Coming to the point

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’