I'll let you on to a secret. I started this site to help myself write. I hope you don't feel like a guinea pig, though. And I hope you realize that I am not talking about the act of holding a pen and scribbling alphabets on paper to form words and sentences, which in any case, you would not be able to read because of my abominable handwriting.

In school, writing meant doing essays, with topics like "My Summer Vacations", "My Mother", "The Cow" etc. There was a standard format. You had to introduce the topic, write a few sentences about the subject and end with a moral. Something like, "I had my summer vacations last month. They were very exciting. I joined a club. I played and learnt table tennis............ Everyone should enjoy their summer vacations." Somehow I never hit the bull's eye with these essays and always landed up with 5/10 or 6/10 or something like that. My teachers, though they never told me explicitly, made it clear that I should not attempt writing as a career.

I started keeping a diary in my senior school years, writing about the daily happenings in my life. I would sweat out a page a day for about a week, then forget to write for three to four days, then start/stop, three to four days at a time and then stop. I must have started and stopped around five diaries in the first twenty years of my life. I still have a couple of them in a locked drawer at home. I made the mistake of reading a few entries a couple of months ago. It was scary - I could not recognize myself.

My first serious writing venture was a poem, in my first year of junior college. In a fit of puppy love, I submitted it to my young, English teacher, thinking it to be a masterpiece. It talked about the love of my life, which at the end, in an anti-climax, turns out to be a pillow. Something like
"I always have you
When I need you
When in a muddle
I have you to cuddle", etc.
I thought it was terrific because I had managed to get all the rhymes correct. My teacher took it home to read over the weekend, and returned it to me on Monday, saying "It isn't bad, but why don't you try prose?" My love turned to ashes and I stopped writing poetry for some time.

In graduate college, I landed up editing the college wallpaper, a weekly magazine that was put up on a notice board outside the boys' common room. It would carry an editorial, a few articles, poems and students' birthdays for the week. Obviously the largest crowds would gather to see which pretty girl's birthday it was that week. I wrote a lot for that wallpaper, often writing under different pseudonyms so that there would be enough material for the week. I used to type out the entire wallpaper on an old Brother portable. The only real spin-off was that my typing speed went up to more than 50 words per minute, which was very comforting, since I had something to fall back upon for a job, in a worse case scenario.

Sometime in the later years of graduate college, I started writing detective stories. I finished one story with a combination of crime and sex, but couldn't get any magazine to show interest. Eventually I sent it to a "girlie" magazine called Fantasy, which decided to publish it. My elation turned to mortification when I realized that they had decided to use my real name for publication. I had to call Lucknow long distance and plead with the editor to use a pseudonym. He finally agreed and even paid me Rs. 750 for that piece, which repaid the cost of the long-distance call.

Then came the void. Post-graduate studies, a fellowship abroad and then work, with 12-14 hour days. The only writing I achieved during that period, was a "middle" for the Times of India. I still have the acceptance letter from Jug Suraiya, but it never got published.

A year or so ago, having reached the mid-30s, with a reasonably successful career, I realized that I still hadn't written anything of significance. Of all my other childhood ambitions (being a Hindi film hero, an airline pilot, etc), being a writer was something I could still do something about. I started with a couple of stories, but the pace was that of a prostatic urine stream.

I needed motivation, and finally a few months ago, inspiration struck. I decided to start a website. I would be able to put up my stuff for the world to read, and the pressure of updating it, especially if I had a notify/mailing list, would force me to write. And thankfully, it seems to have worked. In that process, I have also learnt how to register domains, design web pages, work with search engines, use mailing lists and get onto different newsgroups. Again, a nice cushion to have if I need an alternative job.

As I started writing, the weeds on the surface slowly started disappearing. The first few articles were a struggle. The words wouldn't come. If they did, the syntax would be wrong. If the syntax was right, the flow of thoughts was pathetic. But, with practice, at least the prostatism has disappeared. Whether the output is clear or muddy remains a different issue.

The only problem now is to find the right time to write. I leave for work at 6.45AM in the morning and return at 7.00PM. By the time I have finished with the family, dinner and a couple of sitcoms, I am so exhausted, that I am out, before I hit the bed.. If I do manage to find time to write despite all this, this is what happens,
"...........". Tring, tring...the phone wrings. Some friend or acquaintance.
"......"
"......" (Wow, two sentences). My wife comes in with a question.
"......."
"......." (Two more sentences). Someone else comes in and interrupts.
"........"
"........"
"........" Ah..finally three sentences. Yaa...aaawn. The next thing I know it is morning.
The best time seems to be around 5.00AM in the morning, provided I can drag my ass off the bed. The problem is, I then land up yawning the whole day. Which is what you might also be doing at this moment. As I am. Bye!