How often do we search in vain for a word to translate a thought
properly into words? Sometimes however eloquent we may be we
can never express what is in our hearts. When such emotions
are expressed spontaneously a writer, I believe, is born
and through him literature as well . When a writer looks at a flower
what he sees is not the petals, sepals, stamen or the stigma but
its softness, its fragrance ,its lustre that glistens in the
sunlight. It transports him to another world where the factual
features of the flower gets fused with his imaginative and creative
capabilities. His mind becomes pregnant with thoughts and
emotions. In a moment of tranquillity they overflow
spontaneously. Words come naturally to him just like leaves
that sprout on the branches. Thus literature becomes a living
monument that transcends facts and reality.
Literature is fiction but it gives us a deep understanding of
the reality. It is difficult to define happiness scientifically and
there exists no technique to detect or measure happiness. In factual
description it always remains elusive. But a writer uses his magic wand to
instil, evoke and make us experience happiness. Literature
may bury meaning but it enlivens and enriches our experience. it
widens and empowers our visions, thoughts, feelings and
imagination. It colours our dreams and paints pictures in our
hearts. It awakens our sleeping mind and performs the miracle of
converting deserts into oasis and orchards within moments.
Man is not a product of logic alone but a creature of emotion
and so literature goes directly to his heart. It remains there
giving us a variety of feelings. Hearts may agree with what the head
disapproves . That is why someone said "sometimes when a writer, tells us
about hell, his presentation makes us look forward to a trip to hell"
By the daughter
No comments:
Post a Comment