She opened a blank page, in her note book, if she had to be honest Narmada would confess, the entire book was blank. Each day for the past two months she has been sitting to think of what to write, there were things that set her arse on fire, but putting them on paper gave her headache, she reckoned somewhere she twisted her face, with an attempt to think, but only landed up feeling stupid, instead she walked around with a blank mind hoping something from somewhere would fill it up.
She called her therapist up, the therapist told her you need to get up each morning as write 3 pages, long hand, no spell checks or grammar checks, and most important do not read it.
Narmada was furious, here I am telling her that i cannot write and she tells me write. Entire week of resisting, demanding the therapists attention with indirect tactics, but her therapist stayed firm.
“You are supposed to help me,”
“Narmada I am here to help, not to spoon feed you or step in for you.”
“Can’t just give me a pill to deal with depression”
“I can, but I won’t” the therapist for was firm,”I do not want to be the next peg for you to hang on.”
Narmada, eventually agreed to do what the therapist said, write the three damn pages as she woke up in the morning, it was crazy the therapist was clear no thinking just write what ever words float, strangely words did not float, what floated were images of a blue snake, of a woman walking on the road in blue.
A week of writing was really bad, then came the realization the story that set her butt on fire was a lingering bottled up anger, it was the authentic story that wanted to emerge, on the contrary it had become mixed up, rotten, confused, and was highly combustible, it could burst out and bring out a very different narrative than what was supposed to come out!
As she came into the 4th week of writing the morning pages, Narmada realized creation was one the strangest acts.
As a writer for it was a blank page or note book for her, it could have been a block of stone, or wood or a silent musical instrument that beckoned.
With the morning pages the prison guard “Mary Kutty” had weakened and angry dragon within was exorcised she could now look inside herself. She could now through the bait and fish around for that elusive cloud vapour fish, that made her live in clamour and reshape it or even fit it in where she wanted it to be, she could latch on things, and bring forth things out of head like Zeus brought forth Athena.
This abstract will-o-wisp could take tangible shapes and forms.
People in the support group said, it was as if images emerged on the canvas, or the musical resonated on its own.
The morning pages had given her cohesion, and brought forth something, her mind had ordered and succeeded in manifesting something beautiful out of nothing, it was like a glimpse of the divine.
A blank page now told her, that there was infinite potential, every page, like every moment contained possibilities that she could possibly not imagine, every day, came with a blank page, it was for her to fill with the most beautiful feelings, it was for her to create the space for the story, for the drawing.