Reading & Writing Lounge

Imagine this. A journey through the rolling countryside, with white clouds hanging in folds just ahead of the car’s windscreen, and the sky’s shimmering blue through those white fluffs. Think of these too—the fresh smell of the countryside, the touch of wind as it whistles through your hair, the feel of the openness all around.

A drive through the clouds can be exhilarating. It gives a sense of the journey rather than where you are heading, makes the journey mystical, as if there’s no end to it except for chasing the ephemeral whiteness, forever out of your grasp. Writing is pretty much like that. The journey justifies the exercise, rather than what lies at the end. That too will come, but savor the trip first. Writing is a journey of discovery, not just an end in itself. You learn as you write, about the world around you, your experiences, thoughts and yourself. The journey holds the promise of the end, its fulfillment.

Writing is about evoking the senses. The sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and feel of the things around us, the whiteness of the clouds, the warmth of the setting sun, the flight of a flock of birds across the cloud-darkened sky, the fragrance of wild flowers streaming along the country roads, the feel of a leaf that comes to rest against your cheek. Breathe in the sensations for that final outpouring, as Wordsworth, that path breaking Romantic said, “Fill your paper with the beatings of your heart.”

Writing involves the mind, heart, five senses and hands simultaneously. Besides any other stimulus that could arouse the creative genie in us, it is the work of the sensory organs that stimulates writing and thought.

The eyes: The sunset is pale ochre today. What does it remind you of? How does your physical eye transmit the image to your mental eye and the language it thinks of? Does the ochre look like a sadhu’s robe enveloping the dazed sky? The eye tells us much more than we give it credit for.

We focus on this sensory perception quite easily. That’s the foremost thought on our mind. What did you see? Isn’t that what you are asked when you visit a place, a person, or find something new? Why don’t we think of what we hear or touch? This bias towards the visual deprives our writing of much of its sensuality and sensuousness.

The ears: Listen to the wind whistling through the fallen leaves. What do they make you think of? Can you find synonyms that help you capture the exact sibilance of that sound? The exact tone of the rustle? Or the far away strains of a melody that the ear strains to catch. How do you describe or give an image to this sound, flowing in the quiet of the night when only you are awake?

The nose: Ah! The heady fragrance of night flowers or the aroma of roast chicken could transport us to bliss. But what exactly is the fragrance or aroma like? Do we always have the words for it? If not, can we use an image that could convey the sense of this fragrance or the wafting aroma from a distant kitchen?

The tongue: The hot chocolate sauce scorched my tongue? No, it left its sweet steaming essence on it. Or rather, the tongue lapped up the syrupy sweetness in a mad frenzy of awakened taste buds. How often can we get words to describe the taste our tongue feels?

The touch: Her skin was like the rose petals on a yard of silk. Or the sun-baked tiles had hard warmth to them. What does our touch tell us? How often do we touch something without thinking what the feeling is like? And how often, in the course of writing, do we rummage through our minds, dictionaries and thesauri for the exact word to create an image of touch?

These five senses create sensuality in writing, without which the writing could often be drab or pedestrian. Only our body can teach us to savour these senses and bring them to fruition in the course of writing. The mind finds its own words. It is the body that has to be kept in tune with sensory perceptions.

Related on this blog:

• Freelancing—The Write Time
• Peopling the Yarn
• Guest bloggers wanted