The Memory Vault: Raw Beginnings

Rhyme appealed to me and I was conscious of it, even as a toddler. It’s musical quality made words dance. Like puppets bobbing up and down from the ends of strings, words could be brought to life dramatically in beats and counts, much like a choreographed spectacle. I was in awe but far too young to fully grasp the finer aspects of poetry-writing; meter, alliteration, structure, imagery etc. It was all about the rhyme.

So, rhyme it was and as I’d advance in years and through the course of my schooling, I’d write a whole lot of poetry that was nothing more than a pish-pash of rhyme; no serious consideration whatsoever for thought progression, meter, length, etc, etc, etc.

Thankfully, the school of my childhood, St.James’ School, gradually set my track in line with destiny. The school had a wonderful set of English teachers who took the language seriously and taught it with passion and flair. There were platforms such as elocution, school journals, debate competitions, that provided added nourishment to a student’s literary buds. I laugh when I recall the times when I’d rush into the school staff-room during tiffin breaks to shower the editor with poems. I’d scribble out one after the other, make sure the last word on each line rhymed (sometimes forcibly), and anticipate that she’d have a very difficult time choosing from my offerings. I bet it was the other way around.

The piece I remember most from my school days was entitled, ‘The Ghostly Galleon’. It was about a sailor fixated on a ghostly ship that tempted him to join its crew. I will share it if I’m able to dig it up. It wasn’t too bad for a 7^th grade student but I'll find more than a hundred flaws in it now. Why pull it down that much, though? It was, in a way, a turning point in that it opened up a peep-hole into the world of the imagination. I’d pass out of school with this added weapon – the imagination, and thankfully, it never deserted me when I put pen to paper.

Thanks to the school magazine and its inclusive approach, my poems found paper-homes and hopefully, a few patient readers. Those were the first baby-steps in reaching-out - a very important component of poetry writing and my first brush with publication. Its ability to touch, influence, affect and permeate is unmatched.

Indeed, there are miles to go before my poetic steps bear the span of elephant footprints but they did grow and I’m appreciative of the literary education in school because it set-off the first, albeit raw, sparks.