Writer's Block

Everytime I start writing, I try to tell a story. 

Trying to remember the details of moments, but fail to recollect; the color of the dress I was wearing, the textures on the curtains, the hot or cold breezes, was it rainy or sunny? 

Everytime I try to remember what conversation I had with the conveyor, I fail to recollect the words uttered by them. Their words dissolve in my vocabulary like they are all mine. 

When I watch a movie, my sister asks - Hey do you remember when Rahul said this, and when Mary said that? I do not quite remember who said what. Do I remember the lyrics of the songs I listen to 24x7? Yes, of course! 

Everytime I try to write, I try to tell a story, but I fail miserably. But, everytime I try to remember a story, I only remember what what it invoked in me and what it killed in me. I don't remember the color of the dress or the textures on the curtains, but I remember how a cup of coffee held me when I was anxious. 

I may not remember the full names of all the Queens, but I remember being lifted everytime Freddie Mercury rhapsodized.

I remember watching tons of Murderous and Horror and Funny movies, but not remember the details - just watching all of them ecstatically as if I have lived them all.

I remember falling in love with Roger Federer as he ballet(ed) on the court with his racket, welling my eyes with victory tears when he lifted his trophies, like I had won and being a cry baby when he lost. How many tournaments he won in all? I don't know and I barely care.

I travelled places and cannot remember the names of the monuments and murals and the museums, but remember this dissatisfaction of not being present when those were made or existed; Sometimes glad! 

Everytime I try to write a story, I remember feeling, so many feelings, I cannot put into words. 

So I just stay quiet, not trying to translate them. 

My typewriter lay on the shelf, waiting for its vintage woman to use it, but she is lost in her camera's digital outrage rummaging to find the stories. Hard Luck!

How do I convince my typewriter, that the fingers that are longing to write a story, cannot remember one! 

So, I just sit with my typewriter, keep staring at it like a lunatic, waiting for it to translate my silence into words. 

Someday it will! 

Nikita Pandit