Inspired to write when the writers didn’t have a friend named Google and helpful gadgets like iPhone, computers and laptops. All they had were thick dictionaries, books and newspapers to get help from (and of course people).
The year would be somewhere around early 1800’s. A time when the writers would have used the old method of writing; when the typewriters were soon to be invented and laptops were far beyond anyone’s imagination (and even if introduced to the “then” people would seem like a magic box).
The writer sat at his desk. There were many things on the desk a pen stand with a bunch of pens and pencils, a pair of glasses, a steaming coffee mug, lying next to it was an ink bottle and right at the centre was a pile of blank sheets.
The writer had been sitting there for an hour uninterrupted, until George served him a cup of coffee. All his observations and thoughts were being marinated in his mind bowl. Then suddenly he was drawn to the vapours of the coffee and smell the aroma of hot coffee made his brains tick a little faster than before. He thought it must have been his domestic help George, who would have kept that mug on the table for him. He also realized the hour in the clock as it must have been 6 o’clock in the evening (he has always had coffee at this time in the evening).
After sipping the coffee, his mind started racing like a horse. The ideas started visiting his mind from the gallery of his observations. Soon before he could forget he took the pen and started to paint the picture with words onto the sheets of blank papers.
Scratching the words, tearing the pages and throwing the sheets the untidiness had spread its hands from the desk to across the room. The writer was equally frustrated as he was missing something that he could only sense but not put to words.
In the meanwhile, there was something else that was happening amidst the chaos. The pen filled with ink was still standing like a gentleman to hold the hand of his bride to be in white sheet, but the luck was not playing strong for them. Too many times they were engaged and broken off (the papers lying on the floor suggesting their unsuccessful relationship).
The writer couldn’t take it any more. He went to the park. There he became a silent observer of people, trees, flowers, sky, dogs and other small and big thing at the park. He sat on a bench and inhaled some fresh air. Something just struck him and he ran back home like a mad dog. He went to the desk and took out his pen. This time he knew it, the feeling was wonderful, strong…. something heavenly.
The pen was ready to kiss the bride. The blue ink oozing out strongly, bled its heart out all across the white paper. They now saw their future shaping up as the writer was writing across the pages. The marriage was successful what started as few sheets had now become a successful booklet of stories.
The writer had managed to give his feelings and observations some words. He was finally able to make a “match made in heaven” or to say match made at his desk.