"Why do you write?" He asked me. He was standing right in front, face to face. Looking straight in my eyes. Soft, sober, sleepy, swollen eyes, both sides. Both pairs full of life, hope, and conviction. I was standing in front of a mirror. For a while forgot who asked whom. Because, I was the question, and I was the answer.
"Maybe, I was born like a drop in this ocean. The drop, that writes its existence, to separate it from other drops. That drop, which never knows where it is at this moment, whether it will be there in the next moment or not. Before the next moment engulfs me and takes me somewhere far away, I have to take this moment within myself, take a sip, and put it in my pen, wearing a cloak of words. Maybe, that's why, I write."
"I am a drop of the ocean, I know. But there is an ocean inside me too, no one knows it except me. Maybe that's why I write. I am a drop with crores more drops of this ocean and crores of drops inside me. I am a drop, a story of mine. Millions of drops in me, everyone has their own stories. There is so much to write, to understand, to explain. No one can cover so much in his poem, even in the story. Maybe that's why every poem, every story, even if it is completed, remains incomplete. This is the similarity in story and in life, in poetry and in reality. Maybe that's why I write."
"Okay, so what is your take? Why do you write?" This time it was the other side being questioned by the one who had just replied.
"As far as I understand, I am a pebble sitting on the surface of stagnant water for years. Initially, when I was out of water, this water did not know how to stay. It kept on flowing, continuously, at full speed. Then, slowly, as if, it forgot to flow, without any reason. It just became stable. Like me. I was sitting on the ground outside and it had stopped on its own. We stared at each other in stillness, looking at each other, smiling, and gazing at each other."
"Then suddenly one day a little child picked me up in his little palm, raised his hand in the air, swung it, and threw me on the surface of that still water. The three of us got into motion together. The child's hand twitched, I jumped in the air, and suddenly fell on the water. As soon as I fell, many vibrations were generated in the water simultaneously, creating so many ripples, increasing the size in circularity, went far and gradually calmed down. At the same time I slowly started moving towards the surface of the water."
"After some time it felt as if nothing had happened. The water was calm, the child was missing, I was calm too. The only difference was, I was at the bottom of the water. I was now under water. I could see water, water could feel me. Since then we are both stable. We feel each other. I come across many stories everyday in this awe-inspiring atmosphere. That's why I write."
Indeed there are far too many stories that need be told. A nice narrative.
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