This one is to you!
Why do I write what I write? Had there been just one event leading to my thinking and writing in a particular way, and had I known that single cause, I would have been more than happy to tell you about it.
It is strange and fascinating to see my posts lying in the OT and being teased to constituent tissues. Have you ever tried to sketch something (need not be on paper but can be an imagination or an observation)? Anything abstract? From a tree on an obscure railway platform, somewhere in Anand Vihar on the last sunny day of the winter when you sit cross legged and solitary on a bench, to a blazing flame that dances around and sends out sparks somewhere in the mountains, to grey clouds and clouded eyes?
Why am I a feminist? I respect all humans and have nothing against the other species. It is just that I stand for who I am. On second thoughts, I think if you casually look at the newspaper on any odd day, there's enough in it to turn any sane human into a staunch feminist!
There are so many things that cannot be put into words. Yes, you figure in more than one way in some of my posts, but I cannot define how or where. Now that you ask I will think over it. When I am writing, I just write whatever is going on in my silly head and stupid heart.
There lies my blog in the OT and I am a mute spectator. I can see pieces of it flying around. You handle some of them in a way they should not be dealt with. You react to some poem of mine that appears silly even to me when I read it a day after I have posted it, in the same way I react and that makes me overreact(whatever that means)! I humbly accept all critism(mine or your doesnt matter). But the trigger for that post (as for most other posts) was what I write in the opening lines. Then as I build on it, there are so many other issues which find back alleys and weave into the words subconsciously. And I never have the heart to delete what's been done. Probably I am another Rip van Winkle and fail to keep up with the times. Whenever I attempt to prune my blogspace of what looks unneeded, I do not suceed and thus you get to see whatever muddle I was juggling with.
Maybe this post will appear incongruos yet again, when I look at it tomorrow. But here it is and this is what came to my mind as I watched by the glass doors.
Why do I write what I write? Had there been just one event leading to my thinking and writing in a particular way, and had I known that single cause, I would have been more than happy to tell you about it.
It is strange and fascinating to see my posts lying in the OT and being teased to constituent tissues. Have you ever tried to sketch something (need not be on paper but can be an imagination or an observation)? Anything abstract? From a tree on an obscure railway platform, somewhere in Anand Vihar on the last sunny day of the winter when you sit cross legged and solitary on a bench, to a blazing flame that dances around and sends out sparks somewhere in the mountains, to grey clouds and clouded eyes?
Why am I a feminist? I respect all humans and have nothing against the other species. It is just that I stand for who I am. On second thoughts, I think if you casually look at the newspaper on any odd day, there's enough in it to turn any sane human into a staunch feminist!
There are so many things that cannot be put into words. Yes, you figure in more than one way in some of my posts, but I cannot define how or where. Now that you ask I will think over it. When I am writing, I just write whatever is going on in my silly head and stupid heart.
There lies my blog in the OT and I am a mute spectator. I can see pieces of it flying around. You handle some of them in a way they should not be dealt with. You react to some poem of mine that appears silly even to me when I read it a day after I have posted it, in the same way I react and that makes me overreact(whatever that means)! I humbly accept all critism(mine or your doesnt matter). But the trigger for that post (as for most other posts) was what I write in the opening lines. Then as I build on it, there are so many other issues which find back alleys and weave into the words subconsciously. And I never have the heart to delete what's been done. Probably I am another Rip van Winkle and fail to keep up with the times. Whenever I attempt to prune my blogspace of what looks unneeded, I do not suceed and thus you get to see whatever muddle I was juggling with.
Maybe this post will appear incongruos yet again, when I look at it tomorrow. But here it is and this is what came to my mind as I watched by the glass doors.
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