The making of an artist…

Posted: August 11, 2012 by Ankur in Writes...
Tags: , , , , , , ,

Am not sure who to address it to..so to whom so ever it may concern…may read this. I have no idea what inspired me to write this, but I feel compelled. May be somewhere, around the corner of my heart, I want to let everyone know that pain might be ugly but it bears beautiful causatum. It bestows you with immense power…to create..to change..to make others see the world from your eyes. Though Gothic subjugates, but it is chivalric in its own eccentric way. I know this because I have felt, still do feel, its cogent pull..its hypnotic, narcotic. Irony isn’t it??..pain creates something so powerful that it kills itself..contextually though.

Like every girl I once had a life that I was content in..was all happy and proud about. A family that loved me, friends like sisters, most amazing friends around, and a guy I was head over head in love with and he to me..at least I thought so. Tragedy in common life comprises either of family or of love..mine was the later. we both lived in Delhi..he in Gurgaon..a media rep in a fancy firm..and me..an HR in another firm in Noida..these two places in Delhi seems like worlds apart when it comes to commuting. But we managed, in-spite of long distances and busy schedule, we always managed to squeeze time for each other. It was all magical. But magic had come to an end someday. It ended in a dramatic way. It was when I came back from a trip, and I decided to pay in a surprise to him. You must have guessed the rest of the story by now..yes, he was with some other damsel..some babe material, something that I neve r was. Too dumbstruck to react I just walked out. My phone rang and rang like a maniac..but I din’t pay a heed..I din’t want to. I din’t want to go home as yet, so I got down at Cannaught Place to wander aimlessly. No, this wasn’t what turned me into a famous writer. It was what fate had for me. I had a trip coming, to Mumbai, and I decided to immerse myself in work. I had put in a lot of effort and time, so the project went magnificently well. I felt tired, drained, and lonely. On an impulse I decided to take a stroll at Marine Drive..a decision that changed my life entirely. That evening there was a blast..at Marine Drive. And next thing I remembered was waking up at some hospital..with distorted face..ravaged body..and a more devastated self..I had no idea what to do..I lived low..bewildered and puzzled about what to do..I have been told surgery might not pull off my injuries..making me look unscathed…they were deep..intense and as bad as it could b e. They wondered how I even survived..I loathed why I even survived..I decided to go home..to my sanctuary..to hide..to heal. I did go there..only to be left more baffled..I was washed off my existence at home..had to be..I did not tell them I was alive..my mistake..My dad looked aged and extremely tired..I was his second loss after my mom. I wanted to run in to him..hug him and tell him I am alive..But something stopped me. I know, this sounds dramatic..almost like a daily soap. But what was I supposed to do..Be a daughter to him he will keep worrying about all his life?..be a depended to him?..A daughter..an ugly daughter he can’t even marry off?..No I was better dead that a burden..and a constant source of pity..How I have always hated that..I had to pull this off..somehow..And I knew Delhi had to be my shelter..I still had some cash reserve.

This was the beginning of my new life, the one I now live, the life of a celebrated anonymous writer…solitary, shaded, but unknowingly renowned. being educated in christian schools all my life..I had immense faith in Catholics.. ant that’s what made my home for a long time to come..I practically hid..in some hostel for women who needed support or help, run by mothers and sisters. They were incredibly supportive..never asked questions or provided answers unless asked. I read, and read, and wrote..journals..about almost everything..I found my solace in papers and words..And one find day..my mother angel came for my rescue..she, accidently , got hold of some of my journals..and then she read them all..driven by pain..full of experiences of life and sufferrings..and then we talked, about everything..from start till now. She made me agree to get it all published. It did..and rocked..sold like anything..brought me fortune..both fame and name..name as in..I wrote under the name of anonymous..I din’t want limelight..I wasn’t yet ready to go out as yet..may be I never will be..I was still dead to the entire world..and I wanted to stay that ways..I wrote to my heart contents..and earned..mother angel handled all my affairs. And so the days went by..and so did my life.

Every one moved on..it was almost a year..my guy..he was seeing off some other chick..my sisters were all settled..and my dad still looked old and tired..I decided to let him know of my existence…to him and him only..we met..we cried…we talked..but I kept my secret..I told him I am freelancing..and doing good..I will survive alone..and will be in touch..he understood the compulsion and importance. I was content..not happy..but content.

All m life when I was leading a normal life I wanted to be an artist..a writer to be precise..and now when life gave me what I wanted..i miss my normal life. Sometime I ll take a cup of coffee, watch rain fall down my window pane in my new bungalow..and remissness about past..about all the love and laughter I had..but it was pain that gave me what I desired..May be its not that bad after all..lonely..but not bad.

Anonymous…

Tanaya Nath

generationextcleopatra@gmail.com

http://tanayanath.blogspot.com/

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