Why Don't You Write?

“Why don’t you write?” He asked “why don’t you write a goddamn book!”

So, why don’t I write?

A goddamn book needs a goddamn story. A goddamn story needs a goddamn writer. A goddamn writer needs some goddamn inspiration! Inspiration. I don’t know what that is. Is it a vacuum in one’s head that keeps them from thinking multiple other thoughts that might stop them from doing what they really want to do? Or is it obsession with one thought? Is it money? I think it might be something to do with that. Fame, power, revenge, love etc.

What if you’re not moved by any of these, what if you’re this detached fool, who’s not seeking inspiration? Am I assuming much? Are you a fool in this world to not want things, material or not? Are you a fool to not want anything in this world but to learn? Learn, but not in a clingy obsessive way. Without getting stuck on how someone made you feel, how beautiful a place was, or how amazing an experience.

I’ve been moved by the strangest of the things I’ve seen in the past. They tend to make me go funny in the head. Oh okay, they make me cry, I admit. And they were temporary, I admit. I remember it was early morning; I’d woken up to the sounds of these bhajans outside my window. It was a group of ‘satsangis’, walking down the road, wearing plain white clothes, singing ram bahajans and dancing to them! Lost in an orgasmic joy, they were singing, conscious of every word.

Tracing the journey of every word that formed on their lips, dissolve into the atmosphere. A massive orgy. Upon watching the whole affair, I was moved. Moved to tears! To see someone enjoy something so much, to see them not care about what the world thinks, to see them in a state that though not induced by any drug, still producing the same effects of exhilaration, and reckless joy. Things like these have the potential to drive many a drug peddler waiting in a dark alley, jobless!

So that was the day I was inspired, from a sight. I couldn’t understand the words. All I could hear was the music and the joy. And I was inspired. Inspired to find out what could inspire me every second of my life.

So, yes why don’t I just write?

Aditi Jain