With Tears, With My Muse

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My muse has taken an unusual turn: I've started writing in Hindi. It's a language which has not come to me by any formal study and whatever I've learnt by way of watching Hindi movies or talking to people in Hindi belt of India is behind my confidence. So, with its grammar badly mutilated and its spellings ludicrously permutated, my stories now take a fast tread on the track laid by my muse.

But I don't bother. Grammar can be set right and spellings can be checked. What is more important is the matter. Am I doing that all right?

With a book of short stories behind me, I think I'm not a novice in the field. A small tally of characters and their interactions crisp and meaningful, and stories are made-oh, they are almost made to order. During the one week that went by, I've already completed seven short stories, almost one story a day. I don't believe that it is me who is doing this.

Is it because I have taken liberty with grammar and spellings? Or is it because I'm writing something very familiar? Oh yes, all my stories in this book will be on people and events around post office. So as a post office man I am doing something as an insider does, narrating things that are mundane to the writer yet with charm of authentic tone for the outsiders. I can't say what exactly they are.

So, am I bragging? I think I'm not and I'd beseech my readers not to take me like that. Say the other day I wrote a story, and tears rolled down as I killed my protagonist. I should not have done that, but I did, only to do deliver a message. And the message is like this: post office would not die; it's for humans to die and they want not to, then let them be born as pigeons and stay in the post office. Funny? It's more pathetic than funny.

Let me see, how far the muse is willing.
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By
A. N. Nanda
Berhampur
26-07-2007
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