I’m (not) a writer.

Posted: October 1, 2013 in I wonder
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Writing as a profession has lost its sheen for me. When you write for money, you stop writing for yourself. This was the conclusion drawn from a chat I had recently with fellow writers. You’re just tired at the end of a day of writing, and you immerse yourself in whatever chosen form of substance abuse. And so you write for money and money writes for you.

So maybe you decide it’s time to let go off that money and devote time to your own faculties. So you take time off, just as I did. To just write. But it never remains just that. Because when one lives in our society, one is weighed and judged by what one does. “What do you do?”, is often the first question asked. I was once asked that even before being asked my name. And instead of spending time explaining your current confused state of affairs, the reflex is to say – “I’m a writer”.

There is a certain glamour associated with saying that. The eyes of the listener light up as if you are his connect to the fancy world of ‘creativity’. And that decidedly propels them down the path of tracking your literary life. At that point, or at any given future encounters, the question arises – “So what are you writing about?”. And then you must give an answer out of courtesy. You make up a reply that appeases their senses, and still maintains an air of being vague. Cause let’s face it, which writer knows what the hell he’s writing about.

And this pattern. This stupid pattern repeats itself. The time taken off is spent explaining why time was taken off. And the subconscious starts developing a certain frustration for writing. Because now one must explain writing which hasn’t even been written. And never gets written. And therein lies the problem. It’s simple telling people you’re a writer, and writers block your favourite friend. It’s harder to disassociate yourself from this world, until you’ve actually earned your place in it. Even then, I’d say don’t tell anyone you’re a writer. We have trouble enough finding place for ourselves in our heads. Let’s keep the others out for a change.

I just can’t help myself.

Posted: September 26, 2013 in Uncategorized
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I’m not the self help type. The reason is that I can’t depend upon the ‘self’ part of the term. It’s not that I don’t want to help myself (without sounding wrong). It’s just that I know myself enough to not see something through. Simply put, I lose interest.

There are various things that have captured my attention over the past many years. But almost none have retained said attention. I shift from one to another, lost in the whirlwind borne off it. Why? I can’t be sure. But I draw an inference – I can’t maintain focus.

Since I was a kid, I was told to focus and be the best. It was always about perfection, not about enjoying. A perpetual scenario. And somewhere along the line I developed a phobia for that focus. I ran away from it. What was expected, made me cringe. It was all about “expectations”, even if they were my own. I became a victim of my own aversion. I formed a thought process in my head, wherein I would constantly be on the run from one thing to the other. If I stopped on one thing, I would be weighed and judged against what I’ve learnt. Or what I haven’t. And we wouldn’t want that now, would we?!

From playing the tabla, to the keyboard, to classical singing, to tennis, to playing the guitar, to playing basketball, to giving a competitive exam, to learning the djembe, to working for love, to working for money. Bleh. I just couldn’t slow myself down enough to actually finish one of those. I never wanted to stop. I just couldn’t. I jumped, so as to get the all-seeing eye of judgement off my back. I would cut myself short, rather than allow anyone else to do it.

But what if I diverted my energies onto someone else or some other cause? Then would I be judged on myself, or on what I do for others? Maybe it would be on the basis of what others gain, not what I do. And that would give me the shady bower I’ve always needed to avoid the glare that’s burning me from inside. Maybe it’s a sly escapist philosophy, but who cares? At the end of the day, we’re all selfish when it comes to ourselves. Maybe by doing right to others, I’d finally be able to do right to myself. Maybe.

It always fits.

Posted: April 17, 2013 in Uncategorized

Patterns. The rulers of our life. We run from one to the other. Even breaking a pattern, leads to another. It’s just how it is.

I travel. I travel to break my pattern. Because I didn’t like it. I felt claustrophobic in mine. It felt stifling. It wasn’t that I wanted change for the sake of not being bored. I simply wanted more out of life. So, I travelled to change my internal patterns.

And it did change. It was gradual. Quite gradual. Not ground breaking. Quite slow. Very slow. Really slow. But it was there. And I felt it stronger on my last excursion into the unknown interiors of my vast country. I felt fresh. Alive. Kicking with joy. Riding the waves of simplicity. But then I came home.

Peg it in.I wholeheartedly believed that home would be a different place, for I would see it through new eyes.

And it was.

For a while.

And then slowly it changed.

It’s only been a few days since I’ve come back. And I already feel the pull. The pull of my previous being. My hope was to come back an evolved version of my earlier self. The modified me. And that was the vital part. My hope was not to fall back into myself. Fall back into my well established pattern. But that’s what I sense now.

It’s not a conscious act, it just happens. We find ourselves doing the same things, thinking the same things. Feeling the same emotions, feeling the same lack of emotions. Feeling the dregs of society sucking you back in. And you aren’t aware of this until it’s too late.

And that’s the thing. We aren’t aware nor conscious. Our mind is riddled with so many minuscule things, that we forget to be aware of our every action. We keep ourselves distracted and it’s easy to be so. We slowly lose our evolution. We devolve back into our earlier self. What was gained, is lost. We change, to revert. We rediscover the pattern that we fit into. We have for so long. And slowly, unknowingly, we fit back in, to slowly dissolve into an infinite phantasm.

Being social.

Posted: February 12, 2013 in Uncategorized

What has social media come down to?

To get random invites for stupid games on facebook? To read the public displays of affection by overtly and sickly romantic couples? To hear the constant bickering and comparisons of women and men who come close to that? To see tinted pictures of what people are eventually going to shit out the next day? To hear desperate cries for attention by those who claim to have befriended the world? To know where a person is, what he/she is doing, who he/she is doing, hobbies, life goals. Why should I be aware of these inane facts that serve no purpose but to destroy my peace of mind. How is this information helping me in anyway except giving me the tools to be an expert stalker?

