It has been a tardy, tepid week at the ‘little thought shop’, with no whippy ideas, bouncy reflections or any story worth sharing to the small community of people that checks my blog out regularly.
Things tend to wind down now and then, don’t they?
There are times when you are so upbeat about everything that you don’t mind adding two extra spoons of sugar to your tea or prance around the house feeling wafer thin after 3 back to back ice cream days or croon loudly in the bathroom as if you are on the Indian or American or Australian or any damn Idol show, feel ‘inspired’ to watch the most idiotic reality show on TV for kicks, squint at the cover of a magazine and utter wryly to the face staring at you, “so what’s the big deal about you being there? Some day, I will too.” Days when you brim with confidence to take on anything in this world, turn around and face anybody who breathes down your neck and essentially, feel on top of the world, for…absolutely no seeming reason. The heart sometimes goes on a trip to the moon on horse back. And on those days everything around you makes for a reason to live.
And then there are those down-in-the-dump days, when the best of your friends seem hypocrites, you suspect the whole world to be conspiring against you, the filter coffee suddenly tastes insipid, the AC isn’t cooling enough, the TV is the biggest source of sleaze on earth, your breath smells despite the Listerine wash, when nothing you do seems enough for you to make the cut and at the end of the day you plunk into the cot feeling like an utter loser. A loser who just wants to dash to the end of the earth and kick the bucket. But all you end up doing is thrash your limbs in the blanket and snooze off, because you know that the end of the earth is too far and kicking the bucket is the dumbest thing to do. It is just one of those days when the heart simply doesn’t find a horse to go to the moon.
I have been going through this zany period these past few months. Alternating times when I have felt enthusiastic about the book, loving it so obsessively that I have to talk myself down to some sanity and days when I have felt it was the daftest thing on earth to do – writing a book and expecting it to be read and worse, to be liked. In what witless moment must I have succumbed to such imbecility that goaded me to write a book, of all things in this world! And look where it has brought me now – reduced to a worrywart who can’t think of anything beyond it in the waking hours which now have extended, thanks to the..oh yes, the frequent fretting exercise over promotion, marketing et al.
But slowly, that phase seems to be passing. Not because my passion for the book has diminished, nor because I have given up altogether, but during one of those rides to the moon, someone whispered to my heart, “How does it matter, after all?”
What insightful words to heed! It knocked me back to some good sense and I don’t feel hassled any more. I have suddenly become enlightened !!!!
Fortunately, I don’t live off writing.
Thankfully, I am not overly ambitious.
All that I seek to do by writing is to give my life a direction, lend the journey some meaning, fill it with some preoccupation and if during the course of it I gain some worth and acclaim, it will only be a bonus. I shall get what I deserve by natural design. So why hanker after anything specific?
Meanwhile, I shall continue to write, because it is the one thing I would like to spend my life doing, apart from other routine affairs. It’s a commitment unto me. A job that would make my days complete and fulfilling – good or bad, returns or no returns.
Things tend to wind down now and then, don’t they?
There are times when you are so upbeat about everything that you don’t mind adding two extra spoons of sugar to your tea or prance around the house feeling wafer thin after 3 back to back ice cream days or croon loudly in the bathroom as if you are on the Indian or American or Australian or any damn Idol show, feel ‘inspired’ to watch the most idiotic reality show on TV for kicks, squint at the cover of a magazine and utter wryly to the face staring at you, “so what’s the big deal about you being there? Some day, I will too.” Days when you brim with confidence to take on anything in this world, turn around and face anybody who breathes down your neck and essentially, feel on top of the world, for…absolutely no seeming reason. The heart sometimes goes on a trip to the moon on horse back. And on those days everything around you makes for a reason to live.
And then there are those down-in-the-dump days, when the best of your friends seem hypocrites, you suspect the whole world to be conspiring against you, the filter coffee suddenly tastes insipid, the AC isn’t cooling enough, the TV is the biggest source of sleaze on earth, your breath smells despite the Listerine wash, when nothing you do seems enough for you to make the cut and at the end of the day you plunk into the cot feeling like an utter loser. A loser who just wants to dash to the end of the earth and kick the bucket. But all you end up doing is thrash your limbs in the blanket and snooze off, because you know that the end of the earth is too far and kicking the bucket is the dumbest thing to do. It is just one of those days when the heart simply doesn’t find a horse to go to the moon.
I have been going through this zany period these past few months. Alternating times when I have felt enthusiastic about the book, loving it so obsessively that I have to talk myself down to some sanity and days when I have felt it was the daftest thing on earth to do – writing a book and expecting it to be read and worse, to be liked. In what witless moment must I have succumbed to such imbecility that goaded me to write a book, of all things in this world! And look where it has brought me now – reduced to a worrywart who can’t think of anything beyond it in the waking hours which now have extended, thanks to the..oh yes, the frequent fretting exercise over promotion, marketing et al.
But slowly, that phase seems to be passing. Not because my passion for the book has diminished, nor because I have given up altogether, but during one of those rides to the moon, someone whispered to my heart, “How does it matter, after all?”
What insightful words to heed! It knocked me back to some good sense and I don’t feel hassled any more. I have suddenly become enlightened !!!!
Fortunately, I don’t live off writing.
Thankfully, I am not overly ambitious.
All that I seek to do by writing is to give my life a direction, lend the journey some meaning, fill it with some preoccupation and if during the course of it I gain some worth and acclaim, it will only be a bonus. I shall get what I deserve by natural design. So why hanker after anything specific?
Meanwhile, I shall continue to write, because it is the one thing I would like to spend my life doing, apart from other routine affairs. It’s a commitment unto me. A job that would make my days complete and fulfilling – good or bad, returns or no returns.
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