I wish..

I wish I could write fiction. No, I really do, like really really do. Wanted to do that since I was like 11 years old.

Those were the days when i was on this marathon to finish off the whole Enid Blyton series. My dear mum initiated me into book reading ever so gently at the age of 6 with a Noddy. (I will be forever grateful to her for that zest of reading that she gave me, she is a voracious reader herself). So, ya starting with Noddy's I slowly transitioned into Famous Five's, Five find-outers and Secret seven's and so on. Not to mention Faraway tree and Wishing chair and Farm stories. Ok, I am forgetting, Bed time tales, Anytime tales, Funtime tales and so on :-)) (yea, all these are actually book titles and series by Enid Blyton and I actually had these books when I was a kid, believe me I had a huge book shelf !) Slowly digressed to Nancy drews and Hardy boys for a while before I got sucked back to Enid Blyton's with the boarding school stories. Those were my favourites, those were things I longed for, things I could relate to.
That phase lasted a whole 3 years during which, proud to say I didn't leave
a single book untouched :-). So, yeah, coming back to me being 11 years old with
this fire in me telling me that I could grow up to be a desi Enid Blyton.

One morning, I got up with a brain wave and said to myself, why not ? I mean, I was good at English in school, good at spellings and grammer etc, why can't i write ? I mean, she does ! She being Enid Blyton of course...Fortunately those were lazy summer hol days when i was really idle with nothing to do. So, I go to my mum who was in her usual hurry to get to work and this is how it goes:
me: "Mamma, I am going to write".
she: "Good good, I have been telling grandpa that you will write one of these days".
me: "No no, i mean like write write"
she: "Ya, thats what I meant and stop troubling me now, I am getting late, go paint or something" (She thought I was like a little picasso in the making, after a few years though she came out of her delusions)
me(slightly getting impatient now): "Ma, are you listening, I want to write, in fact I think I will start writing a book today"
she (paused for a moment and then laughing hysterically): "What"
me: "A book, a novel, like Enid Blyton"
she (quite inconsolable by now): "Why?"
me (quite zapped and not quite sure what she meant): "What do you mean why, I want to.." And stomped off.

Little do we realize that these are quite defining moments of our lives. Anyways, I toiled for a few days, 4 precisely..And came up with the first chapter of my story. I had designated a small pink notebook for the task and with immense pleasure I looked at the 2 1/2 pages I managed to fill up, titled "First Chapter". I thought that was a good enough title back then and that it was clever :p. Next day morning, armed with my pink notebook I walked up to the kitchen again.

me: "Ma, do you want to see this?"
she: "Why do you always show me things when I have 2 mins to leave for work?"
me (dissapointed): "I completed it only last night"
she (bewildered): "Completed what? Homework? Oh my god, really? You just started your summer hols !" (wants to kiss me by now ! My mum has these spurts of affection especially when it comes to things like school, marks and prizes)
me (breaking away from her): "Ma, don't you ever listen to what i say? Its my novel !!"
she (rolling up her eyes to say good god, she was not kidding !): "Ok, fine you will not let me leave in peace till I see it, let me see that."
Reads the first few lines, 2 actually and bursts out laughing. I mean hysterically. And would not stop, she had to hold on to the kitchen shelf to keep her from falling. She had tears in her eyes and no, not the "khushi ke aansoon", they were really coz of laughing so hard.

That was really the end of my creative career, later on she told me that the stuff i wrote was like different lines from different Enid Blyton books ! mmppttt, Didn't she know anything about "being inspired" ??

Anyways, it was too traumatic an experience which has left me scarred for life :p I still have that pink notebook, I never threw it away. It still reminds me of the what could have been and that fleeting drive I had one fine day for writing fiction..

:-))

Maybe someday I will show it to my daughter but till then.. I wish I could write
fiction....