So why do we spend our time stuck to these tools?

Maybe the fear of having nothing to do for 5 minutes drives us to wonder what the hell somebody else is up to.  That constant barrage of incessant noise has become a permanent fixture in our daily dealings. It’s something we can’t get away from. It would feel wrong and disconnected.

Even on vacations. People take vacations to get away from the world. All we end up doing is fighting with ourselves and eventually succumbing to the withdrawal symptoms of social media. We need to tell people where we are vacationing, why we feel “happy and at peace”, what we ate for breakfast and how we have suddenly taken to photography. Our lives have become social media.

I really wish there was an off button for everything. And like Snake Plissken at the end of Escape from LA (I recently caught it on TV), zap all the electronics in the world, smoke a cigarette and say “Welcome to the human race.”

 

Uncommon.

Posted: January 15, 2013 in I wonder
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Why must we earn a living? Why not earn a right to live? It’s the quintessential dilemma. To work for money or work for love? Or to love work? Or to love money? Or to love nothing and hate yourself? Or just somehow be self-destructive enough to love yourself for hating yourself? I guess life sometimes feels like a paradox. The cyclic quadrilateral-triangle of life. It’s like looking through a glass made of a varying thickness. You know something isn’t right, but you’re busy distracted by the colours that get refracted. So you sit, stare in and look like a retard to the rest of the world.

My issue – why is there a need to get lost in these stupid questions? Why god, why? We as Neanderthals were meant to focus on our basic needs – survival, sustenance, and sex. We have grown slightly smarter, thus the variance in the definitions of the same. Survival, has become a rat race. At the end of the race, there’s a nice fat cat waiting to swallow you whole. Sustenance, is now led by advertising. Cause let’s face it, if there was no advertising, we wouldn’t know what to eat. And sex? Okay sex is the same. It’s good. When you’re getting some of it. Otherwise it just makes you look bad.

light up

So we now have ‘intelligent’ scenarios for the Neanderthal life. It’s the logical progression. I think that’s where the main issue crops up. Who decides the logical progression? Logic is supposed to be quantifiable. What is now known as ‘common sense’, is masqueraded as logic. I guess that’s also a logical progression in life. Common sense. Common because everyone has that sense. I guess the next logical progression in life would now be to develop uncommon sense. Now, wouldn’t that be swell? To justify an act, or the lack thereof, with the proclamation of the widely acclaimed, winner of no lifetime achievement award – Uncommon sense. I wonder how everyone, who can’t survive without the ‘questions of life’, would react to uncommon sense. I guess their only form of sustenance comes from converting more to follow the herd, because it’s ‘safe’. Their logical progression would lead to the creation of other facets of common ideologies. It just defeats the purpose of creation. An individual is created unique. So logically speaking, how can he be common?

 

The commercialisation of shanti.

Posted: December 15, 2012 in Uncategorized
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It’s ironic, or maybe idiocy, how some preach “shanti” and are the ones who love a hectic life. I feel it’s become more of a fad to talk about peace and shanti, nowadays.

“Yea, I’ve been in a state of shanti for the past few months. Oh man, did I tell you the other day I did a fuck load of coke and hooked up with this really cute gu.. blah blah.”

I’ve heard this so much, it’s a bit tiring to the ears. Some women I know (Men come under the same; I’ve just heard it a lot more from women) preach the concept of being peaceful, but live the life of hectic sycophants. They thrive on the deformities of a regular life. They create facades for every facet of their life. One of the facades is that of being peaceful within. It’s projected with an air of superiority. One of convulsing high-handedness that starts to prick on the shreds of intelligence in most people.

I’ve realised one thing. Those who are at peace, don’t feel the need to assert it. Being at peace or shanti, is to do with you and yourself. How are you suppose to quantify peace to anyone else? If someone asks you how peaceful you are, how are you suppose to respond to that? You can’t, according to me. It’s a personal experience. It’s not meant to be dissected and calibrated. Staking a false claim gets relegated as a common cry for attention. It might fool others. But it’s time you stopped fooling yourself.

The consequences of blogging are profound. Deep. Meaningful. Subliminal. They affect our daily behaviour; our nightly behaviour. And all the time in between. We as animals are very social humans. There is a need, deep within our loins. On the satisfaction of those needs, we find that we have some additional needs. That of propagating our propaganda through thoughts. Everything needs to be said, expressed, explained and voiced. It’s all a matter of voice, if you really go to see. The blogosphere has become our voice. It’s a place to be our self and enlighten the dark world with our wise words.

And so we talk. We talk about our thoughts, our daily activities, our social obligations, our relationships, our lack thereof, our needs and obviously of our pets. Everything we see, touch, eat, shit needs to be recorded on our personal-public diary. Because if it can be thought, why not written for the world to read.

And then the world becomes an agenda. Everything becomes the start of a new post. Your entire thought process becomes attuned to the search of a new post. The new post. Ah, the new post. Every facet of your existence can be a new post. And then the avalanche of questions begin.

“Is it good enough to share?”
“Would my followers like it?”
“How should I rewrite it to make it more relevant?”
“I wonder if my stats will show any change?”
“Should I share it on facebook to get more hits?”
“Should I write a book?”
“Should I write a post on writing a book?”

It’s a vicious circle. Questioning everything in the quest of a new post. The never-ending river, that will dredge your sanity. The world is there to experience. We end up creating experiences with an agenda. I’m sure it’s not the case with everyone. But deep down within our subconscious, it is. We forget the reason this also started. To let our voice be sounded out. But along the way, we let our voice change due to the sound. A classic case of ever-changing influences. A case of medium over matter.