July 9, 2014 § Leave a comment
My muse has ditched me. She no longer speaks to me. I no longer talk to her or see her anywhere. It seems that even my desire to touch her somehow has taken a leave. And that is where I must learn to get a little scared.
And perhaps I am getting there as well.
For not so long ago I yearned to stay close to her. My longing to let her stay with me never knew anything but perseverance.
But this complete absence of desire is perturbing— since it indicates a certain acceptance of failure on my part. Maybe I have accepted that I cannot/ will not ever write something that would really matter. Matter in my own eyes, that is. For I think I myself am my own worst critic.
Not very long ago I used to write for myself— for my own pleasure. The muse visited me very often then. But it so seems that this general reluctance to write now has taken her far away from me.
It’s like a vicious cycle, if you know what I mean. I do not feel like writing any longer, hence she does not visit me anymore. That sudden spark, the unavoidable surge of ideas, an almost burning desire to give words to thoughts, or life to those ideas, all of these things seem to have just vanished now.
I write today because I do not want myself to stay lost in the oblivion of uncertainty forever. If I always knew one thing in my life, it was my ability to create sentences. I was never much opinionated, always confused, and always uncertain. If there was anything that was keeping me from reaching the brink of complete insanity, it was that I knew somewhere deep down in my heart, that I wanted to write.
The signs were there, and it was ever so unobservant of me to not see them coming. But they were there. I knew I was getting weaker.
And it hurts me, more than anything else. It hurts me to think that I may not be able to compose two decent lines ever again.
Though it might be a bit arduous to understand for those who do not appreciate the longing to create.
That longing has left me now.
Not much unlike the sudden departure of a loved one,
My muse has abandoned me.
But then, I wrote this didn’t I?
Perhaps she’s not yet ditched me,
Perhaps she’s just around the corner.
Waiting for me to discover her,
February 4, 2014 § Leave a comment
I have started reading Charles Bukowski recently and finally now understand the genius behind the man. Though I do confess to be a wee bit averse to this term genius, owing to the general carelessness with which people typically use it.
I have still read only a few poems in the poetry collection, Pleasures of the damned as yet. But enough, to conclude that these are undoubtedly some of the most beautifully written poems that I have ever come across.
In one of his poems, No leaders, please, he says,
“Invent yourself and then reinvent yourself,
Don’t swim in the same slough.”
He emphasizes again,
“Invent yourself and then reinvent yourself and
Stay out of the clutches of mediocrity.”
The whole poem is about inventing and reinventing oneself in order to shun mediocrity. I am not of the opinion that mediocrity is something that must be considered as essentially an appalling thing, but if a man is not going to push his limits he will never know what he is capable of achieving. It is too easy to settle for mediocrity and too difficult to keep trying for something beyond that. Not everyone is destined for greatness but it would be utterly wrong to believe that one is just not capable of achieving it, without even giving it a due try.
Mediocrity is a general excuse people give for not trying. They would blame circumstances, people, even the weather. They would just not take responsibility for their own life. And would cruelly ridicule the ones who are crazy enough to try.
It is one thing to try and fail innumerable times; in which case mediocrity is inevitable. It is completely another to have some potential but settle for mediocrity nonetheless. The latter, I believe, is the death of all passion in a person.
I am not saying that I haven’t done this. For I have spent half of my life wasting my time, thinking that people other than myself were responsible for what I have become. After giving it a considerable thought, however, I have reached the conclusion that no one other than myself was responsible for what I did (or did not do) with my life. I was the one who let others rule my emotions and me when I could just as easily have decided that they wouldn’t affect me. I know, it is easier said than done. But now, when I see it all from a distance, I believe I could easily have avoided the pain and the agony that I caused myself. Yes, much havoc was caused in my life that could have easily been avoided had I not let the circumstances get to me.
But they say, all’s well that ends well. And so I believe.
He ends the poem with these motivating yet eloquently simple lines;
“And reinvent your life because you must;
It is your life and its history
And the present belong only to you.”
And I shall definitely remember this.
December 21, 2013 § 3 Comments
I opened the door to my childhood today. How I wish everything was just the same today, as it was then. How I wish the colours could change and my eyes could see the things they crave.
I want the things to stay the same, never to change. But isn’t change the only thing that doesn’t change?
So I close that door again; knowing, that no matter how many times I try to open it, I will never be the same again. Knowing, that my childhood is now long gone, buried in a place I call memory.
I have grown up, my childhood friends are not the same, and life needs to move on.
December 18, 2013 § 1 Comment
As I sit here, lost in the banalities of my life
A strange idea crosses my mind.
A realisation of sorts.
I am, but an alien in my own world.
I shall hence be reduced to nothingness.
Without a single trace of change.
In a dark corner where no one will be able to see me.
But, where I can be whoever I am,
Whoever I want to be.
Perhaps I am already there.
Slowly turning into nothingness.
So let me be,
I shall now proceed to my fate.
That corner that awaits me,
The oblivion that is me.
December 15, 2013 § 1 Comment
There is an absolute sense of wonder about sitting for an exam at a stage of your life when you’re not expected to. It encompasses euphoria of sorts, a sense of power, something that cannot be explained that easily, not by me at least. Being a thirty something, sitting in a classroom full of twenty somethings— in your own twisted way you’re breaking rules; you’re doing something not many people your age would want to relate to. There is a strange satisfaction in knowing that you didn’t give in to the society’s expectation of what you ‘must’ be doing at certain age; if only in a very negligible capacity. You know that most people around you are busy with children, the pressure of jobs or any other thing, anything but this. It fills you with an incredible feeling of emancipation.
The pressure of sitting for an exam; something that is so predominantly associated with youth…. I don’t know how to put this, but yes, sitting for an exam after a lapse of about six years or so, gave me all this and more. I discovered a few things as well. I found out that children of today are quite the same as I was when I was twenty. Yes, they have technology, much more than we could even imagine at that time, but deep down inside they still have the same aspirations, fears and insecurities. But there was more, I realised that pretention is an acquired art. We’re not half as pretentious at twenty as we are at thirty. At least that is what I have felt.
And as clichéd as it may seem, I actually felt alive for once, after a very long time. In these six months I kind of re-lived that fascinating age I will never go back to in reality. I sat, ate, attended lectures, took tests, shared days and nights with these ‘children’ and I have never felt so good in my entire adult life as I did these last six months.
I wanted to add more to this, polish it a little bit you see. End it in a better way. But then I changed my mind. I guess there are a few things that are better left in their original form. Straight from the heart. I think this is one of those things.