Rediscovering the joy of writing

Today, Mr. Ramesh Menon spoke in our class. He told that a journalist must find writing a joy rather than a tedious task. I realised that somewhere along the line, I had lost the happiness and interest in writing.

Years back, I would sit on the terrace of our home in Calicut। If you looked through the gaps between the tops of the coconut trees in our neighbour's garden, you could see shiny slivers of the majestic Arabian Sea. A huge brownish-blue bird with a long red tail (that I still consider a Kingfisher) was a frequent visitor in my courtyard. I would look at the sea and concentrate on the music of the waves lashing against the rocky barrier. It was violent, yet strangely peaceful. I would look at the narrow strip of concrete that passed off as a road. I watched out for the colourful inhabitants of this tiny village that was originally a fishing hamlet. I was as curious about these natives as they were about this rather “healthy” non-resident Muslim Indian girl who had the gall to sit on the terrace within public gaze.

I would sit there and write adventure stories. My sister Safa donned the mantle of the editor. She would tell me what to write. Just like a book has a beginning, middle and an end, my story had to have tragedy, fun and happiness (in that order). The opening scene had to be a death. And the protagonist had to be named Stella or Sandra.

It's rather unfortunate that I could never pen down any story, though I did narrate them to my sister. Today, the only fragments of those stories that remain in my mind are the death scene of Sandra’s parents and the trip taken by Sandra and her friends to Yosemite Falls. Stella’s story had been set in Nassau. I can’t recall anything else about the story.

I was about 12 or 13 years of age at that time. The Atlas was my assistant. He helped me find the setting for my story.

The Enid Blyton influence always made me look to the West for my characters. I didn't see the story that was right under my nose. The story lurking in the eyes of the villagers remained unnoticed and hence, unheard.