Irshaad !

In our family of poets and writers, Papa was the pioneer and my sister I believe, bettered him. Me and Mumma, par contre were more of listeners. We merely reveled in reflected glory as they enthralled the audience, of which, we were the most ardent.

As a young kid, I was more of the shy kind. My profound quietness would often give the false impression that creative epiphany was about to occur. While my sister carried Papa’s creative legacy on her strong shoulders being the painter, singer and poet, Mumma and me waited anxiously for that creative eruption to occur.

Alas, whatever, I would write shall betray the expectations of whatever I have become after listening to the best around. The fact that creativity is something subjective must have given legitimacy to a whole breed of blooming poets and writers around. This in no way made my life easier.

I tried my hand at painting but impatience and inconsistency was my bane. Having failed everywhere, I chose photography, after realizing that it can be a (creatively) poor man’s best bet. Mumma however, didn’t have the luxury of travel or technology that makes photography such a tempting option. Few days back when she narrated a poignant short story to me, I felt that her moment had finally come.

As for me, all of a sudden, I feel relieved as being the only listener left in the Dil family. It’s high time, I take my job more seriously, so let me say …. Irshaad !