There are certain questions, one should refrain from asking, especially when you happen to travel with someone who calls and considers him/her self a writer.
“What kind of a writer are you?”
Well. I never had a clue, all other times; it was either a warm or an I-don’t-encourage-such-questions smile. But that day, to the most unfortunate despair of the interrogator, I had this answer, spontaneously brimming up inside me.
“I just write, hence I’m a writer, but my writings and my being of a writer is multi-layered, rather a multi-staged process. I’m a reluctant writer and when I’m past my reluctance, I turn to this compulsive writer and keep writing, only to end up as a voluminous writer. I cannot help identifying the little things and people prefer to call this labeling. So I’m even a labelist-writer, in a way.
She had this what-wrong-did-I-ever-do-to-you look on her face. For the greater good, I excused myself, “It is quite sultry inside. I’ll just go, stand near the door for a while.” And I left my window seat.
Pre-script: This post can be lengthily lengthy! Read it at your own ease.
Then I did realize the importance rather the necessity to traverse in the depressing murky narrow lanes of human mind. I did make the journey. In a shorter while, I stood face to face with him. He was tall and nude. I glimpsed down at Him, sensing his faltering hesitation, I averted my glance. I found out, he was shy and got intimidated by my presence before his naked self. It looked pale. It didn’t bother me anyway; for I had a mother’s eye. I was not disgusted by his nudity. His sudden appearance brought out the rather dormant motherly instincts alive in me. I reached the door of his grief-stricken soul and gently knocked to wake him up. He understood my silent plea to unburden his sorrows on me. I still got a chance to identify my own self in him, overcoming all my possible short-comings and human weakness. I can hear his prayers. I prayed/wished there were fewer burdens and more people to help him with his yoke. For the first time, I looked at his eyes, to see the fear blooming away to a smile.
When any mind is dug, the depths are seen to be filled with the acid, frustration- the source of hatred ness, which gets accumulated due to the needless and endless rush to no-where. People don’t let the flow of base, literally and chemically i.e., assurance-the source of love, to neutralize this and so as to stop the mind ending up, thoroughly eroded and turns to a scathed monstrous inside spitting words of venom outside.
What could I possibly tell, to let him learn that nudity is sacred and so are every private secret. No god/human-made-god is sacred. Believing that thy gods are sacred is the absolute Blasphemy. Nothing is more sacred than/as sacred as Human spirit.
When you sow love in life, you reap only smiles in return, the other synonym of love, which is pure and blissful, like that of a baby, which arouses a desire in you to touch and caress in rejoice.
Ever patted someone’s cheek with love, when they smile? You will know.
Sitting on a beach, feeling the coarse texture of the sand against my skin, with the music, plugged in, either Savage Garden/Bob Marley, with Italo Calvino unveiling the secrets of the Invisible cities, sipping apple juice spiked with white Mischief to be lost in the magical orange hues of the evening sun.
How romantic! How rejuvenating! NOTHING ELSE MATTERS
Only, when you’re in Pondicherry, Marina, Marine Drive, Kovalam, Goa or Gokarhna.
Sitting in the living room, awake at an unearthly hour, with four other souls deep asleep at the dead of night, I look out of my window and heave the usual sigh!
I found myself awake to the deserted sight of my bedroom. No clue! When I fall a prey to Insomnia. I get up all by my self, prepare the most-cherished-I-made-my-own-chai and sit at my dining for the morning my-alone-mono-conversation. Brother would have left to Bangalore, remembered seeing him at 7, when I tossed around. Heard dad’s voice and spotted him in his usual I-don’t-see-my-spectacles-anywhere look, when I blinked and adjusted to the morning light entering through the window. Listened to mom’s daily set of instructions, “Keep some milk for puppy, you have your breakfast soon, clean up the kitchen, put away the used dishes, keep the house tidy, pay the grocery bill”, when I got up to switch off my alarm and sleep again.
Watch Television, sit at the PC, listen to music, stare at an empty space, sit idly, read, pick up a novel and start umpteen times, sketch/scribble/cook. Mono/multi/juggle tasks. Do nothing/everything. A day is gone. I spend my whole day regretting not being early, missing the jog and curse for being lately late every night. And naturally you grow around the middle.
Vacation does this. No matter how well you plan to finish novels, jog/jinx/jingle everyday learn guitar/music/cooking, watch movies plan a thousand trips. Nothing happens. Believe me, been through it badly, madly and truly.
VACATE YOUR HOME DURING VACATION.
When you’re an adult
1) NEVER EVER holiday at home, you’re past the age of summer camps/cramps
2) Home is meant to be missed and not to SPEND vacations.
Orkut and face book even bores the hell out of you. And you turn the most perverted poet. G talk status – a testimony to this statement
With all this now going in for a more while. I plan to write books/scholarly articles on the following topics
1) The Ignored Psychology of the Blissful Boredom
2) Being the second born – boon or bane.
3) Ten sure and safe ways to seek instant attention
4) An Introduction to holidaying at home.
5) The Psycho-analysis of bored-minds: A socio-cultural approach
6) What not to do, when you’re Home Alone.
7) Understanding the problems of the Youngest Kid.
8) How to be a successful attention Seeker
9) The nuances of being a nuisance at home – A beginner’s theory
Efforts are been given at a full fledged pace and wish me all luck.
As Erma Bombeck quotes, “Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you.”
And as JB ma’m puts it, “You’re home-sick, you reach home and soon, you grow sick of home.”
Yet, how I wish, I get up every morning to the beautiful sight of the snow-clad Alps Mountain on the meadows with that special dream-girl rather my-kind-of-girl cuddled up beside me.
No! No! NO! I’m a single, and not that desperate or waiting to mingle-single. It is just that I wish, to know what it is to get committed and to flash my COMMITTED status in Orkut and face book.
No Shrings! I’m still the committed single. Remember we can flirt, flirt and flirt, No worries, we’re still committed to our single hood status. We’re The Committed Singles.
And you T**** Now don’t call me a predictable pervert, you Pakistani *******U**. I miss my campus life, BIG time!!!!
I abstain form the temptations of running away, deserting my own self. I just cannot imagine my own self deserting the precious me.
The best way to overcome temptations is to yield into them – Oscar Wilde.
For I know, there are less and less worthy things in life to run after and more and more beautiful occasions and meaningful things to look forward. “Everything Waits”. As Samby puts it, “Nothing great has been achieved except by those who believe that something inside them is superior to circumstance.. And I continue to believe..”
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