Dipped in my heart, the nib writes – (Blog-a-ton 6)

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 6; the sixth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

I was a very carefree careless tiny girl, but my antics would have even threatened to tremble the Indra Lok, just like it is always trembling in Mahabharata. Of all the earthly and unearthly things that I was expert at, writing was something that didnt match my crazy-bossy girl persona. But still I wrote. Wrote about day to day atrocities I was subjected –  how brother would snatch the last strand of Maggi from my plate  , how Mom would make me drink the torturous glass of milk and how sister would secretly eat all the sweet snowballs. Flooding my diary with tears, my shaking hand would write about all these injustice that I was subjected to . That was 15 years ago.
And then “Mai Khiladi tu Anadi” happened. Akshay looked fabulous. “Jab bhi koi ladaki dekhu” song would keep echoing in my 11 year old mind. I begged and pleaded Dad to let us watch the movie, but dad being Dad bluntly refused. That night with watery eyes, quivering lips and shivering fingers, I wrote a letter to God, complaining about the parents he has created for me. With sorrow dripping from each word or so I thought, I was confident that my letter would have lead to some serious thundering in heaven and God would be pacing up and down in restlessness, melted by my pityful state he would reincarnate to save this sweet little girl in distress. Well, I did watch the movie, after 10 years though.
Love too happened, or maybe it was crush. But too scared of the peeping-Sherlock-holmes-inspired siblings, I wrote in secret codes that would had made Dan Brown look like an illiterate, which later on even I was not able to decipher. Those words were formed by the first rush of hormones, the butterflies now flutter between the numerous pages, some rubbed with tears some still glowing with smiles.
In lonely nights when the moon howled, the chill outside shivered from the cold heart throbbing within me, I came to realise that the Heart is the weakest organ we are bestowed it. Breaks so easily and hard to mend. I needed a new vocabulory, the expletive ones that are usually hidden beneath beep beep, to express the emotions of betrayal and negligence. My poor diary displayed some really angry facets of my personality. Yes, even now I am confident that the throne of God would shake and tremble if ever I go through the pages again.
Rummaging through the memories in those black letters, carved by a nib dipped in my heart, I could see a tiny pony tailed girl beating the boys with a broom, an adolescent fighting for more freedom, an-aspiring-class-topper dozing on Math’s books- four hours before the examination, a lonely soul sharing its solitude with the moon, a peppy happy soul forced by roomie to wear matching high heels.
Through those words I could see the real ME.

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43 thoughts on “Dipped in my heart, the nib writes – (Blog-a-ton 6)

  1. "Flooding my diary with tears, my shaking hand would write about all these injustice that I was subjected to . "
    how do you do it… I dont usually write much for the fear of people reading it and knowing the real me…yeah maybe..

    " Well, I did watch the movie, after 10 years though."
    must have felt really good…

    "Those words were formed by the first rush of hormones, the butterflies now flutter between the numerous pages, some rubbed with tears some still glowing with smiles."
    those thoughts of so called 1st love or 1st crush always bring back nostalgic memoreis..

    "Through those words I could see the real ME."

    cheers ..very good post…keep blogging

    adios..

  2. Great post… I could so feel each and every word you wrote. Life without writing would not be same .. it is such a good way to vent both good and bad feelings.

    Regards,

    PS:First time here and I am glad I came here!!

  3. The change that happens in us in the process of growing up – brought out really well..
    When you go back recalling the moments, am sure you realize that the smiling moments when recalled makes you a shed a tear and the tearful moments recalled makes us smile about how stupid we had been to have cried then over it
    πŸ™‚

    am sure you felt good writing this post recalling the real YOU
    and we sure enjoyed reading this one.

  4. Hats off to your creativity! I don write diaries, but still, the last strand of maggie is something that happens to me often with my sis, even now πŸ˜›

  5. Nostalgia about growing pains is a deja-vu for all. I'm sure every one of your readers could relate to many things you describe so well.

    I'm still smiling at Sherlock Holmes inspired siblings and Dan Brown illiterate reference. Looks like the little pony tailed girl knows how to write and write well at that ; the pen was sure dipped in heart πŸ™‚

  6. All the experiment you have done to express yourself are written so simply.And in the last para you write the revealations about yourself so unselfconsiously!Really nice post!

  7. Human thoughts are complicated and ambiguous yet they are unique! Putting them to words understandable by other humans is a quality that makes a mark! Beautiful use of words… Loved the way you describe. esp. pen dipped into the heart…. sounds very intriguing! Keep up the good work! Your writing is unique!

  8. Wow..I could relate to you. How I went ga-ga over Akshay Kumar and didnt miss single chance of watching "Churake Dil Mera" on TV…and then the crush…wow that was one heck of nostalgic post.

    Good one

  9. That was a fabulous write-up, Rajlakshmi. Very funny and full of nostalgia. There are some superb one liners which I loved – that would have made DAn Brown look like an illiterate, etc., πŸ™‚
    All the best!

  10. Nostalgia is a bitter sweet stuff and you made me travel back in time and and got me thinking of my own growing up days πŸ™‚ Could relate to it πŸ™‚ Good luck with BATOM 6!

  11. wwwoooww…..
    awesome words princess…
    a lovely memoir of the years gone by describing everything from the innermost fears to anger…turmoil.. superbly depicted dear…

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