One should never ignore the “sometimes I have this feeling” moments. Such instances rather warrant deep attention from your being, because those generally strike your mind when you are peaceful – the surrounding is serene, after a sumptuous weekend meal, in a still night, or most often when you are in the restroom. And, you would reckon that whatever that comes in peace is worth the try.
It was one such day a few years ago when it ringed “sometimes I have this feeling all my blogging is a huge waste of time!”, and that triggered a hiatus in whatever little writing I did.
For starts, a writer, in my opinion, should know two things about himself- that he is fit to tell something well, and that he needs to be read, else he can’t create good stuff. I felt I was suddenly losing both, and that was it.
I remember my dear friend Krishna’s anecdotes about about unsure speaker invitees in social gatherings, who typically start with, “I am not sure if I am the right one…”, or like, “I don’t know what to say..”. On such occasions, he would think, “then f*** off and leave the dais.” He used to tell me how those speakers generally drifted, digressed and ended up being listless.
In a similar vein, I have come across bloggers who claim “I don’t write for others, I do for myself” – In Krishna’s style, “if you wanted to write for yourself, then why waste electricity, internet, carbon, and my time. Pick a diary!”
I didn’t want to be one such anecdote.
But, then the break did good. Over this period I also started to check as to what I was otherwise doing in the time that was spared by my writing. I realized I watched the same cricket highlights umpteen times, read the usual press crap, wrapped around the idiot box, or dug out some family gossip. This kept going on, and on and on.
I knew I was not doing right, because at least in the day I had striven to write useful, I ended up writing something amusing. And, I had some readers.
How would it matter to me if Deepika moved in with Ranveer, or Aamir tweeted intolerance? Am I even rightful to talk about Kareena’s personal life, or Kangana’s affair? Aren’t they as legitimate to lead their lives as I do? How can I judge some distant relative’s actions without knowing the full truth. End of all, what was the purpose achieved?
Just as I was evolving through this hibernation, one of my junior friends in office asked me last week “Hari, don’t you write these days?”. I said, “well, I used to. I must start again.”
Weekend comes by, I am cleaning one of the toilets at home, feeling ‘purposeful’ – No Bollywood gossip, no thought-thieves, and then I get this feeling, “I could very well write again.”