September 5, 2015

My Secret Hideout - Book Writing Tales

A long time back, when the winds were howling and the rain was relentless and I was young and I was impressionable, I took a long drive. I reached one evening through a road strewn with blown out pieces of timber. Entire trees had been brought down by the winds and I could see men dressed in dark overalls trying to clear the road. The road which by itself was not recognizable at all as it was just potholes and not much of a road.

I managed to reach an old old guesthouse, me alone, an open grassland in front and forests all around. It was pouring then and I managed to drive my car right into the porch and then, the doors opened. Inside was an old hand, one of those who have stayed here for years and a little beyond him was a fireplace. Two rooms on either side with fireplaces burning, an old kitchen, me and the attender.

I stayed on at that magic place for 4 or 5 days, taking time out to write. I would also eat once in a while, walk a lot and yes, I would read aloud, read to myself and read to the cows and some gaurs as well. I remember the date now and it was around the 4th of June of that year.

More than anything, it rained and rained and the winds howled aloud. Scary is not even a word as the silence of the soul coupled with the fury of nature made sure that the fear of the night vanished without imposing anything on me. I just lived there for these so many beautiful days, making occasional forays to make calls to the world and as I mentioned, read a lot.

No one should have any super favourite place, that's my rule. This slice of heaven, still preserved 10 years after I first saw it comes close to being labelled the king of super-duper places. Please don't visit!!!