How
A 6-yr old charmer is currently staying with us.
“Uncle, what do you do?”
“Oh, I work with computers”
“But I thought you were a writer? My mumma said you keep writing all the time”
“Yes, I do write, but not as often as I want”
“Ok, so how do you write?”
How? How?
All my life I’ve been preparing to tell people why I write, but never for once thought about how. Children give you the most amazing things to think about.
*****
On a hot, sticky Chennai afternoon, I am sitting with my grandfather on the verandah of the ancient house. I am distracted by the sound of the creaking from the well’s pulley. Grandpa, nearing 90 and troubled by Parkinson’s is concentrating on holding his 1941 Parker Vacuomatic. He is writing a letter to his eldest son. ”Always write slowly. Think. Stop. And then begin again. Remember that for the rest of your life”, he stutters.
*****
And that’s how I’ve written. For the past 21 years. The tools have remained more or less the same: A hand-bound book of real, handmade paper - each sheet never the same thickness nor the same feel. A 0.5mm black pen.
There is an inherent bias towards the keyboard every time I sit down to write something meaningful, but each time the smell of the frayed, yellowish paper wins. The click of the refill. The scratch of the point. The wafts from steaming cup of coffee nearby. The only addition these days to the ensemble is an iPad. As a quick look-up and research device, it is nearly perfect.
*****
There is a minimalism to this way of doing things that I love. I have nothing more than what I need and want. I have enough.
