“So when you do write that book you keep talking about, do mention me in it, deal?”

And thus went the conversation with a dear friend a long time back. I remember laughing off the idea at that point of time. A book? Actual writing? With words? That requires patience and actual work. The procrastinator in me took one look at the proposition and became a government body when it comes to passing important bills- ignored it and hoped it melted away on its own.

So when exactly does a person realize that she’s hit a writers block before even starting to write? Maybe when she understands that it’s not the lack of content, it’s the lack of intent that has become the roadblock here. That I’m lazy isn’t news to me, but that I let that laziness actually sideline my love for writing is a sad occurrence. As a kid I had all the plans to grow up and rule, if not all, then at least a fraction of the world. Look at me now, too lazy to pick up a pen and string together a few words, the world be damned. Therefore a purge. Of the roadblocks, the procrastination and oily food (Don’t judge, my body needs that. Might as well make the most of the active spirit while it lasts right?).

Yours truly is called Shrooti, yes you read that right,with a double o. For the uninitiated, the name श्रुति is of Indian origin and is generally spelt as Shruti. My father, on the other hand decided to list me up as one with a double o on my birth certificate,the reason remains unknown till date. And thus yours truly regularly dodges queries like ‘Are YOU sure that you spell YOUR name like that?’. Why, yes lady, been spelling it that way since my creation haven’t I?. Anomalies related to the name aside, I’m a literature student. How I ended up doing it is another funny story, remind me later lest I digress again.

The curtain raises and the question pops up, so what’s changed now? How come I dragged my ass up here and am toiling away at 4oclock in the morning? Answer being, I have hit what I can safely assume is my very own quarter life crisis. Coping mechanisms range from humour to food and now have a new entry in the form of,<insert dramatic music>, my very own blog! Because what better way to sort and find a semblance of meaning in the chaos that life is, than discussing it on a public forum, right?

So here’s the plan. Writing. On an almost daily basis. Musing, cursing, laughing and carrying on the chronic tradition of self reflection, albeit with a sense of humor. Because with all due respect, I read Plato, but I don’t aim to be him. Severe expressions and an expansive level of seriousness just don’t hit home for me. For what good is your brain if it can’t make you laugh even in the most mundane surroundings?

It’s actually been so long since I last sat down and wrote for my own self, that it’s almost surreal. All my earlier personal writings were done in my teenage and I won’t own up to them now, even if threatened with a push off a cliff. Notwithstanding the cringe, the feeling of being home with oneself is just as it was years ago.

Here’s to hoping that this stays. Cheers to you all, and a cheer to myself.

Liked what you read? Tap the heart on your screen to let me know!
Like what you read? Give Shrooti Nirmal a round of applause.

From a quick cheer to a standing ovation, clap to show how much you enjoyed this story.