“I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn.”
Anne Frank wrote this in her diary while she struggled to find a way to exist in the midst of all the hatred, the tribulations, the fear. As a writer myself, I think about her words and feel like she does. There is something to writing, you know. You fall in love with words and you tend to love them more than you can love a person, a thing, a dream. And it’s good to understand that the spirit of a writer stays alive for a long time, may be forever.
A lot of times people believe that writers are shy. They are individuals who would rather write than speak; who would embrace the idea of letters and books more than phone-calls and regular conversations. I’d instead say that’s a misconception. Of course there are writers who like living in a shell that they create for themselves and they prefer revealing their thoughts and ideas through their written words. Does that make them lesser conversationalists? If that was it, I wouldn’t have spoken as much as I do. And trust me, that is a lot. Sometimes, I don’t truly comprehend which part of me should be exposed and laid bare and which one should be concealed with a layer of mystery.
I haven’t written for this blog since many days. I again went for a short trip to a few places in India, met a few friends, had fun, ate some incredible food, read books, enjoyed the long train journeys and eventually came back to the casing that envelopes me, the boundaries that bind me and the existence that has come to define me lately. It has been more than 15 days since I returned and I have been writing ludicrous things for websites for some money. I wonder if that is what truly makes sense. I have been writing about genetic modification of crops, human physiology, air conditioners, heaters and physical and mental disorders. Doesn’t it sound like shit? It does. I know. We all do the most irrelevant and nonsensical things for money sometimes. Think about what you do. You are living the dream of your life, right? May be. May be not. But, that’s sometimes the truth of existence- independence comes with a price.
I calm myself down very often and I know I can do better. I try. I feel good. I shouldn’t be too critical of myself you know. I do write for people and places that matter. Its just that I should do more of that. I should come here more often and spend time with the thoughts that make me a writer and also a conversationalist. I totally understand if you call me insane, because a lot of people do (This suddenly reminded of a close friend exclaiming today that all writers are crazy; there’s just something wrong with them). Okay, I probably don’t mind being a little fanatical sometimes if that’s what would someday sway me towards my passions, dreams and zeal. I also don’t yearn for people to read this particular post because it’s again not something that makes a lot of sense (though definitely more than air-conditioners and crop yield).
I’ll reappear soon someday and talk to you about one of my travels or about something incredible happening in the world, but then most of you know most of it already. And yet, I will keep trying to drive you here once in a while, share a few stories, opinions, rants and struggles. You know why? Because like Anne Frank all true writers can shake off everything as they write; their sorrows disappear, their courage is reborn. Ah! Writing does that to you, somehow.
P.S.: A very Happy Birthday (in advance) to my best friend. If you read this, you’d have to thank me for making your birthday so popular. Ha!