, silly. I can’t help but stop the laughter which is trying to erupt from inside me when I think of this. God help those people.
You know what? I have an idea. How about we start measuring the literature literacy, or the literature illiteracy census? My, my I am going to feel really sorry for the world. And then I can start a campaign for the poor creatures where I will talk about proper literature and how they have been missing out by reading the books of the brats. Who other than me, a best-seller author of seven books is eligible to start this grand campaign to save the world for these horrendous “so-called literary pieces?”
Oh, this feels goods. After a long time I feel I have somewhere to go, something to do and it is not writing but stopping some people from writing. I feel fresh and energized. All hail my brain! World, here comes your savior. Yesterday’s hangover is long gone and the day is about to end and because I am happy today, everyone else looks happy too. The couples are kissing under the tree, the beggar has some food to eat and looks satisfied. The Beagle with the pink collar is happily playing fetch with its owner and looks like he has forgiven the dog today because the owner seems to be enjoying too. The air is moving gently and the breeze feels wonderful while I am sipping my coffee. The sun is setting, it’s calm and peaceful yet so exciting and it feels like what I am feeling at this moment is contagious.

 

 

Published by Neeti Sharma