As
I mentioned in my earlier post, the reason for me starting a blog has got
nothing to do with me having an urge to share events and occurrences on the
personal front. I’ve never intended to speak my heart out to anyone; I don’t
even share my sorrows and joys with the people around me who care for me and
ensure that my corporal life is intact; the reason not being that I am a snob.
I’m simply incapable of doing it.
You
cannot expect a born-to-be introvert to publicly declare how his day was or
what he felt about something that happened or someone he met in his un-open
life while the truth remains that he is not even able to express himself
properly in front of the very people who love him dearly. Every time I step out
of my house, requires a huge effort to keep myself calm and not feel sore in
the throat with so many people walking around me indifferently.
The
one personal incidence that I’ve already included in my blog made its way onto
the pages purely because I felt that it would make a good read and nothing more.
As
to why someone like me would think of creating a Web page, there lies a totally
different answer.
I
love English.
I
have been in love with it since the day that tiny little book covered with bold
letters and garishly colored depictions was put into my paws in Kindergarten.
The one fifth of life that I’ve already done living was amidst a constant quest
for understanding this gem of a language.
Verbs,
adverbs, nouns, pronouns, prefixes, suffixes, adjectives (The true extent of my
love for the last one might be understand only by someone who has the stomach
to read my future posts) and so many more. Word after word that I’ve read I’ve
never failed to marvel at how different an emotion it lights inside me each
time.
I
love fiction.
That
I continue to remain sane after twenty one years of being born is purely an
attribute of the stories that keep revolving within my head. I’ve lived more
with fictional characters and in non-existing situations than with real human
beings facing real life problems and worries.
I
am a man of fiction. The decisions that I make in life, be it real or unreal,
are purely based on what I feel is the right thing to do at heart irrespective
of the facts available and what appears to be the most obvious thing to do for
most other people.
I
might have faced vicious sarcasm for this attitude of mine from my well wishers
(except for my father who is probably the one person on this earth who thinks
just like me in this matter . . . . in all matters in fact), but at the end of
the day they agree that what seemed to be a foolhardy and thoughtless choice in
the beginning eventually turned out to be right.
I
am what the stories inside my brain have made me. And
it is to share those stories with you that I decided to start blogging.
Then,
after reading what I’ve had to say till now, there might be a huge question
mark circling inside your smooth forehead shouting out at the top of its voice
filled with umbrage, saying, “How in the hells name does he call himself a commerce
graduate pursuing Chartered Accountancy?”
Well,
when you love one thing, does it have to mean that you essentially despise
other things in life? I’m good with numbers and with logic (though ever rarely
do I use it in practicality). Hence the choice of commerce.
To
those who feel that I’m in the wrong profession I say: You don’t become a
writer just by getting up one day and proclaiming yourself as one. Trust me.
I’ve experience first hand, what it is to be an amateur who sets out to write
an entire novel in forty five days (couldn’t reach beyond forty five pages and
then felt heartbroken at my incompetence in doing justice to what I truly
wanted the readers to feel when I read it myself).
So,
before I actually become capable enough of doing what I’ve been put on this
planet to do, there’s a lot of emptiness for me to fill up. This (and the fact
that literature is cruel enough not to pay some of the greatest writers that
history has ever witnessed, leave aside amateurs like me) is the reason why I’m
still what my profile describes me to be.
Coming
to the point again, there are these scenes that keep playing in my head when
I’m sitting at my office, or at home (or sometimes even in class!) and anywhere
else that I’m allowed to carry my imaginary brain with me. To those scenes
neither is there an underlying story nor the need for it. They are scenes which
I can put on paper as blandly as I can and yet they are bound to strike an
emotion in the minds of the readers; be that of like or dislike, of love or
hate.
And
I clarify myself that there’s nothing foolhardy in my decision to share my work
on the Net, a place which can give access to anyone and everyone who believes
that larceny and plagiarism are the best ways of becoming successful in
literature. Trust me; there’s hardly been a time where I’ve felt a shortage in
stock of thoughts. So I don’t mind.
I
may not be able to post much in the next eight months (although there are no
assurances that the contrary will not happen). But I’m here to stay.
Constructive
criticisms are welcome from all sides.
Will
be back once I’m done with the first of my ‘Shorties’
