You know that feeling when you see a bunch of people hanging at a nudist beach and you think to yourself, “What fun. If only I had had the nerve… ”

Writing, for me, is a bit like that. I’ve admired writers like I’ve admired people in their native buff on that nude beach. Meeting it with a bit of awe, and ever so careful not to get too close. I’ve watched the nudists bask in their brazen glory.  I’ve wished upon Thalia herself, so unkind with anyone else, to let me in on their grand jokes. Let me in on the league that looks like they know things that I dare not bother myself with.

Allow me to fill my quill and perhaps let slip ideas that otherwise only concern great thinkers and politicians and builders of arcs that saved a bird or two, from a flood or two. People, whose even groans and sighs have registered a great eight, on a scale where strings of words are somewhat like earthquakes.

How dare I bother myself with the grave nature of the slightest nothings on that nudist beach? How dare I mutter, even under defeated breath, the idea of me bearing my soul or parading around like I were all but flesh and bones without the filter of a cotton weave? How dare I aspire to be a thing of the sky, so beyond the reach of this ‘nothing’ earthling. Oh how wonderful it must be, the things they pondered and explored on that nude beach. Were there any tales, of forsaken lovers and minor infractions by friendly neighbours, that so crowded reality as it were, for us mere mortals?

I wondered until ‘wonder’ itself was too much to bare, this curiosity that takes all nine lives but somehow manages keep the cat alive.

And so one day I wandered instead, amid the noble sky folk. Adorning peacock feathers on the crow of my being. Pretending as if I were one of them. Pretending that I could somehow mirror the smallest of their sighs if it came to that. Feigning a know-how of their multiverses that were so beyond the pond of my ineptitude.

But somehow, my words have held their own and this garb of pretence has happened to yield, a durable kind of metal it seems.

And so, for a while I have come to be, a fellow nudist at the beach.

  • robibanerjee

    Wonderful writing.