In praise of the ordinary...

Can one be inspired by the ordinary? I used to think that the very fact of existing in a quiet and routine fashion would deter creativity. How much could one write when all around was just normalcy perhaps now and then tinged with pathos or humour! And yet I have managed to write something or the other for years – it doesn’t matter if anyone reads it – the very fact of being able to write while leading a humdrum life is quite a feat. Of late I have been wondering whether I have enough in me to write my dream book however. 

Obviously anything I write would have a basis in fact and the facts I have lived with or have observed aren’t extraordinary or earth-shattering – they are commonly known truths. The characters I see around me are ordinary too – it is only perhaps in the way I can depict them that a measure of interest may creep in. The instances of joy or sorrow in my life too are not unique. What then can I write about that would make anyone want to read my stories?

A recent movie that I saw made me think more about celebrating the mundane. It was quite an eye opener that made me view the little notes I wrote about everyday life in a new light. I always write about the ordinary. I always learn little lessons from them. I always take joy from what to another would seem almost inconsequential. A perfectly made cup of tea, or the appearance of tiny green grass to replace the yellow patches in my lawn, the ringing laughter of my children, the look of appreciation in my husband’s eyes when I drape myself in a sari – simple things to make my heart sing. I write about these – with the desire to celebrate life’s little pleasures. I also write about the pain of misunderstandings, of incessant worry over a child one has failed, of relationships one must say goodbye to. It is after all these nuggets that make up one’s existence.

The reason I loved the movie I saw was the way the ordinary was portrayed and perhaps that’s why I continue to write about regular life – to portray that subtle beauty. My stories or observations may not be unique but my words and the thoughts behind them are definitely different. Maybe I have been ignoring the beauty of simplicity in my efforts to find a perfect theme to write about. I write about reality – not the elevated, convoluted kind – the simple everyday kind. Why then do I see that as something to be apologetic about? Is it possible to be taken seriously when one only wants to tell the world to look around and see the miracles that happen with every beautiful sunrise? I don’t know really but maybe I should start to find out...