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Sharp Angles
Shafey |
Bloggers Block
Inspiration is, well, inspired. Inspiration hits you when you are wedged between two people on a Delhi bus (Delhi buses are specially suited to raising existential questions of why-am-I-here, what-is-the-purpose-of-a-life-like-this variety), sometimes it dribbles on you from a tap gone dry after you have soaped yourself for a bath, it stares at you from an empty wallet on a train, sometimes when you see high mountains, trilling streams, beautiful women…
But does not come up when you most need it. Like when you are sitting before a computer trying to write a blog.
Just sit and ponder over a paper, and all you would be able to do is to draw a few lines in weird shapes that look like abstract art, or if you are before a computer, you, like me, would end up writing about the difficulty of writing.
In writers this is called a writer’s block. In journalists’ it is called a journalist’s blog.
The stop gap solution between mooning and serious writing.
Moreover, if you are factually wrong you can claim, like Salman Rushdie did, that it is there to depict the slippery-ness of ‘Reality.’ What you call fact is the world according to you, what I wrote is world according to me. And who would judge between our conflicting claims?
I am in exalted company really. Federico Fellini (8 ½), Marcel Proust (Remembrances of Things Past), , Andre Gide (Les Faux-Monnayeurs), and more recently our own Tarun Tejpal (The Alchemy of Desire) have all done self reflexive work. Film about film making, book about book writing, cartoons about cartoon making, (that’s Opus) and so on. I may even be a pioneer, writing a blog about blog writing. If I am not let me know.
I get paid good money (Shah Rukh Khan, Vijay Mallaya and other IPL wallahs I’am not talking to you) to do these interesting, rather useless things. That is the way of the world. No one who does serious work, gets paid. While all those who wouldn’t make the slightest difference if they disappeared en masse one fine day, get paid huge amount of money.
So I have resolved to do more useless things as I progress. (my boss approves, that’s why you are seeing the blog)
Though it is rather late to become a cricketer or an actor, I still can take an MBA and become a manager. If that doesn’t help I could always take up politics.
Let me round up this post with some poetry:
Doggerel
By Shafey
Shaggy brown thing
End of an inning
Where were we?
Not riling in the park surely
If I remember right
It was already bright
By the time we went our way
What did you say?
Oh yes, it is one hell of a way
To part ways
But well he too was partly to blame
I was not good at the word game
I tend to get physical
No not in that way
I mean as in beat
Ah yes yes the laboured ease
His high pitched voice hurling profanities at the breeze
Hell what ways were these?
For God sake! the breeze?
While all the time his forehead was sweaty
And his voice quivered
No not nonsensical nonsense
He did change his thick glasses for lens
So some progress was indeed made
And everyone said
He was now man enough, he had common sense
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| Your comment(s) on this article |
| Nice poem Danish, end was fabulous though the beginning is rather vague. Hope you understood it.-Smita - New Delhi |
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| Poem achhi thi....
samajh mein aati toh aur bhi achhi lagti-Amit - Indira Point |
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| nice one.....-Manoj - Delhi |
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