On Not Being Able To Write

It’s almost [almost here literally means ‘almost’] everyday I think of writing a post. The thought primarily comes from reading other blogs, especially the freshly pressed ones. I wonder why couldn’t and didn’t I write that thing? Why it didn’t come to my mind? There are just million dollar questions yet to be answered on this planet Earth.

I think of writing about my everyday commute from home to office to home. About the things I observe during the 50-to-90 minute travel on bus. About the people climbing up and down the bus (the ladies from the front door, the gents from the back door), the folk I see from the window, the strange habits of every other person sitting beside me, the conductor who rushes every now and then asking people for the fare. Sometimes people yell at him and tell him they’ve already paid the fare.

I think of writing about my workplace. About the habits of my colleagues, the office gossips, the boss and the bosses of my colleagues. About how a usual day is spent on workstation doing routine chores, keeping files and folders, cracking jokes, hanging out for tea and then lunch and then having tea/coffee/ (sometimes) green tea in afternoon…and in the end waiting for the bell to ring and leave for home.

I think of writing about my kids. About raising them up, their eating, reading, writing, tv-watching and games-playing habits. About the things that kids do and I enjoy, and the things that wind me up a bit and how I teach them not to do certain things and how it feels to see them keep doing the same.

I think of writing about the city of Karachi. About how it was like living here alone and now how it is living with family. About the whites and blues, the ups and downs, the pros and cons, the gostos e desgostos of the metropolitan life. About what makes me feel hate the city and run off for good, and what makes me find the city irresistible and spend the rest of my life here.

Then I think of writing about not being able to write!