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Writing about Writing

About Deepak Rana

Born and brought up amid Himalayas, Deepak Rana has been following his dreams. After completing his engineering, he worked at Deloitte for one and a half years, before he opted for writing as a full time career. His first novel – Sky Beyond the Clouds, was published by Leadstart Publishing Private Limited in 2013. He has also published a non-fiction work, Oh Nationalism, and a number a short stories. When he is not reading or writing, Deepak goes to strange places and worries about strange people.

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I have no idea what to write. Or even, where to start… Uff!

Writing has abandoned me, it seems. I feel lost, and the more I think about it, the more indifferent I become. Maybe, and just maybe, I should stop thinking and start writing. About what? I don’t know.

The clueless hands rose to pick the old fountain pen and bleed some ink from the pot. Instantly, it comes alive, with a dribble on the table. The black diary, which my ex-lover had gifted once-upon-a-time, has been a quiet, shy stranger, and so has the ex-lover. But not tonight. I hold it with both hands and flip through the years of memories in a matter of seconds. They mock me; I mock them back; and we are even.

It has been long. The last time I put a pen on paper, I was a poor man, who fortunately, could not afford a computer. Computers are not something I could love. My relationship with them – perhaps more like a marriage – is a relationship of convenience. But with pen and paper? I am trying to find the right adjectives to describe them, but I am failing, yet again. Words! O words! Come back, will you? I smell the diary while I say these words. Aha! For some strange reason, it feels good. Maybe it’s the memories. Maybe it’s the idea of writing.

I hold the pen gently to make it crawl on the paper. Left to right, first – it goes smoothly, kissing the paper and leaving its impressions there. Then right to left – quickly, in the air. Somehow, these two – pen and paper – remind me of a man and woman. One walking next to the other, trying to seduce, while the other quietly witnessing the act in amusement. Wait… I think my hands are enjoying the movement – and it just made me smile.

I have started to realise that writing is also a craft. Mostly a craft. The joy of writing comes, not only from the expression, but also from the construction. End is important for the reader, and the process for the writer. Aha! The joy of writing. I think I can experience it. It’s like singing a song. Or floating like a bird. The hands do not want to stop. So, I won’t let them. You may close your eyes now. Because it’s time to reveal some secrets.

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