Bad Writing Day

Since yesterday, I have been thinking that I will use the second Tuesday of this month to write a post saying that I am really grateful to everyone for reading the posts, for the emails you send to me, for the comments that you post on the website, for sharing the posts with others elsewhere.

I thought I will use this Tuesday to also provide a general update on what’s up with my writing.

I thought I will put all this across in a well-constructed long post today.

But I just couldn’t get it done. All that I wrote yesterday and today turned out to be a disaster. Every time I sat down to write, what came out just didn’t make any sense.

And the reason for that was a beautiful poem that a friend sent across to me that occupied my mind all day and messed up with my writing.

I read it twice and it affected me instantly and with deep feeling. It read as follows:

“Meri Koi Feeling nahi hai? Tumhaari Feeling tumhaari?

Tuada kutta tommy, Sada kutta kutta?”

It also had an accompanying music link with a jingle, which I clicked on and watched. I was instantly possessed by the wonderful lyrics and the jingle.

“Tuada kutta tommy,” I said on my morning walk to my neighbour who had his dog walking with him. He (the neighbour and perhaps the dog too!) gave me a blank look and walked past.

I sat down at my desk to write after that. But this jingle didn’t escape my mind.

I tried to put pen on paper and all that came out was “Kya karu main mar jau?” after a few minutes. Then I tried to put keyboard on MS Word and still the same ramble came out. All I wrote yesterday morning was “Tuada Kutta Tommy.”

I called my wife before lunch and when she asked me to call back after a while as she was in a meeting, I instantly blurted out, “Meri Koi Feeling nahi hai?” and disconnected. She called me back and asked me if I was fine.

I went mad with the lilting music of “Sada kutta kutta” not escaping me even during lunch. I tossed and turned trying to get my afternoon siesta, but it escaped me. The lilting jingle, its lyrics and their eloquence seemed to have made my soul their home.

That’s when, in a desperate bid to get rid of it, I called Jigneshbhai and Swami and asked them to meet me in the evening at the café.

“What did you say? Will you say that again?” Swami asked first enraptured by the stirring lyrics.

I sent him the jingle video and explained the meaning quickly. He understood it instantly.

“So you mean it is like ‘Your idli rice cake, my idli idli?’” he asked.

“Exactly, tuadi idli rice cake, sadi idli idli!” I answered, deeply impressed by his ability to culturally contextualise the profoundness of the song.

It is said that all great works get embellished by the contribution of wise people when they read them and decorate them further with their own interpretation. Jigneshbhai wasn’t far behind in making his contribution.

“So, you mean it is also like tuada cake muffin, sada cake cake?” he asked, biting into his muffin.

Both Swami and I nodded in agreement and laughed aloud.

For the rest of the evening, I heard Swami and Jigneshbhai make various value additions to the original. They went from “Tuadi tikki burger, sadi tikki tikki?” to “Tuada toilet restroom sada toilet toilet?”…and so on, and so forth. I guess you get the picture.

I was happy that I had relieved my head of the jingle. I looked forward to going home and having a productive session of writing. But it had now possessed Swami and Jigneshbhai. I could see the waiters in the café laughing seeing them entangled in the lyrics.

I tried to change the topic a couple of times but all of that was of no avail. While I had successfully discharged the burden of the jingle to Swami and Jigneshbhai, it had now become theirs to carry.

It was only when the wealthy old man who had been listening to our chatter from the adjacent table came over to ours that they found someone to share it with. In fact, that was the only way to offload it, by sharing it with someone else.

The magical thing about this jingle was that unless you share it with others, it just occupies you. And then, after you share it, it leaves you, while you watch the fun.

I decided to warn the wealthy old man to stay away from Jigneshbhai and Swami today.

I wanted to tell him to, for a change, please take my advice today, and avoid them, run away from them, hide from them if you can. It was in his best interest to prevent the contagion. Once contracted, there was no cure, I felt like telling him.

So I took tentative steps towards him.

I said, “Sir, I wanted to warn you. Please don’t get close to Swami and Jigneshbhai today. Just focus on your coffee and go home.”

But I realised that the damage had already been done.

The wealthy old man walked towards me before I could say anything further.

He lifted his cup of coffee serenely and said, “tuadi coffee cappuccino, sadi coffee coffee?”

***

PS: I ended up not writing that post in detail, but jokes apart, a big thank you for reading, posting comments, sending emails and sharing. Keep them coming. Gratefully – Ranjit