Writers block – it strikes again and again. For months on end. I open the screen, my fingers tentative on the key board and stare endlessly. Sometimes at the screen, or outside the window that is in front. The cold plastic of the key board continues to lie below the fingers, waiting to be pressed into action. It is a dark place to be in, despite the light all around.

What is it that allows the words to flow at times, and what stops it I wonder.

In the last few months, I have traveled to a few places, and yet the story telling of travel has not begun to unravel within. Jaipur, Dehradun, Guwhaati, Kaziranga, Mumbai – all the places are teeming with life and its stories. I have enjoyed my visits, but within nothing has stirred.

I try hard to capture the elation at the first sight of a rhino in the tall grasses of Kaziranga, while sitting atop a majestic elephant. All around are grasslands, trees and the faint silhouette of mountains. When I shut my eyes the vision is clear and enrapturing, but it does not stir me enough to write about it. The grace and grandeur of the buildings of Jaipur, the vibrant colours and festive spirit – nothing eggs me on to write!

If not travel, then life itself has been an inspiration. the highs and lows of everyday existence. I read some of my blog posts – I used to find inspiration in the ordinary and mundane, and my musings are interesting and insightful! As the silent key board kind of mocks my stationary fingers, I wonder how long my inner eye will stay in slumber.

Has the cacophony outside kind of blurred the sounds within? Do all the endless forwards, debates, images and video clips that invade the palm of my hand through my phone dull my own thinking cap? Or am I seeking to apportion blame elsewhere while the fault lies with my own mind!

I have searched the internet for ways to get over the writing block. Even shamelessly tried some of the silly hacks that they recommend. Nothing has worked. I wonder do painters, sculptors, musicians and the like also have such blocks? How do they deal with it?

Slowly it has sunk in that like much else in life, this is my own struggle. To be resolved and dealt with on my own. It is a strange dry feeling, not being able to write even though I want to. I approach the computer hoping to pen a few words, but for months now it is just not happening. Has my inner voice gone on vacation? The silence is deafening.

Despite trying hard to figure out what is that kicks off a torrent of words, I have not found the source. People say all art is driven by some inspiration, I wish I could identify mine. I need it like a sinking sailor needs a lifeboat.

Maybe writing about this struggle would free me – bring back my inner voice, my inner eye and in the end my words! I miss them. Words are my friends, my refuge and my constant engagement. As long as they swirl in my head, pushing me to write, I feel alive and alert.

Its been too long. Wherever the words are hiding I will ferret them out to play and frolic with them again. The blank screen waits, and the keyboard stays in readiness – I will be back soon….