Since I started writing this column, there’s a narrator in my head who keeps on talking, explaining what happens around me in a way that I can write about it. Sometimes, when I’m feeling confident and full of energy, he talks without a second’s rest. But if I’m tired, he speaks in bursts, only when necessary.
Here’s an example of his voice: “Lo lad is walking down the stairs and his legs are hurting badly because the idiot overdid his legs workout yesterday. I warned, but he didn’t listen. Now he’s taking the long walk towards his bike and as he looks up he realises that he should have had enough water before venturing out in this heat.”
He distracts me even when I drive. Then when I reach the audition, he says, “OMG, look at the line. Why don’t you write about how people tend to break the lines in auditions by asking their friends to come and write their names for them? You better cut this line hero; otherwise you’ll be stuck here forever.”
This constant commentary goes on till my brain almost shuts down. Then slowly he mellows down, fearing his own death. There is no doubt that he gives me excellent ideas to write about. The last week, the narrator spoke continuously and I kept on thinking of different things I could write about. The only flipside is if I don’t write down what the narrator and I have discussed at that very instant, which can get quite tedious sometimes, he simply disappears at the time when I need him the most. When I sit down to write, he runs away from me like I’m a rabid dog. My mind is like the Indian service revolver, ready to fire but drawing a blank.
{{/usCountry}}This constant commentary goes on till my brain almost shuts down. Then slowly he mellows down, fearing his own death. There is no doubt that he gives me excellent ideas to write about. The last week, the narrator spoke continuously and I kept on thinking of different things I could write about. The only flipside is if I don’t write down what the narrator and I have discussed at that very instant, which can get quite tedious sometimes, he simply disappears at the time when I need him the most. When I sit down to write, he runs away from me like I’m a rabid dog. My mind is like the Indian service revolver, ready to fire but drawing a blank.
{{/usCountry}}That’s why I’ve decided to buy myself a Dictaphone, or one that also doubles up as a mobile. So if the narrator says something which is write-worthy, it will directly be recorded. I’ll be like the cool guy who walks around recording his own voice, making important observations. “Very smart,” he says. “As if talking to yourself on a machine is any less weird.”
The narrator says, “Lokhandwala Lad is on Facebook. Add him.”