I was a lazy writer. I still am. But again, a writer is way too heavy a word when I am using the term for myself. But since I am still trying, I can live with — say a “so-called writer”.

Let me clear this up how I was lazy. I was not a writer but my mind used to work as one. So I used to see things through a writer’s perspectives — almost everything. I saw many things that I think I could have written down. Unfortunate I was that I could not give them a proper shape. Many concepts thus simply vanished. With time, memory starts to fade. The thing or scene that you see gives rise to some feelings. These “feelings” then should come down through the tip of the pen in the form of words — step by step.

But since I was gifted with lethargy, I would miss those steps. No words, no sentences; there were just the blurs, blanks and brackets with details missing.

Actually, I used to write, but all in scraps. They were illegible. They were incomplete. They were of types that would largely fail to arouse anyone’s interest. That’s what I thought, because almost all the time I was the first and the last reader of my own anaemic writings.

I wished to do more but I could not. I desired to stand out in every other field that was there.

For instance, sometimes there used to be a table tennis contest in our school. I did not even know how to hold the tennis pad, but I used to be a good spectator. When the match was over, I would place myself in the victor’s position.

Similarly, when there was a volleyball tournament, I wished to be an expert hitter who would never miss a shot. But I was a person with a small physique, lacking the strength a hitter needs. I was a below average man in most of the aspects, save studies.

So there were multiple imperfections in me, and the good thing is that from those imperfections in me emerged a

writer.

And this is the best part of writing; when you are a writer, you can be what you want.

Thus, I started to slink into the world of writing, because I could finish the unfinished in that realm, all in my own way. I could wipe out my weaknesses and speckles. When I could not do a task in the real, I could do it in my writing. So writing can take you to the realm of your desire where one can do what he or she desires.

To write is to live forever, they say, and it indeed stands very true.