Sunday, July 06, 2008

Needless to Say

Disclaimer - What do you do when there is nothing (even remotely) interesting happening in your life? You almost have absolutely nothing to share. Most of the days are spent staring right into the computer screen, trying to decipher whether another asterisk or a hash sign would make a lot of difference. Then, do you seek refuge in fiction, yet again, or do you try to salvage something worthwhile from the wrecks you had been safeguarding for exactly such a crisis? You be the judge. Albeit an intelligent one.

Dear X,

Now that I know that around 150 people know who {someone} was (and is), I can probably die in peace. The promise of a wonderful afterlife was given to me by the angels who visited me in dreams. They came again today, while I was day-musing under a creaking ceiling fan. I was told that my work on this planet is done. Thus, I will now indulge in my darkest desires and wildest fantasies, their consequences being hardly of any, well, consequence now.

I have also been wondering why day after day both you and I waste several of our precious hours, typing out these monstrosities, when we could have been utilizing them in several other (more) lucrative pursuits. The answer is left to the responsibility of the responder, SHE being the more intellectual, refined, and creative of the two. I am hoping I won’t be handed disappointment in expectation’s stead.

Coming to less welcome subjects, I think we can safely divide retro(-intro-)spective atmospheres into two broad categories. One might be called the Creaking Ceiling Fan while the other can be vaguely described as a Nocturnal Wonderland. Both are equally competitive and strive for attention on a day to day basis. I am also speculating why there has to be a certain algorithm to every nuance in an engineer’s life. Even subtle subjects like philosophy, love, and music are dissected with clinical precision and their mortal remains examined with a certain surgical finesse. It’s all very frightening; and amusing at the same time. Let’s digress to less intimidating subjects (if I can come across any).

Your habit to write your journal daily certainly surprises me. You come across as the girl in Before Sunrise, who keeps a written account of all her days, and still pretends to forget some of the most remarkable moments in her life. I started off as a die hard fan myself, often addressing my journal as something very feminine and real. With time, the writings started improving in quality but the quantity went down considerably. Now that I look at my journal, I find that I started it off way back. It has a well defined Prologue in which I announce my far fetched ambitions to fill the ruled pages with ink of all sorts - blue, black, red and even graphite. I think the implementation went awry somewhere down the line. Another algorithm is called for. But we will save its dissection for another afternoon, when the sun is more obliging, and the time less so.

The park story seemed amusing because you should choose a park (of all places) to explore. I have, if truth be told, thought of similar places I might like to visit in another lifetime. Am I beginning to sound very intense in my writing? I guess the reader doesn’t have much of a choice in these matters. SHE has to bear with all the crap certain meditating souls come up with. Oh! talking about meditation; have you ever tried imagining a perfectly clean blackboard? I believe if one can do so, with nothing and no one soiling the pristine darkness of the board, one has succeeded in achieving control over most of one’s senses. I have tried attempting the feat several times; having succeeded in keeping the slate clean (pun intended perhaps) for at most a few seconds. Not bad eh?

The relentless urge, and pushing, to excel and be on top of the game seems post-worthy. Does it strike you as amusing too? However, laziness has probably caught up. This discussion dwells on the borders of being futile. So I will defer the subject for the time being. Maybe you can come up with something worthwhile on the same. Who knows?

The length of this obscurity seems praise worthy already. I have, exactly at this moment, realized that this mail can be perfectly described by a word I learned a long time back - BLAND. It’s a monologue one would want to get over with. A yawn would probably greet the footnote and the innovative signature won't be even glanced at. This enlightenment calls for a course of action. Hence, acting in accordance with this new found knowledge, I will now go and attempt something constructive.

“The entire world is our oyster again / Waiting patiently to be by that genius awed.”
Proverbially me,


  1. the he and the she is getting more confusing than I can handle, but Marvin are you making her up as you go along?

    Like the girl in Before Before Sunset, liked it better, seemed more probable and esp. the writer he becomes, loved that.

  2. they get confusing because we try to relate them to prior writing. if only each of their episodes were treated as a singular, unconnected incident, it might become a lot easier.

    making her up? yes i might say so. but the inspiration is very real. very tangible. very perceptible.

  3. Shabash sheru. I see you have written next to nothing since I was here last [this post doesn't count, I was pretty surprised and amused (haan haan that's the usual feeling I have towards you)to see you had actually put it up]. The net is here ia an unblievable 60 bucks/hr. Painfully ridiculous na?

    Anyway in case you find yourself with "nothing (even remotely) interesting happening in your life" just go and "seek refuge in fiction, yet again". "I am guessing this chain of insanely wild mails would be turned into an artsy play some 20 years from now. It most probably would have someone like Naseeruddin Shah and Smita Patil enacting the roles and get rave reviews from audiences and critics alike."

  4. Madame, I don't feel like writing anymore. Or so it seems.

    And yes, the letter (in the post here) was very secular in character. Hence, it was posted due to lack of creativity (if there anything like that). I am glad that it surprised AND amused at the same time.

    I take that the sarcasm (so deftly put) was not meant to be ironic.

    Naseeruddin Shah and Smita Patil must be kept under wraps. Lest one starts counting chickens before they hatch.

    PS - You have quoted me a lot many times.