I thought I wont write a post in next 6 months, but existential pressures(LOL) have forced me to do so. I had started a story competition and few more entries have poured in.
Aparna: Please read her story. A different take, altogether.
Jyothi: A different take again. A serial script writer in the making. Ekta kapoor watch-out.:D
Neha: Can you believe when she tells you that she hasn’t written much fiction?Read her new story. Awesome.
Thanks to Neha and P for the humane award.It feels GREAT to be a human ( Reminded of ,that is)
I have nothing to write ,but since I have started, I thought I would ramble on.I used to feel GREAT about blogging and my writing, but lately the excitement seems to have left me. The very words that I was so reliant on, has given me the feeling of glumness. Now, this is an attempt to seize my spiraling world of perceptions, to be able to state on the experience, if not control it.
I have been unctuous, for as long as i can remember, for a mirror that reflects the various dimensions that I exist within. When i tried to turn my gaze upon myself, it was words that helped me do so. Without their aid I feel lost! Not to mention completely vulnerable to the feeble perceptions that world around holds up to me.
I have this thing of starting and losing complete significance midway. Those who know me will be able to relate this trait of mine to the state of my room. it is usually in a catastrophic condition, resembling an area affected by a violent tornado (there is method in the madness, I always vehemently proclaim!) until it reaches a point where I can't take it anymore and then it magically transforms into an exquisitely and accurately pruned and groomed garden. However, the precision soon begins to suffocate me and the order eventually disintegrates.I feel it’s the same with Blogging. At least for me.I have started to feel the tediousness in whatever I write, seeking an alteration from the habitual.
As I try to clamber my way out of the pits that i have found myself over the last few months, my epiphanic realization has been that the greatest folly of human intelligence is the hope to perpetuate an experience.
So, here I am, struggling to find relevance so as to be able to reinstate my rusted motor of imagination. If in the process I begin to grow tedious, I beg my readers to be patient since; as the corny old proverb goes, “nothing is permanent except change”, So will be me.